It wasn’t the promise everything would be okay I wanted, but my parents had never lied to me before, so I didn’t expect them to start now. They knew the same truth I did, no matter how much I didn’t want to admit it.
“Thank you.” I squeezed Dad’s hand, willing him to look at me, but the slight shaking of his shoulders told me he couldn’t. For the first time in my life, my drive, goals, dreams, and ambition wouldn’t be enough.
My career was over.
Stocks
IAPPLIED FOR every job I could. Security guard, dishwasher, dog walker, delivery driver, I wasn’t picky. Unfortunately, employers were. Every application I completed asked about prior convictions. Refusing to lie, I gave minimal information and hoped for the best. More than a week of dropping resumes passed before I finally got called in for an interview at a six-store strip mall. Dressing in a dark pair of slacks and a button up, long-sleeved shirt, I arrived fifteen minutes early to sit in the waiting room until ten minutes after the scheduled time. Either someone was busy, or they were trying to make a point about how little they valued my time.
“Mr. Sinclaire, Mr. Rhodes will see you now,” the receptionist finally said, gesturing for me to stand and follow her. She led me down a gray hall and into a dated office full of well-used furniture. A portly man with a receding hairline sat behind the desk. He wore an off-the rack department store suit with a red tie. Standing, he shook my hand before waving me toward the uncomfortable folding chair in front of his desk.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Sinclaire,” he said as I sat.
“Gage, please,” I corrected, using my given name since my road name would probably be frowned upon. “Thank you, sir. Nice to meet you, too.”
With pleasantries out of the way, he picked up my printed resume and got right down to business. “You were in the Marines?” he asked.
“Yes sir.”
“I have a nephew in the Marines. Riley Rhodes. Stationed out of Camp Pendleton. I can’t remember his rank… some sort of sergeant. You know him?”
I shook my head. “No sir. I was stationed out of Quantico.”
“You sure you don’t know him?” Mr. Rhodes asked, eyeing me suspiciously. “Doesn’t sound familiar at all?”
There were about 186,000 active duty Marines stationed out of twenty-one bases, and this wasn’t the first time someone couldn’t believe I didn’t know their serving relative. I didn’t understand that thought process at all, but wasn’t about to tell a potential employer he was an idiot. “No sir.”
Finally letting it go, he fired off a few more service related questions at me, asking what sort of work I’d done and the types of jobs I’d enjoyed most. Finally, he leaned back and steepled his fingers. “You wanted to be a lifer? Why’d you get out?”
This was the part of the interview I’d been dreading. “Injury.”
He perked up. “What sort of injury?”
“Lost my right leg from the knee down. It’s a prosthetic now.”
Leaning forward so he could see my legs, he said, “You’re kiddin’ me.”
Did he really expect me to show it to him? “No, sir.”
Yep. He wanted to ask to see it. I could practically see the question sitting on his tongue as he barely restrained himself and leaned back. “Oh. Right. I noticed you limped a little when you came in. Makes sense now.”
No he hadn’t seen me limp, because I would gnaw off the inside of my cheek to distract myself from pain before I allowed myself that luxury. I didn’t limp. I worked diligently to make sure I didn’t, and there was no way some failing strip mall manager had noticed my prosthetic leg.
“Will…,” he gestured at my legs because the bastard still didn’t know which one it was, “your condition keep you from being able to do the job?”
The job in question was for a night security guard. Duties included sitting on my ass in an office all night while I monitored cameras and tried not to fall asleep from boredom. Due to insurance requirements, any and all suspicious activity was to be reported directly to the police and monitored from the office. If I got the job, my only physical activity would come from the occasional bathroom break so I didn’t piss myself. “No, sir. This seems like the perfect position for me.”
He nodded and dropped his gaze back to my resume. “And this conviction on your record… Can you tell me what happened?”
Yet another detail I didn’t want to discuss. “A misunderstanding that resulted in the destruction of private property. I’ve paid my debt.”
He eyed me, waiting for me to continue, but that was all I had to say on the matter. Any additional information would only obliterate my chances of getting hired. As a country, we support our vets… at least until we’re called upon to hire one suffering from PTSD. No employer wants that kind of liability on their shoulders, regardless of how big their Veteran’s Day sale was.
After confirming that I’d be okay with the graveyard hours, Mr. Rhodes stood, prompting me to do the same. “I’ve got a few other candidates to interview, but I’ll be in touch if we decide to schedule a second interview.” His tone didn’t sound promising, and I wouldn’t be holding my breath.
With nothing to lose, I shook his hand, looked him in the eye, and went for broke. “I know I have a record, but I promise you won’t find a harder worker. I’ll show up on time, and I won’t call in unless I’m on my death bed. I need to work, sir. If you offer me this job, I won’t let you down.”
Nodding, he pulled his hand away. “I’ll take that into consideration.”
