Sunflower Rising

By Julia James

In the country town of Siloah, where no one leaves, and everyone knows your "business," Summer Hayes wants nothing more than escape. Escape from the monotony and daily life of her hometown. Summer dreams of a life beyond the town limits. Hell, she wants out of the Country, County, and into the gleaming ma

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Herring Books
• Release date: May 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088153918

Julia James

Julia is a witty author, educator, and artist who lives in Texas with her amazing husband. She loves Jesus, family, investing in others, alliteration, life, energy, and telling her story to change the dynamics of a culture of tabu. Julia has two non-profits, Victorious Victory Victorias Foundation and Thrive & Grow Productions Inc., and is the CEO of Thrive & Groe Academy, LLC.As an example of what's possible when one overcomes, she offers consultancy, and coaching, via her courses, membership site, and speaking to share her story about her life's curly twists and turns.Julia has been in the field of education since 2008. Since then, she saw the need for services towards developing the family, children, and community.She discovered that training and services, family engagement, and community support were inevitable in developing a holistic child. Out of this need, she birthed "Thrive & GROE (Greatness Represented on Earth) Academy," LLC, in 2017. As a thought leader, she provides training, education, coaching, and solutions for individuals, organizations, and families. The mission and vision are to foster self-awareness of the tools needed for the transformational shifts necessary for thriving and growing into a growth mindset for healing.Julia has a bachelor's degree in Education from the University of Houston and became a certified teacher in 2012. In education, Julia has successfully led and advanced academic growth as an English Teacher, School Administrator, Campus Coordinator, and Regional Director of Operations in both private and independent school districts at Houston ISD, Spring ISD, Phalen Leadership Academy, and KIPP Charter Schools. She plans to continue using her writing to advocate for those who have experienced loss and homelessness because of abuse. She supports and speaks up for those screaming voices pleading to be heard. The Diary of A Curly-Haired Woman is poetically written and sung for today's generation. Raising awareness on topics most want to sweep under the rug. It is time for healing. She is available for speaking engagements: [e-mail].

Book preview

Prologue

Call me a sadist, but there’s a sickening form of self-pleasure in running. It’s as close one can get to getting high without the pills, powder, and grass.

When you run, you’re forced to control those irksome, all-consuming thoughts. After you quiet your mind’s frantic screaming for you to just stop, you can be alone with just You. I understand that for some, it’s not ideal.

The trouble with running is, you can’t do it forever. Eventually, your body will give out on you. When Forrest Gump ran across America, they never showed you when he stopped to eat or sleep. What do you do, then, when reality hits you like a truck?

Goddammit, Chase! I pounded my palms against the hood of the truck that nearly crushed me as it drove through the red light on Main Street. Chase Andrews laid on the horn as though I was in the wrong. Pedestrians have the right of way, jerk! His crew of football jocks catcalled and whistled as I wiped the sweat from my brow.

Chase’s head leaned out the window and said, Lookin’ good, Summer! I’m likin’ those little runnin’ shorts!

I tossed up a well-received finger and took off running again. I pushed myself harder, and my breath hitched as I left the cackling behind me.

As I ran, each passerby waved hello. That’s just the kind of town this was. I’d love to say it was a dirt road town, but we’d advanced to gravel and some asphalt—even though the asphalt was littered with more potholes than there were craters on the moon.

But behind each smile and pleasant wave was a brutal truth. I only ever saw it when I was up close and could see it in their eyes: Miss Prissy too good for all us country folk, or my personal favorite, There goes Norma Jean’s girl. High and mighty, ain’t she?

Somewhere along the way, I became a social pariah. Have you ever lived in a hometown that didn’t feel like home? Have you ever looked around at your family, friends, and neighbors, and just knew they were waiting for you to fail? Me too. That’s been the bane of my existence in Siloah, Florida since I was born in the Summer of 91’.

I had three friends in this floating water droplet orb of a world. The first was Erin Hayes, my elementary school soul sister. The second was Jameson Jamie Graham, my high school human life vest. My grandest friend of all was my Grandma, Norma Jean. But if Summer Hayes from the future had driven into town in a DeLorean with Doc and Marty McFly to tell me at that moment that the trio who made up my life would no longer be on speaking terms with me in just a few short months, I’d have laughed myself silly and committed myself to an asylum for delusions than believe that the ones I cared for most wouldn’t have anything to do with me anymore.

That’s the funny thing about the future; we would never see it coming.

