i had some cherry cola at del taco today. it’s been a while since i’ve had the cherry cola at del taco, as i’ve been drinking a whole lot of iced teas and arnold palmers instead of carbonated soda pops. everybody knows that del taco has the best fountain cherry coke, but that’s beside the point.
the point is, the taste of cherry cola brought a flood of memories back to me by way of gustatory stimulation; of being in high school and enjoying senior privileges to run off at lunch, of racing the clock to make it back in time for spanish, of ciampi’s alpine, of days in between aisles of non fiction at the library, of sparkling optimism in the face of whitman, of chief and the laughing man, of bobby fischer, of mrs. conrad and her cardigans, of the walk through the jungle on the eve of your first when i think i actually might have known, of japanese exchange students, of guero, of warm quilt blankets, of forest green, of the night that was the beginning of what has now ended. and through it all, my fits have become yours. all this from cherry cola.