A Sunflower Blooming in the Dust

When I was five, on a cloudy day in City G, all I remember is my kindergarten teacher dumping a whole bowl of fatty pork into my new pink schoolbag, and my mother walking away.

In my final year of high school, I saw myself on my stepfather’s phone.

I thought I would spend my whole life trembling in the shadows.

Then Gu Xingci placed a peeled chestnut in my palm and walked beside me into the stormy night.

Later, by Erhai Lake, he cupped my face in both hands. “Mianmian, you’re not dust. You’re a sunflower I want to protect.”