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1
CAMDEN
Shifting the strap of the bookbag around, feeling the weight of it with the couple of books I brought with me, I looked in the mirror. I looked ridiculous. A grown-ass man, one who was running a wildly successful business, wearing a T-shirt with the local community college’s logo in the middle.
“You know, they likely won’t assign you many actual books to carry,” Ryan said as he perused a circular rack of hoodies. “Everything, or at least almost everything, is digital now.”
“Not at Slater College,” I said. “Not from their brochure, at least.”
“Brochure? What is this, the nineties?” Ryan asked. He glanced up at me, and I laughed in spite of myself. He was now wearing a pair of sunglasses and a hat, each with “SC” on them along with the mascot—a giant squirrel. It was hardly the most intimidating of mascots.
“Yes, brochure. On paper,” I said. “Glossy, too.”
“You mean to tell me you didn’t sign up for school online?”
“No,” I said. “I applied just like I did when I graduated high school.”
“Did you use the same application too? Jesus, man,” he said, shaking his head.
“What are you trying to say, Ryan?” I deadpanned. “Are you telling me that you, the man who runs a quaint bed and breakfast with his wife and has designed the entire place to look like it came out of the nineteen fifties, are the arbiter of technology now?”
“First off, it might look like the fifties in there, but we have Wi-Fi and streaming channels in all the rooms. And a soft-serve machine.”
“The soft-serve machine really puts it over the top,” I quipped. “Really pushing the envelope there.”
“It’s programmable,” he continued. “Mixes the flavors for you at the push of a button.”
“Oh,” I said, feigning being impressed. “Does it do your taxes too?”
“Funny,” he said. “Really funny. Come on. Pick a new backpack, and let’s get back to the ranch. Mark and Vic are already there, and Graham is on his way.”
“All right, all right,” I said. “I suppose this one will work. It has a little slot for a laptop.”
“Good. Great. Buy it. Let’s go already,” Ryan said, looking at his watch. It dawned on me that it wasn’t just a watch as he swiped something on it. King Tech over here was checking messages like Dick Tracy’s taller, bearded cousin.
I took the backpack and other supplies to the counter, where a girl roughly half my age rang me up awkwardly. I could see the look in her eyes as she scanned each item, wondering if I was buying them for some unseen child of mine, and then the dawning realization that no, I was buying them for myself. The man in his mid-thirties going back to school and needing a pack of pencils and loose paper, and who couldn’t contain his own excitement when he saw a retro-Trapper Keeper on the shelf.
At eighteen years old, I had started at Slater College with every intention of doing two years there, then two years at Texas A&M once I had all my basics done. But the chance to expand the ranch that I’d inherited and make a real business out of it came up, and I couldn’t turn it down. It was a good thing, too.
Within months, the riding lessons were taking off, and I was making money hand over fist. The working part of the ranch was producing crops, and I was able to buy another plot over a year later that turned out to be even more fruitful. I got lucky hiring good workers for the crops, and my sister turned out to be pretty damn good at giving riding lessons as well.
By the time I was twenty-one, my financial future was looking pretty secure.
Then, years later, Ryan got hurt while overseas, and a new idea popped into my head. Opening up the ranch to veterans to help them adjust to life back home, especially for the ones who were injured, was just the right thing to do. I watched as Ryan benefited from it greatly, and I decided to run it as a service that relied entirely on donations. I wouldn’t charge them a penny.
I had a lot of pennies now.
The business grew beyond my wildest imagination, and then the big money came in from all around the country. Suddenly, everyone was interested in coming to the ranch, and I expanded out and out and out. Now I owned more acreage than I knew what to do with, had every type of animal on site, and was growing fields and fields of sustainable crops.
It had taken a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, but it was mine, and I was immensely proud of it.
However, no matter how successful I was, I never felt like I’d truly earned it. As silly as it might sound to other people, the fact that I’d never finished college was a big part of that. I heard it was called ‘imposter syndrome,’ and I felt it every day. Every time I walked into an office to explain my work and why it would be a good idea for whatever company I was pitching to get involved. Every time I spoke to someone I met in town, someone with a ‘real’ job like a fireman or a baker or another ranch-hand. Someone who earned every nickel from the sweat of their brow. All those times, I felt like an imposter. Some guy who had put in a cheat code and bypassed a lot of things he was supposed to do and ended up wealthy, successful, and somehow empty.
Watching all my friends come home and find wives probably didn’t help either.
As I rode back to the ranch with Ryan, I tried to pretend I wasn’t listening as he got a phone call from Allison. She had been a great match for Ryan, and now I could barely think of one without the other. They fit so well together, complementing each other at every step. Where he was laid-back and relaxed, she was feisty and fiery. She pushed him to think bigger, to dream higher, and in return, he provided her the solid ground she could jump from to reach the stars.
They were wildly in love, and my mind drifted to my other friends who had similarly found their partners. Graham came back home after being a Major League pitcher who developed a bum arm after a terrible injury to find love in Mallory and the little boy he never knew he had. Vic came back home after a nasty divorce to meet Melanie, and together they ran the local grocery store in town, building it up a million times better than it had been before the tornado wiped out the original building.
