“It’s true, Frank. My mother’s gone, and I can’t bring her back. When the police found her in the motel room in Phoenix, she was already cold and stiff. I had run away when she sold the house…I knew all that money would go in her veins. They found me sleeping in a park. And I was angry…so angry.” Frank winced with the imagery. “I slept in the police station the night they picked me up. The next day they took me to a foster home. I stayed there awhile. Then I was given to another family and then another. I was a handful…I had some things to work out.”
Frank was looking down at his hands. He was rubbing a scar across the middle knuckle of his right hand. He had busted it on the head of another inmate in a fight over cigarettes.
Another child I left damaged. Another child I left to the vagaries of the world.
“But through all of that, Frank, I thought of you. I never knew my real father. I only saw a couple of old torn and stained photos. But you, Frank, showed me, I guess, man things. How to be a man, I suppose. You can’t protect people from the world…all you can do is help prepare them. Teach them. And you did teach me.”
“What did I teach you?”
“Welding, for one. And more. Demeanor. The drive to succeed, to provide. To care for others.”
“You’re a welder?” He looked at him down and then up. He didn’t look like a welder. His hands weren’t scarred and pitted. His clothes were clean and expensive.
“I was. Now I own a welding company.” He reached into his jacket pocket. Pulled out a business card. Slid it over to him, next to the family photo.
Perry Smith
Owner and CEO
Royal Welding
Phoenix, Arizona
He read it over twice, then fingered the raised plum letters. He put the card down in front of him and looked away. His eyes went across a candy machine, but he wasn’t really looking at it. He felt familiar feelings, though they were far away and gray. A distant sunrise. He felt the memories. Picked them up and examined them. The years. The pain. The loss. That’s really what churned inside him. All that I’ve lost. My life is wreckage…rusted red hulks on the side of a highway. Grass growing through the floorboards.
He felt a hot lump in his throat. His eyes burned.
“Frank, I owe my success to you.” He heard those words across a great distance.
And then he was standing on the edge of a canyon. One promontory, looking down into the vastness. Across the canyon, he could just make out the many images of his former selves. He could see Sacramento Frank, dressed in a black suit. That Frank was innocent and ignorant, and didn’t know the betrayal in his own home. On another foreland he saw Philly Frank, a skinny, shaking junkie. Philly Frank was out of control. A slave to a white, powdery master.
And then he saw Arizona Frank. Hard-working. More worldly. Caring for a woman and her son. Building a new future and helping others. He liked Arizona Frank, though he knew that man was to be short-lived…he had a cancer he couldn’t see.
Frank turned again to Perry.
“You don’t have to…” Frank began.
“Thank you? I really do feel gratitude. You taught me how to weld. You showed me how you did business. How to work with people. You were, for those years, a father and mentor. That’s what I want to thank you for. But I am also thankful for the role model you are…or were.” He paused for a second. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”
“No, I understand. Not much of a role model wearing numbers.”
“Well…but yeah, I was a young boy who had only lived in homeless shelters and on the streets. Mom was too busy scoring junk to give me much, though I know she loved me and tried her best.”
“She did try.”
“Believe me, I worked through all that. I have seen what addictions can do. Addictions of all kinds bring people down. Even you.” Again, leveled eyes. “I also know that you can still make a difference, if your mind and heart are in the right place. Just the time we spent together, with you giving me a trade, showing me your books…it gave me something…a set of skills that when I decided to, I could build on. And I did, but that was up to me.”
“You’ve done very well.”
“I’m doing okay. I owe a lot of that to you, and I do my best to share it out to others, like you did.”
“Share what?”
“That’s why I’m here. I’m not just here to thank you. I’m here to talk to you and consider you. Evaluate you. I always remembered how you used to take people on parole…people in need…and you gave them a chance. Many didn’t want it…a few failed…but you gave them a shot. And several people succeeded. I’ve since met a few people who went through your program. It kept them on the outside. It made all the difference in their lives.” He looked directly into Frank’s eyes. “I’m doing the same now. I have worked with parolees, and I have recently expanded into a work-release program back in Phoenix.”
“Work release?” It came together for him. “Are you here to talk about a work release?” The possibilities began moving quickly through his thoughts.
“Not here to talk…here to offer. I’ve spoken with the warden. My program is in Phoenix…it was really the one you started all those years ago. I have never taken someone from outside Arizona, but I have a friend who knows your warden, and it’s an offer he will accept based on the success of my program. You haven’t done good time, Frank,” he said, and Frank was surprised by his directness, “and you still have more than five years left on your sentence. But I pulled a few strings, and you can be in Phoenix in a few weeks…if you’re willing, and if you follow the strict guidelines. Drug tests, regular check-ins, et cetera. You’d be required to fly back to Pennsylvania once a year to be examined and interviewed.”
There was an echo in his mind. Far off. A voice across the ravine. Not from a former Frank, but from another promontory, this time a young boy he left behind over a decade ago. Work release? Those words bounced around the walls of his canyon. It hit edges and careened into others. It slowly moved closer. Building momentum. Work release. Release! He heard the word, and at first it meant nothing to him. A fantasy word. Like unicorn or Minotaur. Didn’t exist. A fable. A serpent in the Garden, or gods assembled on a mountaintop.
