Human After All

She grew up in a tiny house in New Mexico that was all white. It had white walls and light wooden floors and it was colorless and bland and when she goes to visit her parents in it now, she tastes saltine crackers in the air. Her bedroom had popcorn ceiling and she loved standing on her bed and picking at the pieces. They'd fall to her bed like snow and get in her eyes. God, it was an ugly ceiling. She entertained herself just by picking at them and she thought that if she picked at enough, all the popcorn texture would be gone and it wouldn't look quite so shitty.

She missed New Mexico's hot weather and hot food. She hated how in northern restaurants "flaming" hot sauce should've really been labeled as "mild." She liked it hot enough so that he eyes watered and her nose ran and the cuts along her lips burned. It was too hot for anything to grow in the heat so most people's yard were just dirt and rock and maybe some cacti. But her mom used to live in Maine before she moved to New Mexico for her job and she retained her love of scenery. Although she knew she'd never have a national forest for a backyard, she nurtured and meticulously cared for several small gardens.

Her favorite garden was the one that her mom kept sunflowers planted in. They were always hot and half wilted and taller than her. She was tiny enough to crawl beneath them and they'd make shade for her. It was the only bit of shade in that shitty back yard.

Jimmy, who lived across the street from her then, still calls her Sunflower. At their senior prom they went as best friends and had a fling that night. It was a one time thing, but the name Jimmy still makes her smile to this day. She remembers being in his bedroom she knew oh so well with his head between her legs and him looking up after she'd had an orgasm saying, "You even taste like your name, Sunflower."