Wesley

The final rejection from the last application comes through at the end of the week. I want to rage. Scream. Pull out my hair in frustration. Take a hammer and smash in my stupid, ugly truck.

I want to crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

But fuck that.

I have an appointment with Mr. Ross in three weeks, and I need to have a job by then. Anna’s boss has my number and promised to call me for maintenance work around the bookstore, but nothing’s come up yet. I’m not sure doing some repair work at Skin Colored one time counts as being gainfully employed.

Running sounds like a good idea right about now. I can take my frustration out on the sidewalks. At this point, I’ve developed a three-mile route and a five-mile route. Today calls for the five. Maybe I’ll even do it twice. Running the same path every day at the same time, I’ve come to recognize the other runners. There’s this one guy in particular who has been out every time I have. He’s a bit older than me and in great shape. He’s barely out of breath, and he always smiles and nods at me when we pass.

Today, he falls into step with me for a while.

I’m not in the mood to be friendly.

So, when he offers me a friendly, “Hi,” I don’t respond. I just nod and keep pounding the pavement, focusing on my breathing, hoping he’ll either speed up or slow down, so I can be alone with my thoughts.

He doesn’t. He just stays right next to me, our steps syncing up.

“Bad day, huh?”

Here we go. Like I want to tell a total stranger about my problems. I turn my head, ready to tell him to get lost, but his eyes are kind. My retort dies on my lips, and I turn my gaze back to the front.

“Feel like a race?” he asks.

This surprises me. I thought he wanted to talk. Still, I shake my head.

“Come on, you don’t think you can take an old guy like me?” he taunts.

I roll my eyes at this. Like that’s going to work.

“Oh, okay. I see you’re afraid to lose. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And he kicks it up, speeding in front of me with a cocky smile.

For whatever reason, I speed up, too, gaining the lead. I’m not racing him. I’m just…running. Faster than him.

He speeds up, too, and soon, we’re both all-out running, my feet almost kicking my ass as I push myself to go farther, faster. We’re neck and neck. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get ahead of him.

Somehow, we both slow down in front of St. Christine’s, the church in John’s neighborhood. It’s two blocks from John’s house, so I pass it every day on my run. We both laugh as we stop in the parking lot, bent over, hands on knees, panting for breath.

Strangely enough, I feel a lot better than when I started.

“Nice run,” he says, smiling.

“You, too.”

“My name is Neil, by the way.” He offers his hand.

“Wesley.”

We shake.

“Want some water?”

I nod, wondering if he’s parked here.

“Come on. I’ll get you a bottle.”

I follow him through the parking lot to a building behind the church. He opens the door, and I pause, wondering if we’re allowed to be in here.

“Isn’t this the rectory?”

He smiles. “Yep.”

“Oh, um…” I blink.

“I live here.”

I stare at him in confusion. Surely, he’s not a priest. He runs every day. I’ve even seen him run with his shirt off. He’s probably forty to forty-five years old, tops.

He laughs at my bewildered expression. “Haven’t you ever seen a priest before?”

“To be honest, not one like you.”

He sighs, grabbing two bottles of water out of the fridge and handing me one. “Are priests not allowed to run?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. You just don’t look like a priest.”

“What’s a priest supposed to look like?”

I uncap the bottle and gulp down half the contents. “I don’t know. Um, older? Dressed in gowns. Or at least, that neck thing.” I motion to my neck.

He laughs again. “We only wear the gowns during mass. And the collar is optional outside of official duties. The damn thing chokes me, so I opt not to wear it most of the time.”

This is a bit surreal. I can’t believe, out of all the runners out there, I ended up running with a priest, and I’m standing in a rectory. Me. An ex-convict. It makes me nervous, like I might be struck by lightning at any moment for being here.

I take another sip of water and choke.

“Hey, you okay?” Neil says, coming to slap my back.

Clearing my throat, I nod. “Yeah, thanks for the water. I’m going to get going.”