And then it came to him in a furious rush. This young man, once a skinny little boy with scruffy curls, was here to help him leave this cage. This pit. Leave the fear and the danger and the torturous aloneness. Leave behind the stabbings. Leave behind the rapes. Leave behind the constant hyper-vigilance. The clank of metal bars. The rattle of cuffs. The beatings from brutal guards. The every day, every way, fear and hate and violence and pain and agony and suffering that was prison…was the point of prison…could be behind him. He could see this prison from the outside, more than five years early.
And then those thoughts were pushed away by just one: the boy had become the man Frank was not, though perhaps once was. The young man had built a full, complete life and was able to help others unselfishly. Offer gratitude with real actions. Exemplify goodness, not just talk of it. He was tall now, taller than Frank. His hair was trimmed short and neat. His clothes were well-pressed and obviously tailored. The watch. The shoes. The crease in his trousers. This man in front of him was facing a less-than-man. Subhuman. An angry, bitter, aggressive man. A man so bad, so dangerous, he had to be locked in a cage with other animals. Society had to be protected from him. Two men from other worlds. Two men as distant as continents.
And then tears came. Frank’s face fell into his hands, and scalding teardrops streamed out of his eyes. His shoulders humped. The years of tears held inside all came out furiously. He bawled openly. He didn’t care about the others in this room. He knew it would get back. He knew he might catch hell for it. He didn’t care. It all came out of him. And…then…he felt a warm hand touch his shoulder.
That human contact. That love. That compassion. It took his strength, and he bawled harder. He gave way to the insecure child inside of him and let it all out.
“It’s
okay, Frank…” but the voice was far away. He was lost in his gut wrenching.
Perry didn’t know it, but those tears were shed for more than just the thought of release from prison. They were tears for Shelly. The boys and little Ruth. They were for his lost friends. Tony. Trenton. They were for his lost love, Mariah. They were for the teenager he left behind when he was taken to prison. And they were for the man who was now offering to take him out.
Perry wouldn’t know all this, of course. He didn’t know how many tears had been held inside. All the self-pity. All the self-loathing. All the anguish. All the fear. It all came out of him, sitting in the cheap plastic chair, the half-finished Diet Coke in front of him. He couldn’t have known.
Having never been in prison, Perry didn’t know that prisoners sit alone in their cells, watching the television of their mind showing the wreckage they left behind. All they had lost. All they would never have again. Video of lost loves. Their victims. Their crime. Their children. The damage done by their own hands. That was the worst aspect of prison…what you were forced to live with every day. Prison was the realization of every mistake you had made in your life.
Frank cried until he was empty. A hollow vessel. He wanted to be filled again. He wanted to fill himself with love again. He wanted friendship. He wanted to be a man again. He dried his eyes and wiped his hands on his denims.
“I can help you, Perry. I can help you…” Frank’s voice cracked, but he was determined to tell him.
“I know you can, Frank.”
“I mean, you know…I had a head for business…always did…”
“Yes, you did.”
“And I don’t mind using a torch again. I liked working with pipe and…”
“It’s okay…I know that…you don’t have to sell yourself…”
“But I want you to know, I can make a difference for you…”
“Yes, I know you can. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you could.”
He looked into his eyes again. He saw kindness and compassion. He knew his own eyes were red and swollen.
For the first time in over a decade, Frank took a cleansing breath and felt purified by it. He once again took in what was around him. Perry’s kindness. The hell of state prison. His own shattered past. The images of his children, lost and broken without him. He breathed them in and let out the hate within. Let out the indignations and anger. Let out the violence.
For the first time today, he smiled at Perry. A real smile, not a smirk. “Perry, I’m very proud of you for all that you’ve done.” He stuck out his hand to him. Perry took it, and they shook firmly.
Frank saw the small boy inside the man in front of him. Hi, mister. I’m Perry. What’s your name? He knew that Perry hadn’t yet faced many of the challenges he had. Maybe he would face fewer. Maybe more. Life dealt everybody a different hand. Yet Perry had already faced obstacles he couldn’t imagine. Frank had succumbed to his challenges. Had failed at critical moments. So perhaps he could learn again from this young man who had overcome his own struggles and conquered them, at least so far. They could teach each other. He could help him prepare for the buffeting winds of future challenges and stumbles, and Perry could help him restore optimism.
He resolved to do those things. To take those steps. To rebuild a relationship and give Perry all he had to give.
We, each of us, hold a lantern, a guiding light, for those around us. A docent in troubled times and weary trails, if we’re so inclined. Or we embrace the darkness and snuff out hope and love in the greedy quests of life. At varying times, each of us can be light or dark, and it is in the degrees of each that our lives are measured. Often perception defines and distinguishes the differences. Frank chose in that moment to follow Perry’s bright light, which had cast rays into the darkest of midnights. He would let that light warm him and chase the darkness from his soul. He would reflect that light and use it to light a new fire within himself. He hoped the blackness, the fearful, turgid pit inside him, would be banished by this flame.
They were family, after all.
