When I think of Flossie now I always remember her as sitting in the sun on the green grass, squeezing lemons out on the top of her head, the juice dripping through her hair. She’d do it nearly every day in summer. By the time August ended, her light brown hair would be gilded in highlights. Sometimes this is the only way I want to remember her. The sun. Green grass. Yellow lemons. My sister with her head tilted toward the light.
