I Know Your Face

She showed up on my doorstep before noon in pigtails. A girl, a little too old for pigtails. Her arms were empty of anything she could wish to sell me and a faint touch of eyeliner had smeared underneath her eyelashes. Most definitely too old for pigtails but still terribly young. I leaned against the door frame with a light smile.

“May I help you?”

She just stared.

Through silence, I figured out who she was. She was born on August 2nd and was every bit of seventeen now. I looked around the street for any sign of a parked car sitting nearby, but I didn’t see any. She had to live at least an hour away from here, if even that close, and yet she had wandered to my doorstep, and I didn’t have the courage to ask her why. The dogs barking behind me, eager to smell the kid on the step. She jumped back and began saying “umm, umm,” a few times until her name finally stumbled out.

“Audrey. I’m Audrey. Are you Ms. Calloway?”

I looked at her, certain of who she was and wishing I could close the door and go back to bed; start the day all over again and make some phone calls I should have made years ago.

“You’re Walker,” I said, laughing a little at my trip of words, which no doubt confused her. “You’re a Walker, I mean,” I repeated. “You’re Nathan’s child.”

I had never even seen a picture of her before, but she looked strangely how I had remembered. I had dreamt about this child for years, pretending as if she hadn’t aged but remained three years old forever.

She pulled something from her back pocket and handed it to me. Old, folded in half and bent on the corners, as if it had been lying around in no place particular all its life. I took it from her and held it a bit before glancing at it. It was a photo of me in a black prom dress standing in a plush ivory living room. I only vaguely remembered the room or the dress, but sure enough, it was me. Seventeen maybe, a girl; young, innocent, ripe. I held the picture up, not to my face, but to hers, as if comparing the values and perspectives to the real thing. I wondered how long this picture had been hers and had she held it all these years as a mirror of herself, pretending to be the I in the picture?

“Can we talk?” she asked.

“What are you doing way out here?”

“You know who I am?”

“Should I not?” I asked. Her eyes widen and she let a foot fall back a step below.

“No, I don’t live around here,” she mumbled.

“What is it? About an hour?”

“Two hours by bus,” she said. “But I needed to talk to you.” She spoke with the same firmness I used to give Nathan when I thought he might not be listening.

“Okay. Well, let’s drive why don’t we? I’ve got plenty of time to talk.”

The first lie I told her was that I had a meeting in L.A., so she’d just have to come with me—my way of driving her home. The second lie I told her was that I had talked to her Dad recently.

“He seems to be doing well,” I mumbled, glancing over to see if she was buying it.

“You like music?” I asked after a few blocks. I glanced over at her a few times while fumbling buttons on the dashboard and changing the radio dial, which I rarely did. I waited for her to say something and then realized how stupid it was to ask someone did they like music. I let the dial sit on a couple stations for a few moments; she never said anything, so I kept turning.

“Can you turn the air off please?” she finally asked. Without looking at her, I diverted my attention to the temperature controllers and turned the dial to the lowest notch.

“Off, please,” she repeated in a low but stern voice. I quickly snapped the radio and the air dial off and focused my eyes on the road.

“Well Audrey, I’m not exactly sure how you managed to get my address or how by any means possible you got yourself way out here, but hadn’t you better get to what you wanted to talk to me about, huh?” We turned onto the expressway.

“I didn’t really have anything to say. I just wanted to see you.”

“See me,” I repeated. “Well there’s a start.”

“You don’t look as old as my Dad,” she said fumbling with the zipper of her hoody, which made a scratching sound as she ran it up and down the grooves.

“Well, he has a few months on me, but we’re not that far apart. I guess I just age well.” I laughed a little to myself and took a quick glance in the rear-view mirror.

“Yeah, well, I hope I inherit that.”

Silence.

“So what brings you this far out? And on a weekday. You’re not out of school yet are you?”

“I’m dropping out.”

“Dropping out, huh?” I repeated. “Well that’s a bold move. What are you going to do? Where will you go?”

“I don’t now yet. Boston, New York, Florida.”

“That’s nice,” I said, though I didn’t think so. “What’s making you leave? You and your Dad having problems?” I peeked over just in time to see her staring at me.

“Why would you automatically think that something is wrong?” she snapped.

“I don’t,” I retorted. “It was just a question.”

I could hear her breathing heavily.

“I don’t like school anymore,” she admitted, listing all the reasons why. She began whining about how stupid school was and that there wasn’t anything Mr. Barnes could teach her in calculus that she would ever again use in life.

“I wish I could just paint all day,” she sputtered.

“You paint?”

She shrugged.

“And you get good grades, right?” I asked.

“Why? What did my dad tell you?”

“Nothing, why?”

“Well, I mean,” she shuffled in her seat, “don’t you guys talk about me?”

“Sure we do,” I replied quickly. And that was the third lie I told her.

“So do you have a husband now?”

“Now?” I repeated. “I’ve had a husband for fourteen years, honey. Does your dad a wife or a girlfriend?”

“No. I don’t know. We don’t talk about stuff like that.”

“Well what do you talk about?”

“Stuff, when we talk.”

“Well when was the last time you talked?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in two weeks,” she mumbled. “I haven’t been home in almost three.”

“Well I’m sure he’s very worried about you.” I tried to keep my voice calm and not sound panicked, ready to immediately pick up my phone and alert the police in case they’ve been looking for her. I try to be cool, as if I’ve gained her trust and the important thing now is not to break it.

“Maybe you should call,” I hinted, pulling off Interstate 10 a few exits before the city.

“He’s probably not worried,” she said.

“Of course he is. He doesn’t know where you are. Any parent would be worried sick.” “Yeah, well if he’s worried I’m sure he’s thought of all the obvious places I could be. Friend’s houses, crashing on sofas.. If he’s looking for me at all, he’s called everyone I could possibly be with and he knows, if I’m not there then there’s no other place that I would be.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, slowing down at a stoplight before if even began to turn yellow.

“Than with you.”

I pulled over next to McClure Playground and parked the car. My hands could barely rest on the steering wheel without trembling. When I turned to look at her, I found her staring at the park. I could see her reflection in the window, her eyes like glossy film in the ghostly distance. I stared above her gaze- through the fence and over the benches, into the playground, where new moms chased their bouncing toddlers with wide smiles. The laughs, the freshness of the air, it all crept into the car.

“Do you think I’m your mother?” I asked. I wondered if maybe the thought of something that deep down inside she knew wasn’t true had helped her all these years. Maybe that crumbled picture of me was all she had.

“I guess I’d hoped so,” she shrugged. Her body melted into the seat and her neck fell hard onto her shoulder and thudded against the window.

“But you don’t seem like the type to just disappear, so I guess not.”

I cleared my throat, then put the car in drive.

I didn’t ask her if she wanted to go home; I just drove in the direction of where I thought she should be.