Wesley

Sun streams in through the window, landing on my face, and I startle awake. My heart pounds as I quickly sit up, eyes darting all over my unfamiliar surroundings. Instead of the small cell that was my home for the past ten years, I’m in a bedroom.

John’s guest room. I’m out.

I sigh a breath of relief and lie back down, studying the room. Pale blue walls, white trim, and dark wood furniture are a vast improvement to the steel-gray bars that used to surround me every day. The gray sheets are soft instead of scratchy, the pillow is fluffy instead of lumpy, and the fresh smell of laundry detergent clinging to the fabric is soothing instead of the harsh chemical scent of the detergents used in prison.

Speaking of smells, I smell something delicious, and my stomach grumbles in complaint, telling me to get up and follow my nose.

Then, it hits me. I’m free. I can get up and go to the kitchen if I want to. Or I can go back to bed. Or I can go outside. I don’t have to follow the commands of the corrections officer or the warden. I don’t have to eat or sleep when told. I don’t have to worry about the other inmates taking my things or picking a fight for no reason.

A weight is lifted off my shoulders, and I vow to never go back there.

My stomach grumbles again, and my decision is made. I’m hungry.

After stopping in the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth, I walk into the kitchen to find John manning the stove.

“I didn’t know you cooked,” I say stupidly. I don’t know a lot of things about John, seeing as we were teenagers when we last spent time together.

He chuckles. “I had to learn if I wanted to eat.”

“Smells amazing.”

“Thanks. Hope you like cheese and veggie omelets, bacon, and hash browns.”

“Yes, yes, and yes.”

“Want coffee? The pot is fresh.”

I see two mugs next to the coffee pot and pour us each a cup. Then, I bring them over to the table. He plates the food, and we dig in.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” he asks. “I’m all yours for the next three days, then I have to go back to work on Monday.”

“You didn’t have to take time off from work for me. I can manage.”

He scoffs, “I know you can manage. I just figured we’d hang out and get you some clothes or whatever. I’m sure you have to meet with your probation officer, right? How did you plan on getting there?”

All good points.

“You’re right,” I sigh. “I just don’t want to be a pain in your ass.”

“You’re allowed to be a pain in my ass for the next month. After that, your grace period is over.”

“Okay. I do need to see my probation officer, and I need to get a job. Clothes and a car would be great, too.”

He nods, swallowing down the last of his coffee. “No problem. Don’t forget, my parents want to have you over for dinner on Sunday. Really, they want to come over right now, but I promised them a visit on Sunday, and that’s keeping my mom from smothering you.”

“Sounds good.”

First order of business is an appointment with my probation officer.

Winston Ross is a stern guy in his fifties with hair sticking out of his nose and ears longer than the hair on top of his head. He tells me I’m not to leave the state without a written request submitted thirty days in advance, to meet with him once a month, and to expect random house visits from him to make sure I have no drugs in the house. Finally, he gives me strict orders to “get a job, and stay out of trouble.”

Thanks for the advice.

“I don’t want to go back to prison ever again,” I tell him seriously. “I’m not going to give you any trouble.”

He studies me, glancing at John sitting beside me. His blue eyes, initially distant, soften, and his face turns unexpectedly kind. “I’m here to support you, Wesley. It can be difficult to get back to living a normal life after being in prison for so long. Please, if you get into a situation you’re worried might get you into trouble, call me. I can’t help you if you don’t come to me.”

I nod even though I plan to just keep myself out of any troublesome situations to begin with.

“Please make sure to secure employment before our next monthly meeting. Here is a list of employers who hire people with a record. Once you get a job, please give me a call with the details, so I can update your file.”

And, with that, we’re on our way to the department store to pick up some basic clothes. Underwear, socks, shirts, jeans, one nice outfit for interviews and Sunday dinners with the Bellamys. My meager earnings don’t buy me anything fancy, but I’m not a fancy guy.

The next thing I really need is a car. I’m determined to get a job and my own place, and a set of wheels will help me get to and from work.

It turns out, when you’re in prison for ten years, your license expires. And I have to retake a driving test. Luckily, they have a cancellation the next day while John is still off from work, so he can take me.

Brand-new license in my wallet, and we head to the car dealership.

“A used motorcycle would be the most affordable,” the car salesman says when I tell him my budget.

“Yeah, but that would only help me until winter. I need something I can use year-round. Ideally something to carry tools and furniture. It can be ugly. I don’t care so much what it looks like, but it needs to be reliable.”

