I was born in Kansas, raised in Oregon, retired in Florida, and died in Kansas.
My parents were juniors in high school. It wasn't the typical story. My father was the school drug-dealer, not the quarterback with a football scholarship. My mother was a vulnerable drunk with low self esteem rather than the head cheerleader and president of the Celibacy Club. Apparently my mom didn't know she was pregnant until it was too late. My dad dropped out a few months after impregnating my mother. She gave birth to me in her bedroom with the music turned all the way up so her parents wouldn't hear her contorted screams of pain as I was brought into this world.
Then she dropped me off at the hospital, anonymously. At first they didn't know what to do with a baby in a small midwest town with no orphanages nearby for a couple miles. There was a scramble to find me a home.
It just so happened that the Meullers had delivered a stillborn only yesterday. They walked into the hallway of the hospital and saw my twisted, crying face wrapped in the arms of a nurse. They said that's when they knew I was meant for them.
I wasn't an angry child. I wasn't a depressed child. I was just a bored child. The carpet of wheat in Kansas could only make me think of other places. For my tenth birthday, I asked for a globe, with which I planned out my life. I was going to visit every continent - twice. My adopted parents laughed and told me I would have to have good credentials and a good job.
After I graduated, I found that the Meullers were right. Travelling was hard - especially if you were without guidance. But I found the time. I paced my travelling. I never made it to any of the colder parts of the world, but I did get to the equator.
Years passed... Dollars accumulated... And I felt something was missing. Work didn't satisfy me anymore. I knew it was time to retire.
I retired in Florida because I heard that's where all old people go. I hated it. I had never felt more alone in my life. I was an old, unmarried lady with nothing to do but watch the scenery.
I decided to go back to Kansas, to see the Meullers' graves, maybe get them some flowers.
The moment I saw those golden stalks of wheat again, I burst into tears. It was my home. I had been running away from my home for so long. I walked out of the car and into the field of grain - and had a heart attack.
As I sank to the ground, the grains drooped down to stroke my cheeks. I'm sorry for abandoning you, I thought. The wheat whispered back, cushioning my fall: It's all right. The brilliant, orange light of the sunset illuminated my eyes as the golden wheat laid me down.