?`s and ANNEswers

Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Ritual

From the Archives – April 25, 2005

It was merely coincidence this afternoon that I entered the local supermarket just as the high school, which is exactly across the street from the store, let out for the day. By the time I gathered the couple items I’d come for, the entire supermarket was awash with youngsters who hardly looked old enough to be shopping without parents. But I chalked that up to my more mature age, which causes young people to appear even younger than they probably are.

The supermarket has a Starbucks just inside its door, and usually when I go for my latte, the students are in school. Besides, I never imagined high schoolers had been introduced to coffee creations; but there they were, ten deep waiting for their turn with the barista. While they stood, some of the girls helped themselves to the free samples as if they were meant to be lunch. Finally, the barista said, “You’re supposed to take only one free sample per customer.”

The students weren’t particular rowdy, but it looked as if they’d claimed the market as their hangout between the last class and the time they had to be home for dinner. They pushed the tables in the little cafй together, swigged colas and coffees, and demolished a large bag of potato chips in record time. Bookbags and their contents were history for the moment.

The girls flirted, while the boys punched each other in the shoulders. As more and more students streamed in, those already there greeted them as if they’d been separated at birth. I noticed people my age looking at the group, but I couldn’t read any conclusions from their carefully modulated facial expressions.

At first, I told myself I’ll never shop here again at three in the afternoon. But as I thought about it, I recalled my own high school days and Ellsworth Drug Store, which my friends and I invaded every day in a similar fashion. Ellsworth’s didn’t have tables to push together, and the proprietor wasn’t as patient as the Starbucks barista seemed to be; but it was the same ritual. We hung around Ellsworth’s corner and flirted and shoulder punched, all the while eating some snack or drinking some pop. It was an audible and collective sigh of relief at being released from the school routine.

As I walked to my car and the exuberance of youth receded in the background, I smiled.

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