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2
SUTTON
SUMMER BEFORE SENIOR YEAR
The town in Wisconsin where I now live has one gas station.
One school.
Two bars.
Two churches.
And a single grocery store, which I’m currently standing in the breakfast food aisle of. Staring at a long array of colorful boxes, most of which feature a cartoon character. At least Brookfield reaches double digits when it comes to cereal options. If there were only oatmeal and plain Cheerios as options, I wouldn’t have been shocked.
I want a breakfast that will taste like Chicago. To close my eyes and crunch while listening to the rumble of the L and feeling the hum of the city vibrate around me.
Each morning, I would eat Cap’n Crunch at our cramped kitchen table, picking at the peeling yellow wallpaper between bites. I’m doubtful a taste of brown sugar and butter will fully simulate the experience, but it’s worth a try.
I’m trying to decide if it is better to keep a good memory perfectly preserved or to drag it along with you as company on harder days. Branch out or hug the trunk?
No better place to decide that than while amid copious amounts of high-fructose corn syrup.
“Dog Days Are Over” plays through invisible speakers. Florence + the Machine is one of my favorite artists. Unfortunately, I’m not fully appreciating the swell before the chorus. This feels like a moment better suited for a sad symphony soundtrack.
“Can I help you find something?”
I glance to my left. There’s a guy leaning against the shelf, right next to the Honey Nut Cheerios. He’s wearing a polo shirt with the store’s logo, a faded Yankees cap, and a bemused expression.
He’s cute in a boy-next-door kind of way. If this were a movie, he would be cast as the guy hopelessly in love with his best friend, who was too busy chasing after the quarterback to realize the perfect boy was right in front of her.
Ithinkhe’s close to my age—seventeen—but I’m historically terrible at guessing people’s ages. I told a Northwestern student I met in a coffee shop last summer that he was too young for me. He found it funny—up until he realized I was in high school. Then, his friends were the ones laughing.
“What do you recommend eating for breakfast on the worst day of your life?”
He contemplates the question, then points to a blue box of Frosted Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop-Tarts, just past the Reese’s Puffs. “I’d go with those.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “They’re delicious. And bad days can taste good.”
“You should go into advertising.”
“Yeah, I’m seriously considering it.” His voice sounds sincere, but he’s teasing me. I think.
He studies me with a combination of interest and intensity. It occurs to me, rather suddenly, that one look from this guy affects me more thananylook I’ve gotten beforeeveraffected me.
A small smirk unfurls from the corner of his mouth as he watches me watching him stare.
I reconsider my previous assessment.
This guy has main character energy.Lotsof it. He’d be the guy every girl was chasing after throughout the film.
“Take a photo. It’ll last longer.”
My taunt doesn’t faze him.
“I’ll remember what you look like,” he replies.
