Jason

Two Years Later

Two years in lockup wears on a person.

During my stay, I was allowed to see my daughter once, through a plate-glass window. It was too much for me to bear.  She was sobbing, asking me why we couldn't go home, and I couldn't admit why.  After that I asked them not to bring her around, even though it nearly pushed me over the edge.  I'd lost her, the one person in the world that I forced myself to live for.  I had no rights, according to some.  In the meantime, she was being bounced from one foster home to the next.  When I could get in contact with her social worker, she would tell me where she was, but those phone calls were few and far between.  There were some months that I had no idea where my daughter was, or how she was being treated.

It kept me up night after night. Prison has this way of making you feel like you're nothing but a failure.  That was the truth because I'd failed my daughter when she relied on me for everything.

All I cared about was the heroin.

At times, I felt she was better off in foster care.  Then I thought back on better times.  If was sober, I would be a good father.  There was a short time that I had been before her mother left.  After that I started selling drugs to get us by and then I went right back to using.  It was my only vice, the only thing that eased the stress of being alone, and poor, with a hungry baby.  I was a just a kid.  One that everyone had given up on.

When I first went to prison I had my lawyer attempt to locate her mother, but it was a senseless search.  She was a prostitute, had been gone for years, and I was certain she had no intention of ever coming back to reclaim her daughter. I called my mom for the first time in years.  She wanted to help me, but her husband wouldn't hear of it.  They'd gotten married some time ago, had their own lives, and according to him it didn't include me or my baggage.  That meant my Ava was alone in the world, and that was completely my fault.  I should have been more careful, more focused on giving her a good life, but the drugs seemed to have power over me all their own.

I did my time and got out of jail a couple of months ago.  This is my last chance since my arrest placed a felony on my record.  In California they have a three-strikes rule, and if I get charged again I'll spend the rest of my life behind bars.

My first step has been to get back on track with Ava.  Getting a custody hearing has been a drawn-out process.  So far I've only been allowed monthly supervised visits with Ava.  They tell me I'll get more time with her as long as I continue to make it to my probation meetings on time, attend NA meetings and keep a steady job.

Finding a job has been next to impossible.  Nobody wants to take on an ex-convict.  My sponsor has been great about helping me find interviews, but none of them pan out.  I have a custody hearing with the judge in a week and the outlook is bleak.  If I show up without a job she'll strike the whole thing down.  She hates me as it is.

"I talked you up good."  Turner, my sponsor and best friend, straightens out my collar before flashing me a pathetic smile. "You should get this one, no problem."

I roll my eyes. "That's what you said before."

He shrugs. "This time it's family. My uncle owes me money and I told him I'd let it slide if he gave you the job."

I live in his basement at the moment.  His wife isn't thrilled.  They have a baby on the way, but Turner has reassured her that this is only temporary. He's been telling her that for almost a year, and sometimes, at night, I'll hear them arguing about my presence in the house. I don't blame her for being angry. She doesn't want her child around somebody like me, and if I could, I'd move out now.

The thing is, I have no money and nowhere to go. Turner understands, because he was an addict once.  He got help though, went to night school and got his GED.  Now he has a decent job, a house, and a beautiful wife that he's starting a family with.  My goal, is to be just like him one day.

First, I need to get this job. I have another one, washing dishes and bussing tables at a fancy restaurant in West Hollywood at night.  It pays bare minimum, enough for me to eat so I don't have to leech off of Turner as much.  My boss tells me if I keep at it, he might have me start serving water and pouring wine at tables soon. That would entitle me to a small portion of the waiter's tips for the night, so I'm trying the best I can to prove myself.   My probation officer got me the job.  Gary is decent. He tries as hard as he's supposed to, sometimes even more so. I'm thankful for him.

"Go ahead.  I'll wait here," Turner tells me. "It shouldn't take long."

I just nod.

"Think about Ava."  He pats my shoulder.  "It'll help you relax."

He walks away from me.  I force myself to walk to the door, open it, and step inside.  I start to think about my daughter, about what she might be doing right now.  It's been too long since I've seen her.  I keep a picture of her in my wallet, but it's so old.  She turned ten this year, grew a ton since the last time we saw each other, and looks a lot different too.  I pray that she still remembers the good parts of me when I get to see her again.

"Name?"

I swallow hard, take off my ball cap, and hold it at my waist. "Jason."

The woman behind the desk finally looks up at me and sighs. "Last name?"

"Houser.  I'm here about the job.  I was supposed to talk to Bruce."

She glances at me for a few more moments, before picking up the phone and dialing an extension.  "Sir, a Jason Houser here to see you..." She trails off and listens, before nodding slightly, saying 'yes' and hanging up.

"Well?" I say it anxiously.

"He says the job's been taken already."

My mouth hangs open for a moment. "How? I mean, it can't be."

"That's what the man said," she grunts.  "Have a good day."

"But..."

"Do I need to call the police?"

I shake my head roughly.  "No."

I storm out, making sure to slam the door behind me.  I know what it is.  I'm sure Turner's uncle was fine about giving me the job until a few people told him about the disadvantages of hiring an ex-felon.

Fuck.  It's the same thing every time.

"That was fast." Turner calls from the car.  "How'd it go? When do you start?"

I slowly walk back towards the parked car. "I don't."

"What?" He laughs.  "You're kiddin' me right?"

I shake my head and pull the door open so I can plop down into the passenger seat.  "No."

"Fuck me," he grunts.  "Listen, I'll take care of it."

"Don't bother," I say, pulling on his sleeve as he starts to get out of the car.  "He doesn't want me, and anything you say will get me a week's worth of work before I get fired.  Just forget it.  I'll figure it out."

"He promised me," Turner grunts.   "Just let me talk to him."

"No."

"Man, you have a hearing in a week.  I know you have your pride that you want to protect, but this is for everything.  You need this if you want a shot at getting Ava back.  That dishwashing job isn't going to cut it with that judge."

I shrug.  "I'll talk to my boss at the restaurant.  Maybe he'll give me that promotion we've been talking about.  At least then I can say that I'm a server."

"And if he doesn't?"

"I'll figure that out when the time comes.  Now come on, get me out of here.  I have to be at the restaurant by six-thirty."

He sighs heavily, but doesn't protest furter.  Turner slams on the gas and peels out of the parking lot.  On the way back to his place he keeps muttering that he'll call his uncle and get the situation sorted out, but I barely pay attention.  The truth is, I don't want to work for somebody that never wanted to give me a chance from the beginning.  There's too much that can go wrong. 

I'll grovel at my boss's feet tonight as a latch ditch effort, tell him I won't let him down if he does me this one favor.

At least I hope I won't.