You walk outside. The sun is blinding and fierce. You shield your eyes from the piercing light. You cannot see. You look around and notice that no one else is covering their eyes; no one else seems to notice. You wonder if the sun has always been this bright. You try to ignore the creeping thought that it seems to get brighter and closer with each passing day. You continue walking. You shield your eyes. You cannot see.
There’s a tumbleweed in the parking lot. There’s always a tumbleweed in the parking lot. It doesn’t matter which parking lot you’re in. It’s always larger than you expect. You have heard tales of tumbleweeds larger than cows, larger than cars. You’ve even heard rumors of some taller than humans. You’ve seen shows on TV where the directors throw in a passing tumbleweed for laughs. The directors don’t realize that these things truly are ever-present. They grow tired of being joked about. You hear them shuffle as they roll closer.
“Have you applied to Texas Tech?” a teacher asks you. You know nothing about Texas Tech yet you don’t remember a time when it was not a constantly recurring part of your life. You pass posters in the hallway and they all say the same thing. “Have you applied to Texas Tech?” “Have you applied to Texas Tech?” You have no intention of applying to Texas Tech. They say that the college is in your city, although you have never seen it. Months pass and the questioning continues. You repeat over and over again that you are not going to apply. Your acceptance letter arrives in the mail.
You look down at the menu in your hands and realize that it is shaped like Texas. Has it been like that the whole time? You’re not sure. Everything is shaped like Texas here. Chips, sunglasses, bird feeders, swimming pools. You’ve seen so many Texas shaped things that the shape has begun to lose its meaning to you. Is it the shape of your state or is it just a popular design? Do other states have things shaped like them? You don’t remember. You close your eyes to think but all you can see is the shape of Texas outlined against your eyelids. The waitress brings you your waffles. They’re shaped like Texas. You could have sworn that they were normal waffles when you ordered them. You look up to ask your waitress about this but she is gone. You’re alone in the café. You’ve been alone this whole time.
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