Used to dream of outer space but now they’re laughing at our face,
Saying, “wake up, you need to make money.”
Wish we could turn back time, to the good ol’ days,
When our momma sang us to sleep but now we’re stressed out.
-“Stressed Out” by twenty one pilots
Most of it is grown in Nebraska. You are more likely to cry at the movies if you are eating it. Air-popped is healthier to consume than microwave-popped. But mostly I think of childhood memories in Chicago hanging out with a group of girls my age.
After school our parents took turns baby-sitting us. Every day of the week we went over to a different girl’s home to snack and play games. At my home it was popcorn. Daddy would prepare it and we would line up to get our portion. We would take a piece of paper and twirl it into a cone, taping it together so it could hold our buttery salty snack.
I liked the impromptu invention and standing in line—one for the creativity and the other for the anticipation of standing in line at the amusement park waiting to go on a stomach-flipping ride. And I loved holding out my makeshift cone to Daddy. He would smile while serving us, as if he wanted to be around children just so he could serve them treats one day.
It’s a purely happy memory that I’d like to hold onto for as long as I can because now we slave away in cubicles until we end up black and burnt; that’s how you know once your insides are exposed you can’t go back to the way things were when times were simpler and no one could read you like an open book.