While I was calculating my escape from this rundown town and running like my life depended on it, Siloah was already diligently unraveling my life into a mess. High school seniors like me were supposed to be enjoying what the townsfolk of Siloah called The best years of your life. Then again, no one ever wanted to believe that unfortunate, cruel, or heart-wrenching things would ever happen to them.  Just like when you watched the news and asked yourself, Oh, that’ll never happen to me.

Why not? Why not to you?

Chapter 1

That wasn’t half bad, Summer. Coach Miles smiled to herself as she noted my 5K time onto her clipboard.

You should be docking at least twenty seconds from my time, considering quarterback airhead almost ran me over!

She snickered. Good thing you’re light on your feet!

He should save more air for his precious footballs instead of pumping it up that thick skull of his.

Coach smiled. As much as I’d love nothing better than standing here all night and listen to your never-ending berating of our school’s prized quarterback, I actually have a life I need to get back to.

It was my turn to smile as I crossed my arms over my chest. "You have a life? That’s news to me. I must contact Siloah Daily! They’ll certainly want to do an exposé!" The sad truth was, they’d probably bite at the chance to interview the stunning, single Siloah High Cross Country coach.

Mhmm. I’m pretty certain Norma Jean’s gotta be waitin’ for you. Now get. And I’ll be expecting better tomorrow!

She was. I knew she’d be parked ahead of all the minivan moms waiting to collect their perfect angels from their chosen afterschool extracurriculars. I’d expect nothing less, I jibbed. I turned on my heel and waved over my shoulder as I headed towards the car pick-up.

I found her in a cream Firebird parked first in line ahead of the mothers. Behind the wheel sat an elderly, silver-haired woman pulling on a smoky cigarette. I hopped inside and was welcomed by a hug and a kiss before we raced off down the street. Patsy Cline sang over the speakers. I looked over at my muse, my Grandmother, Norma Jean. Not common knowledge, but Marilyn Monroe’s real name beyond the glitz and glamour of the Hollywood sign was Norma Jean. The fact that my Grandma shared the name with the bewitching and legendary Marilyn Monroe always seemed fitting to me somehow. She was just as cool as she peeled off into the dying sun.

I Fall To Pieces began to play as we sped down Main Street. I looked over while she sang the sad tune as the wind blew her short, wavy hair. She had one of those faces that you could tell had been through some things, though you’d never know it based off how she presented herself. She was what you would call a tough ol’ bird. She never married and she lived alone. She’d moved from Maine with nothing but a suitcase and a wooden box where she kept her secrets in.

She nearly drifted the corner as we pulled into Shop S-Mart, our local grocery store. Speed signs were a mere suggestion when it came to Norma Jean. The local law dogs didn’t dare correct her, either. I hadn’t met anyone other than Miss Maisie, Grandma’s best friend, who had the gall to go toe-to-toe with the fiery, silver-tongued and silver-haired woman I called Grandma.

Grandma didn’t wait for me after she parked. Off she went with her pocketbook slung over her shoulder and me in tow. That was the thing about Grandma; she didn’t wait for no one. You either kept up or got left behind. As a child, I had to hold onto the grocery cart the entire time we were in the store. By the time she was done sprinting about the store as if she was on Sweepmarket Sweep, my poor legs were more gelatinous than Jell-O. I was pretty certain I had Grandma to thank for my athletics, after years of grocery sprint drills.

Grandma grabbed her cart and off she went with me at her side. Got your list? I asked.

She eyed me in amusement. All up here, she said, tapping a champagne-colored nail against her temple.

Summer Hayes! Hey beautiful, come give yer’ Auntie a hug! Hey, Norma Jean! A  woman with the body of a pigeon, all skinny legs and beer belly, hollered from the end of the aisle. Luckily, it wasn’t my biological aunt.

Hey, Aunt Torey! Torey was one of those relatives that wasn’t a relative at all. Aunt Torey and her husband Shane, aka Uncle Shane, were my parents’ best friends since they were in school.

Aunt Torey had stolen the pregnancy test, and that dual blue stripes altered the trajectory of my parents’ lives forever. Not that my parents would ever admit that those two stripes, those two words, I’m pregnant, ever made them regret me. That’s how so many of Siloahians ended up doomed to an inescapable existence in this life-sucking town. I often thought our high school mascot should be a vampire instead of a cowboy. Maybe Robert Pattison needed a new change of pace from the limelight of Hollywood, though I doubt it.

Aunt Torey crushed me to her chest. Ain’t a prettier girl in this town. Just look at her, Norma Jean! Yer’ parents got one thing right, Honey! She gave a suggestive wink that turned my stomach.