EPILOGUE
As he pulled open the door he saw Tony sitting at a booth. Tony’s eyes came up as he entered. Their eyes met and unmet several times as he walked toward him. Tony didn’t stand up.
“Hey Tony,” he said, standing next to the table for a moment.
“Hi, Frank.” He was there for a moment, and then Frank’s hand came forward. Tony eyed the open hand, then put his own hand out. Frank felt it was clammy. His own wasn’t. They shook briefly.
He slid into the booth and said sorry as his work boot kicked Tony’s loafer.
“No worries.”
They sat and eyed each other for a moment. Frank saw that his old friend was completely bald on top, and had gained about twenty pounds since the last time he saw him. Tony eyed the heavy black tattoos on Frank’s hands and forearms. Frank knew what he was thinking and answered him. “Yeah, I got these inside.”
“I wasn’t…”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” There was no reassurance on his face. “Everybody knows I was inside. Ten years inside changes you. Tats are just part of the life. If you don’t fit in, you’re going to stand out.” Frank knew this talk was making Tony nervous, so he tried to lighten the conversation. “Thank you for meeting me, Tony.”
Tony smiled in response, but Frank wasn’t smiling. He could feel Frank’s presence, and it was different than the man he knew before. He felt tension. He could feel the danger in his old best friend. Though lean, he seemed larger than he had before. He had an intimidating air. “Yeah, no problem.”
“I thought it would be good for us to bury the hatchet, so to speak. We were best friends for decades, after all.”
The young blonde waitress walked up to them, and both of their faces turned up to her. “Are you guys ready to order?” Both looked at each other. “Do you need a couple minutes?”
“I haven’t eaten here for probably twenty years.” Frank’s tone was almost apologetic. He picked up the menu. Alonzo’s Ham & Eggs. “They still offer the same things as before?” he asked Tony.
“Yeah, I think so.” He too opened the menu.
“I’ll give you guys a second.” She rolled her eyes as she walked away.
“Funny, you and I both grew up in this neighborhood,” Frank began, still eyeing the menu. He saw Tony putting on reading glasses. “But honestly I can’t remember eating here, though I know I did.”
“Yeah, I know we did a couple times. Just so long ago…”
Frank folded the menu and put it down. “This Fruitridge area has gone to shit, hasn’t it?”
Tony chuckled. “Yeah, it’s all gangs and criminals now.” He saw Frank look up at him. “Sorry, that’s not…” There was silence for a moment.
“When we grew up in this area,” Frank continued, letting Tony off the hook, “it was old families. Now it’s the ghetto.”
The waitress returned. “You guys ready?” She couldn’t hide her impatience.
Frank looked up at her and didn’t hide that he was looking at her body as he spoke to her. “I’ll have two eggs, sunnyside up, bacon, coffee, black.” She ignored his leer.
She turned her eyes to Tony. “I’ll have the Denver omelet. And OJ.”
She took their menus and walked away. Frank watched her ass all the way to the counter.
“So how did you find me, Frank?”
“Well, I actually saw your profile online. Then I asked around, and Robert Prince from high school had your number.”
“Ah.”
“I was surprised to see you back in Sacramento.”
“Well, it’s home. Never really liked LA.” They both accepted their drinks. “After me and Shelly split…” Their eyes met. “I decided I’d had enough of the traffic and smog. I’m glad I came back…good to be home.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Familiar.”
“Yeah, that’s it.” Tony smiled at him. “All my life’s memories are here.”
/> “All the good ones anyway, right?”
“Ex-actly!” And Tony pointed his finger at him. “You and I went to high school here. We partied here. We became men here.”
Frank blew on his coffee and then sipped. “Yeah. I remember how we used to ride our bikes in the summer. All day. Shoot BB guns and throw dirt clods. It was such a different city back then.”
Tony smiled broadly, even though Frank didn’t. “Those were good times. Great time to grow up here.”
“Yeah. Probably not the same anymore.”
“Yeah, probably not.”
“And, of course, your friend Red is here, and his uncle is still the chief of police.”
Tony looked up from his OJ. He again smiled nervously, and this time Frank smiled back at him. He read it as friendly sarcasm.
“So how about you, Frank. What brought you up here?”
“Well, I’m living in Phoenix. Welding again. Parole ended a couple months ago. So I thought I’d celebrate my freedom and take a little road trip.”
“Just to Sac?”
“Well, I started by going to Las Vegas. Then San Diego. Finishing up here.”
“Seeing family while you’re here?”
“Nah, nobody left. Saw a couple friends. Visited my mother’s grave. That’s about it.”
“I’m sorry for your loss…I always liked your mom.”
“No worries…” Both men leaned back as the waitress slid their plates in front of them. “She died some time ago.” And then Frank remembered seeing her at the home. Telling her he couldn’t afford her private care any longer. She had wilted in that public home. Sharing a room with five other ladies, the stench of urine. He poured ketchup on his eggs, then broke one of the yolks.
“How about you? Mom and Dad still doing okay?”
Tony finished chewing a bite. “Yeah, both are well, but of course getting up there. Dad is eighty-three now. Mom turns eighty next month. Living on 27th Avenue still.”
The Juke (Changes Book 2) Page 21