that summer.

Five years later.

My father and I moved back into the town I grew up in. I remembered no one. I felt like I was the new girl, even though I wasn't. I was 17, about to turn 18. I graduated early in Scotland, top of my class. I was constantly reminded by seanmháthair (grandma) that colleges would love to have me. That's my problem, I don't know if I want college. I don't even know what I would major in. Maybe art, psychology, nursing?

Dad and I moved into a small, two bedroom house. We had a huge yard, dad said something about a getting a dog. He always talked about getting a dog whose fur is the same color as his hair, a dirty blonde. I'm down to get a dog, I love dogs. Near where we live, there was a big nature center with trails for people to walk on, and dogs are allowed.

The house itself wasn't exciting. Just a white house with no accent colors. All the boxes were sitting in the living room, with labels, "kitchen" "living room". Dad pulled a box that had the word "MISC" spelt in red sharpie, all in caps. He reached in, and brought a modern record player out, along with a vinyl of The Neighbourhood's album. He plugged it in, turned it on, then the music starts to play. He gives me a big smile, and then turns back to the box. A big can of bright yellow paint comes to light, along with a medium can of white, and smaller jars of greens, browns and oranges. He stacks them on top of each other, and pulls out different painting supplies. He turns towards me and raises an eyebrow. Why was he smiling, why was he getting paint out?

"So, don't you think that door needs some color?" He ruffled up his hair while talking. I smiled, I knew what he's going to ask. "Do you, like, wanna paint the door for us. You can paint sunflowers, daisies or you can just paint the whole door yellow if you want." He shrugged his shoulders while speaking. I yelled back "Are you serious?!" I was excited to say the least. He giggled a bit as he shook his head yes. I started to work on the door as dad started to unpack.

Almost two hours later, I was finished. I painted the door a bright yellow, around the door I painted little sunflowers. Dad knew they were my favorite thing to paint, I've painted them since I could remember. If I didn't know what to enter into an art show, I would paint a sunflower, enter it, and win. I loved sunflowers, and the color yellow. Now all of our neighbors would know.

Yellow was my moms favorite color. I think that's who I learned to love it from. My mom seemed simple, she was in some ways. But she was amazing. She was loving, she loved seeing the good in all of the bad. Our house used to be filled with black cats because everyone was superstitious of them. She saw them as animals that deserved love. She loved wild flowers, even though some people called them weeds. I learned how to love the little things from her.

I looked down at my jeans, and noticed how much paint I got on them. I took out my phone, and snapped a picture of them. I had an art aesthetic going on. It came easily to me. It's nice being able to be yourself and people compliment you on your 'aesthetic'. I had a decent amount of followers on instagram and tumblr. It was cool knowing people liked seeing my photos and seeing snaps of my life.

By the time I stood up, a delivery truck was stopping in front of my house. A man wearing cargo shorts and a blue top got out and walked my way. He admired the door, "That's really cool!" he had a new york accent. I smiled and nodded. I hated talking to strangers. "So, I, uh, have a delivery for mister Naismith, would that be ya father?" he coughed. "Uh, yeah, I'll go get him." I turned and walked into the house.

"Dad?" I called out. "Yeah?" He was upstairs. "We have a delivery!" Dad started to jog down the stairs, "Some furniture is here." He stuck his tongue out as he walked out the door. He signed for it, then another guy got out to help unload. At least twenty minutes went by and everything was unloaded. Two white loveseats, one full sized bed, and one king sized bed with their box springs.