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

I study him, trying to go through my mental inventory of faces. Where would I have met a priest? “Uh, no. Sorry, do I know you?”

“It’s okay. I’m not even sure why I remember you. But I round at various correctional facilities and work with inmates.”

Holy fuck. He recognizes me from prison? And he ran next to me? Invited me into his home? Gave me water?

I put the water back down on the counter. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in here.” I hold up my hands, as if to show him I’m not stealing anything and start backing out of the kitchen.

“Relax, Wesley.” He chuckles. “You should see yourself. I’m not afraid of you. Give me a bit of credit, okay? You’re fine. Please don’t go. Unless I’m keeping you from something?”

I nod and try to calm my nerves, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my running shorts.

“Honestly, I knew you didn’t recognize me when you first started running. I wanted to say hi somehow but didn’t want to spook you. Today, when you looked so upset, I wanted to try to help you, though it didn’t seem like you wanted to talk. I thought running might help.”

So, he challenged me to a race. Taunted me into it actually. Is taunting priestly?

“You do feel better, don’t you?” He smirks.

I…I do feel better.

“Yeah, I do.”

“But the other thing that really helps is talking. I’m a pretty good listener if you ever want to talk.”

“But I’m not Catholic.”

He smiles. “That’s okay. You don’t have to be Catholic to talk to me. I’m a priest”—his shoulders bounce—“but I’m also just a guy.”

Huh. He does act pretty…normal.

“I don’t always go around, telling people this, but my brother was in prison for a really long time. Getting out, transitioning to life on the outside—it was tough for him. He ended up committing suicide. So, I’ve made it my life’s mission to help inmates while in prison and once out, too.”

Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. My stomach churns at what he must’ve gone through.

“I’m sorry about your brother.”

He nods, a sad smile on his face. “Me, too.” He opens his fridge again and takes out a carton of eggs. “You hungry? Want some breakfast?”

And, somehow, over eggs, bacon, and toast, I tell my life story to Neil, the priest who doesn’t act like a priest at all.

“Have you considered calling the guy you worked with at Habitat for Humanity?”

“Eddie Banks? I checked online to see if Banks Carpentry was hiring, but he isn’t.”

“No, I don’t mean checking online. You need to go there, look him in the eye, and talk to him. Tell him you’re looking for work or for a recommendation. Ask him for his help.”

I consider this. I’m not sure I want to put Eddie on the spot like that. “I don’t know.”

“What do you have to lose? Just be honest with him. Tell him up-front about prison. Ask him to give you a second chance.”

He’s right. What do I have to lose? Nothing. If he says no, I’m no worse off than I am now.

“Thanks, um, Father.”

He throws his napkin at me and rolls his eyes. “Please. Call me Neil. I feel so old when people call me Father.”

I smile. “Okay. Thanks for breakfast. I think I will go see Eddie.”

“Attaboy.” He walks me to the door. “I expect a full report tomorrow.”

“See you then.”

“Wait, one more thing.” He fumbles with a jacket hanging behind the door and retrieves a business card. He grabs a pen from the foyer table and writes on the back. “Here’s my cell number. If you ever need anything, please call me.”

I take the card. “Thanks.”

So, I don’t have a job just yet. But I have two new friends. One is an ex-con. One is a priest.

Six hours later, I have a job, too, when Eddie smiles and slaps me on the back and says, “I need a hard worker just like you used to be, Mr. Scott. Promise me no drugs, no funny business, and you’ve got a job at Banks Carpentry.”

His words make me so happy. A heavy weight has been lifted from my chest, and thank God I’m sitting; otherwise, I might just ooze to the ground with relief.

I meet his brown eyes and promise him, “No problem. You can give me random drug tests or whatever you want. But I promise, I never want to go back to prison again. I just want a chance to prove myself.”

“Well, kid, you got it. Be here Monday at nine a.m. sharp.”

“Thank you.”

I beam the whole way home.