“I know you don’t want to see them, but this is the least you could do. 6 months until the day. You’re important to me and I want you to be there.”

The two men sat in front of each other, separated by a glass wall. The man in the crisp suit stared intently at the other, a stocky man in plain prisoner’s clothing, fidgeting in the cracked, plastic chair.  
  
“…Yeah, I’ll come.  I don’t dare miss out on the beautiful couple.  I didn’t miss the first…or the second, or third—there was a fourth, right?”

“Hah! I appreciate the vote of confidence, but this is it, Jay.  You’d like her and the kids.”   

“No doubt.” John Bautista always felt uncomfortable they spoke; his body contorting back to its old mannerisms, too familiar for his comfort, his tongue rolling easily over the names of past people and friends and lingo, as if he still yearned for them.  Prison didn’t approve of him when he arrived—it never does, not to newcomers—but it finds ways to change you. 

He ran a hand through his closely cropped hair and smiled weakly, ”Thanks again for coming to visit.  I’ll see you in New York, alright?”

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Occasionally the moon would peak out between the leaves of the trees, leaving spotted bits of light on the hood of his car.  It was a quiet night; warmth resting on the forest air and animals tucked away in the nooks of green. The air smelt like redwoods, and he would miss it when he left the west coast.  There was no one else on the road but him, and he could only see as far as the next twist on the winding path.  He’d have to drive a couple more hours to reach the motel.  After he checked in, he’d grab a nice, warm dinner at a nearby diner and go to sleep.  Or maybe he’d hit up a local bar.  Or lie in bed and watch a documentary until he fell asleep…  
 
The car was quiet and powerful beneath him, a surprising pleasant feel for a used vehicle.  He’d gotten it at at a random dealership in the Bay Area after making sure that he had enough in his bank account—it was satisfying and painful to comb through his belongings, frozen in time after the financial mess right a few years ago, before prison and during his time.  He was lucky that he lost as much money as he did, and no more—it was more than enough, now.  

[i]'I could be on the road forever[/i],' he mused, [i]'I could do that.  After the wedding, though.'[/i]

He hummed to the song on the radio, dipping in and out of static, and continued down the almost nausea inducing road.  The greenery around him became less and less as he neared the city, and he came onto a straight road.  He squinted at a blinking light in the distance, preparing to make any hard turns to avoid drunk motorcyclists.  The light waved around wildly, but didn’t seem to be moving forward, and he quickly flipped his high beams on and off.  

It was a young man, one hand waving a flashlight and the other resting on the handles of a bike.  Jay hesitated, but slowed as he neared the figure.  The boy seemed sullen and unsure what to do with himself—a flat tire? a runaway? Jay was tempted to mind his own business, but it had been an uneventful past week.  Plus, the boy looked like he needed a hand. He pulled onto the side of the road and rolled down the window, ”Hey, you ok? Lookin’ a bit lost there.”