Hope Rides Alone

I see your face in mine.

To most people, it would be a comfort to see their father staring back at them; for me, it's an empty reminder of your absence. Most people would treat the resemblance like a living photograph, taking in hearty moments of comfort related to knowing that one day, they will look like that loved one. Just like them. When I see your face, my finger under my nose to substitute your well-loved mustache.. I feel cold.

No particular reason; just cold.

In the decade that you've been elsewhere, deserting your lone daughter at a gas station out on Highway 180, I have grown much taller. I was 12; I'm 22 – you can count. Taller, more womanlike. All the same, I look like you. The same still blue eyes that watches everyone with contempt, the same even tone of voice that commits to announcing that dislike for humanity. I only lack your scars and missing finger.

I look in to my eyes at night, sometimes, imagining that you can see me through my mirror with them. I think of you looking through, to your face, framed with messy locks. What must you think? I can never imagine your exact emotion.

I'll always remember that day, the day at the gas station. I went in to a bathroom, and you went off to Arizona without me. When a cop came for gas, and spotted me, I told him the fake name you gave me. "Where are you from, little doll?" "Vancouver; the one in Canada." "You're a long ways away from home. Where's your folks, kiddo?"

I prolly said Arizona. Maybe you didn't actually go to Arizona, just like my name wasn't really Valerie.

The cop and I stood out in the oppressive sun for a good hour; I bullshitted my way out of going back to Mom's. I didn't even know how to explain who she was, without telling Mr. Cop what my real name was.

The rest of the day is vague. For me, the real memory is a mental snapshot of Mr. Cop and I under the sun, me shading my eyes, and he with a notepad. Somewhere, you are in this memory, driving away to some destination unknown.

Hope rides alone.

I'm riding this stolen Volvo to Arizona, to haunt any bars I see. Just to see if I see my reflection upon the face of a strange bar patron. A lonely soul with a faded face and a jaded heart: just like me. We'll see.