Desert Girl

This came from the following prompt from Old Friend From Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir by Natalie Goldberg: "We all come from someplace. Where did you come from? How did you escape? Go for ten."

I come from the desert. I'm a lifelong desert girl. My body was formed in dry heat, my bones shaped from saguaro skeletons. I can walk through 110 degree heat; heat so oppressive that it practically suffocates you. I'm a desert girl--the dry heat is second nature to me. I often feel like a saguaro, warding off outsiders with sharp spines all over my body. Get away from me. I soak up whatever I can when I get it, much like saguaros soak up rainwater. I survive on it for months. Give me all you have to give, I'll thrive on whatever you have.

I haven't escaped the desert yet, I've only migrated from one part to another. I know one day I will. I'll leave the dry heat for the sizzling humidity of summers in New York. But no matter where I go, I'll always have the desert. It's in my body, my bones, my marrow, my blood. It's all over my skin. It's in my nature. I'll always be a desert girl, even in snowy New York winters.

Give me all you have to give.


Me.