When I’m in the forest, I strip off my sweat suit and lie back for a while, just looking up at the evergreens. Sooke is so far from the small city. I’m surrounded by the familiar smell of Christmas and rot and rain.

I’d love to say there’s a happy ending like in some dumbass movie. Dean Black comes driving down in his Trans Am, head out the window, bellowing, We are the Champions. Justine sends down a helicopter, and I’m whisked away to meet her famous father on the island of Crete. Everly is waiting in a chauffeured limousine.

But it’s just me leaving the forest and walking down dark gravel roads until I reach a construction site. There’s the skeleton frames of new houses and the smell of concrete. The sign’s already up. COMING SOON: THE CHANTICLER MANOR. Chanticler Manor! Fuck off, this is the wilderness.

Down by the soon to be cul-de-sac, there’s a dirt road full of roaches and Bacardi bottles. From the dirt road, I can see a paved road stretching along, bordered by evergreens, it leads down to the gray valley of the highway. The dress is too tight along my thighs; I rip it with my hands so I can run faster if I need to ’cause I might. I don’t even know where I’m going. I’m just heading along the road, hitchhiking. Cars pass; it starts to rain. A beat-up car passes me and I hear stoned laughter, the screams of AC/DC. If Ivy Mercer was here she’d write a poem about the mist rising over the mountains, the hopeful road that opens up before me, but I don’t notice the beautiful things. I stare at the beater and see a faint face looking back at me. I can barely see her face. She’s hidden by steam on the glass. Maybe steam from her boyfriend’s breath, maybe from pot smoke, maybe the constant fog. That girl in the backseat of the beater, I wonder if she’s bored and restless, stuck in this small town, hating the slow, stoned laughter and the same rock song on the radio. I hope she caught a glimpse of me through the steam. Even if she only saw my tear widen and my legs kick off the ground, she might think I know where I’m going. She might think I’ve found a way.

P.S. Insights, Interviews & More…

About the author

2 Meet Rebecca Godfrey

About the book

3 Writing The Torn Skirt

8 A Conversation with Rebecca Godfrey

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15 Author’s Picks: Some Other Heroines

18 Further Reading

About the author

Meet Rebecca Godfrey