Every day, the grass on the main property grew longer, but he persevered.
Without looking up from his task, at the precise moment I stepped on the bottom rung of the wooden fence at the far reaches of the property, he called out, “She won’t be pleased when she finds you’ve run off.”
Abandoning my flight, I approached my father.
“I don’t want to do this.”
“I get it. Your sister is a bit of a bully, and you hate disappointing her.”
I said nothing, silently agreeing.
Merrison Windrow was a mountain. Taller, broader, and more confident than I would ever be, with wisdom I respected, even when I didn’t always understand it. He attacked life with his head high, no matter how many times he was knocked down. He was steady, enduring, and unwavering. The calmest, most patient man I’d ever known. He never raised his voice, rarely partook in arguments, listened, reasoned, and accepted all of life’s blunders with an open mind. After the death of his wife, he could have crumbled or given up hope, but he didn’t. He picked himself up and raised his two heartbroken children with a gentle hand and an endless well of patience.
In my grief, I’d turned to God. Dad responded by buying me a Bible and allowing me to attend various church services as I sought comfort in faith and healed.
When, during high school, I announced my intention to join the priesthood, Merrison Windrow told me he was proud, despite not having a single religious bone in his body. When I returned from the seminary broken and ashamed, unable toexplain what had happened, he let me grieve the fresh wound in private until I was ready to move on.
He didn’t judge. He didn’t push. He didn’t sayI told you so. He simply loved me unconditionally and reminded me of my strengths, of which, in my opinion, were few.
Yet, I’d never been able to unburden my heart or speak the words that so desperately needed to be spoken.
“Need a hand?” I asked, glancing at the house and accepting fate. My time was limited, and I knew nothing about mechanics, but if I could keep my hands busy, maybe it would quell the anxiety knotting my intestines.
Dad straightened, wiping his oil-blackened fingers on a rag as he frowned at the deconstructed innards of the lawn mower. “Nope. What I need is a professional who isn’t going to charge me an arm and a leg.”
“Or a sledgehammer.”
Dad chuckled. “Or that. Might have to ring Albert before I wreck it beyond repair. I think he’s got a young man working for him who might make the trip out to look at it.”
Project abandoned, Dad took me in, noting the camera around my neck and the backpack slung over my shoulder. He clucked his tongue. “Now tell me. When has running away fixed the problem?”
I lowered my head in shame. “Never.”
“Sometimes you’ve got to face life head on, Gale. Even when it’s hard.” Dad heaved a heavy sigh, his weathered face pinched with worry. “She’s got you tangled in this, and that’s not fair.”
“It’s fine. I don’t want her to be upset with me. I’ll do the interview, but I… need a minute to get my head together.”
Connecting with nature helped. Viewing the world through a camera lens humbled me. Vast landscapes, endless skies, or the tiniest insects reminded me of my place on Earth. Humans werenot superior. We were part of the ecology. One of billions of God’s creations.
Only when I was alone did I feel truly part of the world. I recognized the irony, but it didn’t change anything. Besides, my flaws seemed less significant when viewed through a different lens.
I prayed every day for courage. Although I didn’t believe God hated me and had made me exactly as he deemed fit, I questioned why he had burdened me with such differences. I was not strong enough for such an obstacle.
God did not provide answers, and I was often left bereaved.
Dad leaned against the broad side of the machine and motioned to my camera. “Take any good shots when you were gone last week?”
I’d spent four days at Waurika Lake working on a photography project.
I thumbed the camera strap and shrugged. “A few. I’ll print them this afternoon.” The darkroom Dad had helped me create in the basement was another place I enjoyed spending time. If I couldn’t be alone in the wilderness, where my tormented mind was at rest, I found secluded places at home where no one bothered me.
“You’ve got a deadline coming up, don’t you?”
“End of next month. I’m working on something special. The editor approved the idea.”
“Can’t wait to see it. June edition?”
“July.”