Please, those two ain’t fixin’ to take credit! Look at her again, she looks just like me, said Grandma defensively. Aunt Torey held up her hands in surrender.

True enough, Norma Jean! True enough.

Yer’ bringing the napkins and plates, right?

Aunt Torey nodded, smiling merrily. Yep! And Shane’s got the roasted pig. We’re so excited for the annual Wes-Extravaganza!

Dad’s not-so-surprise birthday party was this weekend, and half the town was invited. Every year, Mom and Grandma planned a celebration for Dad’s birthday. These parties we’re over the top, but that’s just how the matriarchs in my family expressed their love. Confetti wasn’t confetti; they were hundreds of kisses. Streamers weren’t streamers, but long meaningful embraces. And every thoughtful detail was supposed to fill you up with love for the entire year until your next birthday.

Good, we’ll see ya’ll then. Come on, Dahlin’. I loved Grandma’s accent. It was a mashup of North and South. Due to her New England upbringing, she couldn’t pronounce the letter R to save her life and she welcomed the Southern twang into her dialect after relocating to Siloah in the 60’s.

Grandma and I said bye and we were off again, but not for long. We ran into Mr. Martin, my next-door neighbor, just an aisle over.  Jolly Roger, how do the seas fair us today? I called to him enthusiastically as Grandma tossed baking ingredients into the cart.

The seas be rough ahead, but we can take em’! He began to over-steer his cart dramatically down the aisle, as if taking on the high seas as he approached us.

Forge ahead, Captain!

He chuckled to himself as he took me into a one-armed hug. How’s my First Matey, eh?

Mr. Martin was a Vietnam Vet, and he’d lost a leg in the war. Instead of telling the inquisitive little girl next door the truth, he’d told me he was a shipwrecked pirate in Witness Protection hiding from Black Beard—not that I knew what Witness Protection was. Growing up next door to Mr. Martin was one of the few things that made my childhood in Siloah almost worthwhile.

He would often tell me that he lost his parrot and to keep an eye out for him. Mr. Martin didn’t have a parrot, but as a small child, it kept me busy, much to my parents delight. He would tell me tales of pirates and grand adventures. He made detailed treasure maps that usually led us to his deep freezer where he’d stockpile chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwiches for me. Since I didn’t have a grandfather, he was the next best thing. He was the real treasure.

Good evening, Norma Jean! Everyone knew Mr. Martin had a sweet spot for Grandma. As a girl, I’d always hoped that maybe they’d get married. I’d asked Grandma a couple times if she liked Mr. Martin, but she’d just scoff and say, Oh Dahlin’, what do I need a man for?

I’d argue my point regardless. Because he’s nice.

Dahlin’, being ‘nice’ ain’t reason enough to be with someone.

I’d like to say that I’d given up hope, but I hadn’t.

Evening, Gene! Yer’ bringing the keg? Grandma was all business when it came to Mr. Martin and his wiles. I watched as Mr. Martin’s eyes sparkled as he looked at her before turning to face me while his mouth contorted into a seaworthy scowl.

Aye, I’ll be bringing ye’ hops and spirits! Grandma just shook her head while I giggled as I had since I was Knee high as a grasshopper, as Mr. Martin liked to say.

Will I have to keep me good eye open at this jolly affair to make sure me First Matey isn’t dipping er’ goblet in the devil’s water? I shook my head in amusement as Grandma scoffed again.

Please! My Dahlin’ would never. Now if it was a coffee bar, ya’ might be in trouble.

He smiled sweetly. She’s a good one, ain’t she, Norma Jean?

Grandma returned the smile. The very best. She shook her head. We gotta get goin’. See ya’ there, Gene.

Mr. Martin plopped a loud kiss on top of my head. Keep yer’ eye on the Lighthouse, Matey! This had been his usual parting words ever since I could remember. See ya’ around, Norma Jean. Take care of our girl!

Chapter 2

Grandma took off without a wave. Dahlin’, remove that look from yer’ face right now!

I knew what look she was talking about, the face that practically screamed, There’s still hope yet!

Now come on, let’s go get you a cookie from the bakery. I was far too old for the free cookies they gave out to the young children as their parents shopped, and yet again no one seemed capable of telling her no.

We’ll take two, said Grandma. We don’t want that sugar crap or raisin. We want chocolate chip!

The anxious girl behind the counter rushed to grab our cookies. Yes, ma’am!

Hey, Sum! Hi, Miss Norma Jean!

