On the kitchen wall, the old landline started to ring, and Terry sat up on the couch, because what I transcribed that morning, word for word, had gone to a lawyer who does not let things slide, and the call coming in was the beginning of the end of Terrys business.
For years Mom made me the family typist and Terry the man of the house, and I stayed quiet. This time I did the one thing a court reporter is trained to do, because Ms. Grant told me what the job really is.
What I transcribed were the voicemails Terry left on Moms phone about his business, and that business turned out to be a scheme that had a name, and as the one person trained to write down exactly what people say, I wrote it down word for word and handed it to an attorney who knew what to do with it.
The flash drive in my rolling case held the transcripts. Ms. Grant, the attorney I reported depositions for, told me the best part of the job is that you are the one who records exactly what everyone says, forever. So I did, and I forwarded it that morning.
Mom kicked my four-thousand-dollar steno machine onto the tile and told me to type on that, sure I would never certify. She did not know the transcripts were already filed. The landline rang while she still thought I was too slow.
Terry asked what I did. My job, I told him.
I did not stay. I drove to a classmates apartment, and at nine the next morning I sat my certification exam on my used backup machine at two hundred and twenty-five words a minute, and I passed, because Mom could crack a keyboard but not three years of practice.
I am a certified court reporter now, working for the firm downtown full-time. Terrys business is a matter for the authorities, on the record, word for word, where you are not that fast does not help him.
Mom asked me to leave. I left, into my own place in Roseville. She has called since. I have not decided about that yet.
You are the one who writes down exactly what everybody says, Ms. Grant told me. I wrote it down. And Mom stopped talking before the landline finished its first ring, because the record spoke before she could.