Can you have a crush on a lifestyle? An infatuation with a different culture. And the longing, the desire, the ache when you see the sun set over the football field and the valley of the school sits nestled between billowing hills, honeyed sunsets that dance across the golden rolls and the green leaves before they succumb to auburn fall. Seasons that fade from tank tops and hot, dusty nights to sweaters and brass leaves and homecoming. Take me to that place. To where high school means swimming in a letterman jacket two sizes too big. Pep rallies and school spirit. The marching band plays the star spangled banner as you watch the painted faces of the crowd screech in time to the music. quarterback stays late for practice and you wait up late, long after you've finished the essay, waiting for him to call.

Dances and parties, Friday nights wearing slow slung skirts and candied lip gloss. Beer pong and dancing on tables to the endless chants-- chug chug chug--mingled with the ever pulsing music. Until he leads you out and you drive and drive until he deems it far enough away.

Sex on a dirt road in the bed of his pick up truck. Laid back on an old blanket reserved for such a thing. No one around to hear your moans but an owl who hoots along. And you know what to do when he fingers your #12 hair and runs his hands up your shirt and tickles your belt line with his fingertips.

Mr. D, Mrs. Johnson, Mr. Richards, Ms. T. A party of pinstripes. Pre-algebra to calculus. Lab partners and a snake in the corner of room 11. Whiteboards and pull down maps. Pencil sharpeners in the back of the room and neat lines of brown desks. Textbooks that smell of mildew and cinnamon and hand written essays about some revolution.

Small towns- howdy to everyone. Sex and boys, beer and parties, homework and homecoming. Take me to tradition. Let me drift through the cafeteria and football field and golden sunsets. Let me live life the way it was intended. This is the way it was intended, right?