Wesley

The next three emails are replicas of the first three.

Fuck.

I exit out of Gmail in frustration. Rejection after rejection fill my inbox, which leaves me with only a couple of applications unanswered. My scalp prickles with fear, and dread settles in my stomach. What will I do if I can’t find a job?

I do another search for job postings in the area and fill out a few more applications. Every time I fill out the section about having committed a felony, I break out in a cold sweat. But I don’t want to risk lying; it would be easy for them to find by searching my name on the internet.

I sigh and close the lid to the laptop. The clock reads ten a.m. Thanks to Anna, I made a new schedule for myself. Every day starts with a run, bright and early. Then, I search the internet for jobs. After that, I spend a bit of time fixing up my truck. Lunch comes next, followed by playtime in the garage. This has to come last. If I started my day in the garage, I’d never leave.

It’s amazing how much having a simple routine helps ground me. The fact that I just made this up and can change it at any time doesn’t really lessen the effect.

Next up, working on my truck. After consulting the university of YouTube—how did we ever live without YouTube?—on the best ways to paint a rusted piece-of-crap car, I write down the supplies I need for my truck along with a list of pieces of wood and head to Home Depot. That gift card is burning a hole in my pocket. When I realized the Bellamys gave me a thousand dollars, I objected once again, uncomfortable with taking such a large gift, but they wouldn’t take it back, insisting that they wanted to help me get back on my feet. I’m both giddy to spend the money and terrified to have so much money attached to this little plastic card.

I’m looking at lumber when a familiar voice calls my name.

“Wesley, is that you?”

I spin, trying to place the voice in my memory, and see a wiry Asian man with short, spiky black hair, eyes so dark they’re almost black, and tattoos covering every available inch of skin.

“Tae?”

He breaks out into a smile and leans forward to shake my hand and slap my shoulder. “Shit, it is you! You’re finally out! That’s awesome. How are you, man?”

Tae and I were in prison together for about a year before he was released.

“I’m okay.” I smile at him.

Tae was one of the rare good guys inside.

“Awesome! When did you get out?”

“Just last week.”

“I bet you’re pumped. What are you up to?” He motions to my overflowing cart.

“Just getting supplies to fix up my truck and start making some furniture.”

“Nice. I’d love to see what you come up with. I work in a tattoo shop. We could use help fixing our countertops. You up for a job?”

“Yes.” My heart rate kicks up at the possibility of a job.

“Sweet. Let me get your number. And stop by anytime for a tat—free of charge, on me.”

He hands me his phone, and I tap my number in his Contacts. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Hell yes, I do. I’ll never forget the way you had my back in that hellhole.”

I shrug, uncomfortable with the reminder. “It was nothing.”

His wide grin fades, and serious eyes meet mine. “Don’t do that. It wasn’t nothing, and you know it. Thank you.”

I nod.

The memory of Tae getting pulverized by Levi is seared in my memory forever. Levi was an inmate you did not cross, but I couldn’t stand by and watch him pummel Tae just because he was bored.

His faraway gaze makes me think he’s remembering the same thing. With a shake of his head, his easy grin returns. “Well, I gotta run, but let’s grab a beer sometime and catch up.”

“That’d be great.” Really great. I’m running kind of low in the friend department. Not that I was ever overflowing with friends, but still.

My phone buzzes in my hand.

“Now, you have my number, too. Call me whenever.”

“Will do.”

“You said you want a full sleeve, right?” Tae asks me the next day, leaning on the counter in Skin Colored, the tattoo shop where he works.

We texted a bit last night about tattoo ideas. Then, today, his boss asked if I could stop by and give an estimate to do some repairs. His boss turns out to also be his cousin, Jin Lee.

After reviewing the time and cost, I have my first side job.

I’m so happy, I don’t refuse when Tae says he can get started on my tattoo today.

“Yes.”

“Okay, here’s my sketch so far. Tell me if I’m on the right track. You didn’t give me much to go off of; the only thing you said I needed to include was an angel.” He raises his eyebrows in question, but I’m not telling him the inspiration behind it.

“That’s right.”

“And not a sexy one, but like a guardian angel,” he recites my instructions.

I nod.

Anna got me through the hardest moments of prison. Her letters. Her books. She was like my own personal guardian angel. But I can’t exactly get Anna’s face tattooed on my skin. This is the next best thing.

“So, I ran with it, and it turned kind of…religious. Are you religious?”

“Not particularly.”

“I can scratch this and start over if you hate it.”

He hands me his sketchbook with pictures of an arm from different angles. I instantly love it. Most of it is just…different geometric shapes and swirls. But then I see an angel with rays all around it. Rosary beads loop around the back of the upper arm and swirl down the forearm. Clouds are scattered in throughout, and I see a set of wings. The tattoo seems to stretch into the upper chest and words are etched in lines across the shoulder and upper arm. Squinting, I try to read the words. It’s the Our Father.

Tae frowns. “You hate it.”

“No, I love it. Can we start now?” I don’t know why I’m so anxious to have this inked on my skin, but my heart rate kicks up at the thought.

“Really? We can get rid of the prayer if it’s too much.”

I shrug. “I could use all the prayers I can get.”