Grandma smiled and yelled out to the bakery girl, Make that three! Whatcha doin’ here, Erin dear?

A  gorgeous girl with silky smooth platinum hair that pooled down her bowed back gave an anxious wave.  She kept her head down as she quickened her stride to reach us. It was my best friend, Erin Doyle. She was a shy girl and suffered from extreme self-esteem issues, particularly regarding her height. She was slender and close to six feet, and she usually made an effort of slouching or trying to make herself appear smaller. She reminded me of a strikingly beautiful exotic giraffe that wanted to be a common garden mouse.

The two of us had been friends since she moved to Siloah in the 3rd grade. Erin was put through the hazing ritual that came with being the new girl in a town where people had known each other since they were in their mother’s bellies. Every day at recess, they’d make a spectacle of picking Erin last for the activity of choice. Not because she was bad at sports, but because she was the new punching bag. It was a twisted and demented way to make her feel bad about herself.

Weeks after Erin joined our class, Lacey Lynch picked her last again, all while making a scene about not wanting to put the new girl on her team.  I had had enough when Erin’s eyes had started to water and walked over to console her. Erin, I don’t want to play this dumb game.  Wanna come play with me instead? A grateful Erin agreed, and we played under the large oak tree outside our classroom.

We were immediately captivated by the abundant of colorful butterflies that would flutter from flower to flower under the big shady tree. We made a game of seeing who could catch the most butterflies. We never kept them or hurt them. We simply caught and released them. We would brag to one another about how quiet and swift we could be while catching them.

After that, the other kids never played with us again and we were graced with the name, Butterfly Freaks. To them it was a dis, but to us it became a badge of honor and what we built our friendship on.

Grandma took the cookies from the girl and handed her a buck. Miss Norma Jean, we can’t accept tips, the girl said.

Grandma tittered. Put it in yer’ apron. If Mr. Teage gives ya’ any crap about it, tell him to talk to me.  Grandma turned her back on the girl dismissively. Here girls. She handed us each a cookie and tapped hers against ours in cheers.

Thank you, said Erin bashfully.

So Erin ya’ didn’t answer me, how are ya’? She nibbled on her cookie as she waited for an answer.

Umm… I’m okay. Erin was a girl of few words, except when she was with me, then she was a ball of energy and ramblings. Grandma knew this but tried regardless to get Erin to break out of her shell.

And yer’ Momma?

Erin shrugged. Good, I guess.

Mhmm, and yer’ comin’ to the party right?

Erin drooped her head. No. I’m working. Erin worked as a waitress at our local Moose Lodge after school and most weekends.

Grandma tilted her head. Need me to call yer’ boss?

Erin’s head shot up. No! I mean no thank you, she said, lowering her voice. The tips are good on Saturdays. Steak night, she added with a shrug.

I’ll save you some cake, I said, smiling.

Thanks, Sum, she said brightly. Well, I gotta get going. Just wanted to say hey. Mom sent me to pick up detergent. She held up the jug in her cookie-free hand.

You’ll be missed this weekend, honey. Tell yer’ Momma I said hello.

Erin nodded. Yes, ma’am. See ya’, Sum!

We made our fast-paced race around the store once again, stopping every so often so Grandma could say hello or remind people of Daddy’s party and what they were supposed to bring. The cart was near overflowing as we made our way to the one check-out aisle. Hey Faye, called Grandma as we started unloading the cart. Mr. Teage, the grocery store owner, started bagging our groceries as Faye scanned them.

Hey there, Norma Jean, Faye and Mr. Teage said in unison.

Where’s Jameson? I asked Mr. Teage. I thought he’d be working tonight. Jameson Jamie Graham, whenever he wasn’t playing football, was here bagging groceries.

Faye and Mr. Teage exchanged shocked expressions and then smiled brightly. Honey, he didn’t tell ya’?

I paused my unloading to place my hands on my hips. Tell me what?

Grandma chuckled. This outta be good.

Mr. Teage puffed out his chest with pride. Our Jim’s at football practice. They had double practice tonight because—

Because college scouts came to watch him, shouted Faye, cutting off Mr. Teage. He eyed her disapprovingly.

Grandma clapped her hands together. Oh Dahlin’, how fantastic!

What?! You’re pullin’ my leg! I looked from Grandma, Faye, Mr. Teage, and back again to Grandma. Faye and Mr. Teage nodded enthusiastically. He’s…so…dead!

What? Why? said Faye. I could feel my face warm to pink. Surely, it was on its way to lobster red. The fact that steam hadn’t escaped my ears was shocking. How could he not tell me? Scouts? College Scouts? What schools? Oh, he was never going to hear the end of this!

