Asking for a friend.
Ah, autumn. Beautiful, isn’t it? Colored leaves, movie-moment rains, overcast skies most likely not caused by toxic wildfire smoke. But if there’s one thing that perfectly encapsulates the changing of the seasons, it is that warm, scrumptious, snuggly taste that simply cannot be beat: the pumpkin spice latte.
As I hold the cup in my hands, the heat transfer mimicking what I remember of human touch, I wonder: could this be the answer to all of my problems? No, no, it couldn’t be. It’s too easy. Too simple. It’s impossible that this one drink, so beloved yet so scorned, could be the thing I have been looking for in lieu of real enjoyment or social interaction. And yet, as I stare into the siren’s eyes, I cannot help but imagine happier days. It’s worth a shot. Right?
My pumpkingasm begins as it has for many moons. I open the lid for a quick whiff. My tastebuds tingle. My body shivers, just once, faster than Mitch McConnell can say “Supreme Court nominee.” I look down at the sumptuous hue of Caramel Color Level IV. I close the lid in a daze. This is muscle memory. I do not remember my hand reaching for the cup, but suddenly, it is there. I dissociate only briefly as my cup approaches me.
The plastic and wax press against my lips and I remember: I haven’t kissed someone in a long time. Like, a long time. Is this…what it feels like? I can hardly remember. I let the lid’s opening linger, my cup kept at this angle, as I project a feeble memory of affection from a past life. Is this what it is like to be loved?
I tilt the cup up and suddenly, the world is filled with color again, with the inimitable taste of pumpkin spice flavor mix and the slightest trace of petroleum. Heaven. I feel my smile widening and my hair lightening as my spirit travels through several scenes: a midwestern apple orchard, a Starbucks one block from the Starbucks I was at this morning, a Kappa Kappa Kappa sorority house. I am free. I land in a meadow, surrounded by splendidly colored wildflowers and a sun with blazing light but balmy heat, for the shade and breeze are perfect. Bunnies and deer skip across the pastoral scene. There could be nothing better than this. No…wait. I see…no, it can’t be. Kobe? And…John? Chadwick? Ruth? They are here with me, in this land that stretches for miles, filled with laughs, with love, with potassium sorbate.
All at once, my worries drown in a foamy orange haze. My body is light. My inflamed intercostal muscles soothe. My urge to post political memes dampens. Will this pumpkin spice latte solve all of my problems? The election? Getting through this pandemic for the foreseeable months? For the foreseeable…year(s)? Wait, years? How many years do we even have? Meadows…nature…climate…oh god, climate, oh no, wait, f—
I take another sip.
Ah.
It’s going to be just fine.