I started working at V-1 Propane when I was homeless, living around Douglas. This would've been in August of 2000. Since then I've determined that this terrible period in time would be characterized as the most interesting, yet pivotal time in my short existence. I had searched far and wide for a decent job, but landed the V-1 gig through a friend. Some days required my services as early as 6:00 in the morning, a short time before the sun would rise. Most days that I worked started at 1:00 in the afternoon. V-1 was a private owned gas/propane fueling station, accompanying a microcosm of typical convenient store fare. I usually worked by myself, and always took advantage of a non-surveyed setting, frequently snacking on merchandise. It's become a rite of passage in my string of food service oriented occupations. A couple of times an hour I was required to venture outside of the unsupervised store to fill propane tanks for customers. An exercise that started as a heralded break from staring at passing traffic, eventually led to an occupational hazard once the harsh winter weather of Wyoming crept closer. The perks of my job included being able to listen to my own music, spare time to read and write, and limitless visitations from friends. A disadvantage would be the 2 mile long walk I trudged to and fro everyday from the store to my immobile temp home in my rusted out '84 Oldsmobile station wagon. Ironically, V-1 was only a block away from where my father lived; my previous home only a month before. On occasion, after figuring out my dad's work schedule, I would sneak into the house to take showers, and steal any food I found in the cupboards.
On August 27th, I started my usual Sunday shift at 10:00 am, without any deviation from my normal routine. Sundays were always busy and on this particular day I worked with my good friend (and secret crush) Becky. The previous week leading up to Sunday was the annual Wyoming State Fair in Douglas. The Sunday after was always carried out by a mass exodus of tourists and fair-goers, exiting our tiny, white trash town planted in the middle of nowhere. On the same hand, my mom, sister and her fianc� were in town for the festivities. I had briefly visited with them the previous night and they were surprisingly pleasant to me considering the circumstances. They were all aware of the situation involving my dad and I, and were all inclined to stay out of the mess (although I knew they took my dad's side and word over mine. Partly because I think everyone had given up on me at that point).
So at around 2:00 during my shift at work, my mom stopped in for gas and cigarettes, and to say goodbye before she would head back to her home in Gillette. At the time we were pretty busy with customers, yet Becky was taking a break to visit her boyfriend and smoke cigarettes. My mom came up to pay and we casually talked about her long ride home and when I might see her again. She paid for her fuel, and then thrusted another $20 bill into my hand. I looked at her with sincere gratitude and a sense of guilt. She met me around the side of the counter and we embraced for a few moments. I told her that I loved her, and she told me that she would miss me. She said she didn't want to keep me from work and then said her goodbye. For some reason, I stopped to watch her leave the front door and walk passed the window. She looked back at me and smiled, and my heart collapsed. Oh mom, please don't go. Stay longer, I want to talk to you more. Don't go. I wasn't sure why I felt such urgency, but the feeling of despair resonated within me throughout the day until my shift was over.
I will always cherish that bittersweet moment in my life, as it would be the last time I ever saw my mother again. She passed away late that night in a one-car rollover. Despite the tremendous loss that I will always hold, I am profoundly appreciative of the chance to tell her that I loved her, and to say goodbye one last time.