I’m thinkin’ this is news, Dahlin’, said Grandma carefully.

Mhmm. Faye looked at Mr. Teage, Were we not supposed to tell anyone?

Mr. Teage’s face blanched. Umm, now that you mention it, he might’ve said somethin’ bout’ that…

Grandma chuckled. Well, you might wanna offer the boy a raise before breakin’ the news to him that you were the one responsible for my Dahlin’s wrath.

Faye started biting her cuticles. But why are ya’ upset Summer?

I scowled. Because he’s my… What was Jamie? He was so much more than a friend, but Erin was the best friend, and he certainly wasn’t my boyfriend. But he was special. The only explanation I could think of was that he’s my Jamie, but present company couldn’t and wouldn’t be able to comprehend what that meant without their imaginations running wild. I had no use for a boyfriend. I didn’t even date. Long ago, I’d made it my number one rule: No Dating! I saw how far that got my mother, just one block over in the same soul crushing town. No, thanks.

I’m just disappointed he didn’t share this with me himself, I said calculatedly.

Whoops! Well, maybe don’t go too hard on him, said Mr. Teage with a grimace.

I don’t make promises I can’t keep. He and Faye exchanged grimaces.

Grandma smiled to herself and whispered to me, That boy’s goin’ places. I always knew he would. I knew too.

Jamie was on the Cowboy’s Varsity Football team and had been recruited to play as a baby-faced, seventh grader. He was a running back, and a damn good one at that. There were murmurs that he might even make the All-American team this year. Our town liked to call him BOOM because any player that tried to stop him from running up the field was useless. He would literally bulldoze anyone that got in his way. Every time he knocked someone down, the crowd would yell, BOOM!

I was surprised that Jamie even hung out with me. He was extraordinarily popular, and everyone liked him, but for some reason when Jamie wasn’t playing football, he wanted to spend time with me. He could hang out with cheerleaders like Lacey, or go to wild parties, but he’d rather go on a run with me; go to the library as I searched for new books; hang out with me while I spend hours doing my homework, or just watch movies with me. As often as I questioned why Jamie even wanted a friend like me, I equally tried to repress that question. Self-doubt’s a lonely place.

I had to resist the urge to call him. I could feel my phone burning in my back pocket as I debated it, but what if he was talking to the scouts? He’d answer, he always did. No matter the time or what he was doing. He’d once answered while he was mid-shower. Nope, I’d let him sweat this one out. I knew Mr. Teage would call him later with the latest gossip, Might wanna lock your doors. Summer’s on the war path! Grandma watched me as we piled the groceries into the limited trunk space in the back of the Fire Bird.

So… ya’ gonna call him?

Nope.

Grandma laughed boisterously. Apple didn’t fall far, I’m afraid.

Chapter 3

On the morning of Dad’s birthday, Grandma arrived early to help Mom setup the festivities.How’s my favorite son? asked Grandma as she pecked a kiss on Dad’s cheek and enveloped him into a hug.

I’m yer’ only son, Mom, said Dad.

That’s right! Yer’ my favorite and least favorite all in one, she laughed. He gave her another tight squeeze before letting her go. Dad headed off to the garage to tinker around with his truck as he mumbled something about a fan belt.

Once, Mom and Grandma had taken control of the festivities and there was nothing much else for me to do. I grabbed my book off the counter and lounged across the love seat and began to read. I had finished the Prisoner of Azkaban the night before and had started reading the Goblet of Fire. I sat there reading for quite some time when I heard the front door open and a slow southern drawl said, Hellooo! Ya’ll here or what? The voice made me cringe as I turned the page.

Aunt Trish entered the living room. She wore a snug denim mini skirt, a tight neon pink tube top that clung to her as though she had jumped into a pool, flip flops, and big hoop earrings. She wore the same hot pink lipstick and what looked like every piece of jewelry she owned, and she looked like Trailer Park Malibu Barbie after her third divorce.

She looked down at me and laughed. Go figure! Summer with her head in a book. No shocker there!

When she talked, her words came out slowly, her mouth hardly moving at all. It was as though her mouth was bored with her and had lost the energy to get her words out. Her hair was a dusty brown and lacked luster. The box dye wasn’t doing her any favors. She had her hair pulled into a ponytail held by a big pink scrunchie. Her face looked tired and old. That’s probably why she caked so much makeup and bronzer on it. Her blush looked as though she had painted it on with a large roller.

I knew