Jenny was 11.5 when she ate a gross pickle from the corner of her mom’s bathroom floor. She jumped up six floors, screaming about the nasty hairs that lined the inside of her mouth. 

“Don’t eat garbage!” said Jimbo from next door. But Jenny was now high in the sky and couldn’t see him.

On her way up, she hit a big blue bird named Maul. He spit curd in her face and she cried. The pickle fell back down to the ground.

She went up, more up, way up. High as fuck, actually. Though the mesosphere, up towards the sun. She said the rays burned her toe nails but no one was around to listen. 

When she got to Mercury her legs felt tired. An old martian on a scooter rode past her and told her to drink some onion soup. Jenny said she hated onions and he blasted her with his laser pointer. She lost her left shoe in the process.

Mercury said he wasn’t interested in pickles, but had she ever tried melted caramel on roasted garlic? Jenny tried to spit at him but the salt from the pickle had dried out her mouth. She made a little fzzzzzz sound.

The scooter-martian dropped by again to ask Jenny if she’d ever heard of passion and where he could find some. Mercury laughed. Jenny told him that the best advice she had ever heard was from her grandmother, Lonnie, who said that no life is complete without ice cream, lipstick, and cock rings. The alien didn’t have a cock and didn’t understand how makeup would help him find a career path, but he didn’t use his laser pointer again, so Jenny felt like they might one day be friends. 

Mercury laughed some more.

Actually, Mercury hadn’t stopped laughing. He was choking now. Squawking and coughing; throwing up bile. Jenny tried to kick him in the stomach but she burned off her right shoe in the process. Now she was barefoot. After another bout of choking, Mercury changed from red to blue. His flames got smaller. His eyes got dark. When he died, Jenny felt the heat of the sun reaching out to her like arms. 

Her mouth was too dry. She didn’t have anyone to talk to. 

Jenny let the sun sing her towards its centre. She thought about the sticky floors of her mother’s bedroom. She thought about mustard and pickle sandwiches on Sundays. She wondered if her dog, Pauly, would live long with a dirty water bowl. Was her bedroom window still open?

The sun was colder than she expected. He wasn’t talking much when she got there, although his arms wrapped around her and crinkled like burnt bacon links. 

“Excuse me? Hello?” she said.

He opened one eye at a time. He looked her over with his left eye, then his right eye, and then closed them both again. Repeat. 

“I’m ready to go home. I’m tired and my belly aches. Do you think you could throw me back to Earth?”

The sun didn’t answer, he just ate her. One small, uncovered toe at a time. He ate her ankles, calves, belly button, and her salt covered nose. He left her eyes for last, surveying them one by one, left-right-left-right. But after that, he ate them too.