Inspired by Thoroughfare by Ethel Cain.

In Texas somewhere, a truck was speeding down the thoroughfare in search of something or someone, ploughing past families in the summer sun and that missing poster I kept seeing - some vanished teenage girl who looked just barely older than me. I was standing on the other side of the route, walking with nowhere to go. There was nothing to do but walk, and the further, the better - like everyone there, I was running from something. I’d accepted my position - there would be no return and no home to fall back on. The ardent midday sun beat down on the roads, and suddenly, the cars roaring past were infuriating; I had a pistol in my pocket and wanted a reason to need it. Maybe I was prone to self-destruction, maybe I should’ve prayed harder. But I had mostly forsaken prayer back then. 

I figured hitchhiking might not be a terrible idea - imagined crossing the state border and truly feeling free. I could’ve made it to California one day. I kept walking. I wondered what was so special about the West, other than it getting me out of the South. I didn’t think it mattered where I was, to me or to God. I thought he’d decided I’m not worth saving no matter where I went. That’s when you appeared, my hand outstretched toward the road as your truck came to a stop. I didn’t trust anybody, and you were no exception, but at least your truck beat walking. I wanted to go with you, too, just because of the smile on your face when you said: “Hey, do you wanna see the West with me?”. You looked beautiful; you noticed my weapon immediately; you didn’t care. You were in control. 

You had everything I didn’t, including a destination in mind. You believed you’d find love; maybe you did. You told me why, and it all felt so real. You fell in love with America as a kid, you wanted to see it all. Chasing “true love”, the love that your father had for your mother. You believed that it had to be out there somewhere - that’s what you told me. I needed to believe it too. The rest of my life may well be resigned to getting into your truck - because I haven’t yet left, have I? 

Long days and nights blurred, highway after highway spent lost in your haze. Your desire for love seemed to get lost along the way; somewhere in the small-town diners, you forgot to look for her and stared only at me. I stared back at you, looking away when every diner had that same missing poster on the noticeboard. Why was she following me? This is what I wanted. We found heaven and time, and I found safety in your arms because, for the first time since I was a child, I saw a man who wasn’t angry. Eventually, I couldn’t see anything else. At first, I didn’t let myself believe that you loved me because I knew we were out here searching for something or someone else. Yet you held my face gently, cradled my eyes wide and red, fed me lies and an escape from reality. 

Eventually, I’d have to believe you loved me because the thought of the truth would be too much to bear. I’ll tell you the story where you’re still the good guy, until it’s the only one I remember. You knew I was running away from something; you could see vulnerability in my eyes. I took everything you gave me because it distracted me from everything I’d left behind, and you must’ve figured that out. Known that I could be happy blacking out and feeling nothing at all. It might have all been worth it if you’d have stared in my eyes and said: “You might not be my love, but baby, I doubt it.” I don’t remember it clearly now, what was real and what was a drug-addled hallucination, but maybe you did say that. That could be enough. I won’t wake up for hours now, for the better. I don’t want to stumble on that missing poster and realise I recognise her, to stare into the photo and find it resembling a mirror.