He taps his bottom lip with his finger while he scans the inventory of used cars. Two hours later, I’m on the road in the ugliest pickup truck I’ve ever seen. But it was cheap, and the engine was just replaced, so it’s reliable. All it really needs is a new paint job, and I can do that myself.

“So, what’s next?” John asks while we sit down for lunch.

“I really need to get a job.”

“Have you checked out the list Winston gave you?”

“Yeah. It’s not pretty.”

“Let’s see what’s on it.”

I get up to grab the paper off the dresser in my room and hand it to him as I sit back down at the kitchen table.

“Not one thing involving woodwork,” I say regretfully. That’s what I really want to do.

“Listen, I know you don’t want to be a bus boy or a janitor, but it could be a temporary thing. A means to an end, you know? It’d give you a chance to prove you’re a good employee and get a reference for a job you really do want.”

I rub my jaw, scratching at the stubble that’s grown since this morning. “I guess.”

“Plus, it’ll give you some money to buy supplies to start making things. I know you’re dying to build something.”

I am dying to build something. My fingers itch to feel the sandpaper smoothing the woodgrain, to nail pieces together, to carve engravings on the edges, to stain and seal the surface.

“You’re right,” I admit.

I have to start somewhere. So, I spend the rest of the day calling every place on the list. Five out of ten are not hiring at the moment, and I fill out applications online for the other five positions. Then, just for the hell of it, I do a search for carpentry positions and fill out an application for every opening I find in the area. I’d like to say I have zero expectations, but my pulse thrums as I hit submit each and every time. I want to open my own shop, but I can’t do that without any money and without any pieces built. I need to start out working with someone and network.

That night, John goes out with his girlfriend, Reanell. “You sure you don’t want to come with?” he asks, flipping his keys around his finger as he slips his shoes on.

“Nah, you go have fun with your girl. I’m going to go for a run, then watch a movie or something.”

“Okay, don’t wait up.” He winks, and then he’s gone.

And I realize this is the first time I’ve been alone.

In ten years.

I can do anything I want.

Well, maybe not anything.

What I’d love to do is see Anna. She’s going to be at Sunday dinner tomorrow, but I’m dying to see her. I debate on my options. I could go for a run like I was planning, catch up on the latest movies in John’s Netflix queue, make a list of supplies to fix up my truck, or I could call Anna and see what she’s up to. I eye my tennis shoes by the door.

There’s really no decision to make here.

I cross to the kitchen and reach for the phone. John scribbled everyone’s phone number on a piece of paper and put it up on the fridge by the phone. I punch in the numbers and tap my fingers on the counter while it rings. Then, I start to pace the kitchen.

I almost hang up three times before she answers, afraid of her reaction. She doesn’t know it’s me calling, as I’m calling from John’s place, but I don’t have a phone of my own yet.

“Hello?”

I stand still at the sound of her voice. My heart hammers in my chest as I replay her greeting over and over again, searching for the voice of the girl I knew. I open my mouth to respond, but the words get stuck.

“Hellooo?” she repeats with annoyance, as I have yet to respond. “John?”

“Anna,” I breathe. Why did I think this was a good idea? Now that I have her on the phone, I’m not quite sure what to say. You’re all I could think about while I was away. I’ve read your books at least a thousand times. I miss you. I want to see you.

“Wes?” Her voice is quiet, unsure.

“Hey.” I swallow thickly then wet my lips, trying to snap out of it and remember how to form complete sentences.

She gasps. “Wes!” Her voice is louder this time.

I clear my throat. “It’s me.”

“Oh my God! I can’t believe I’m talking to you!”

She laughs, and my eyes burn. It’s been so long since I heard her laugh.

I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to breathe. “I know. Me either. I’m so glad you picked up.”

A beat goes by as I absorb this moment. I’m actually talking to Anna.

“Me, too. Talk to me. How are you?”

I smile even though she can’t see me. “I’m okay, getting settled.”

“Yeah? That’s awesome. What’re you and John up to tonight?”

“Oh, I—John went out with Reanell.”

“What? He ditched you?”

“Oh no, he didn’t ditch me. He’s been lugging me all over the place these past few days. I told him he should go spend some time with his girl.”

“So, what are you doing?”

“That depends on you,” I tell her. Hearing her voice isn’t enough. I need to see her.

“Me?”

“Yeah. Are you busy?” My stomach feels like a pop can exploded, bubbles popping everywhere.

“Um, no?”

I chuckle at the question in her response. “Then, let’s hang out.”

“Okay. Do you want me to come to you?”

“Sure, or I could come to you. Whichever.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

I hang up the phone with a smile. Now, I just need to wait ten minutes without crawling out of my skin.