Susan and our daughter Sophie approached the counter. Each grabbed two drinks. Sophie passed one to me.
“How do you know this one is coconut? They look the same.”
“The guy said so.” I never ordered a boba tea before. I’ve tasted my kids’ teas on a couple of occasions. Too bitter, nothing I would like.
After our trek up Sugarloaf Mountain with Susan’s brother’s family, a mile-long uphill slog on a closed park road, sometimes steep, sometimes oh-my-god-steep, the teenagers wanted boba tea. I include Sophie with the teenagers because she’s that generation. Soon, they will all be adults.
“We have four places to get boba tea in Amherst,” one cousin said. “We’re going to my favorite.” Good thing we had a guide. Before lunch, we out-of-towners walked the center square. We talked about getting boba then. We would have gone to the wrong shop.
The top of Sugarloaf offered a prototypical view of a New England town. Front and center, a brick church with a white steeple set the stage. A couple of rows of houses quickly dissolved into farm fields, brown and out of production for the year. A backdrop of mountains finished the scene. Up on top, we told stories, pointed at pretty sights, and snapped photos of each other. We descended the road twice as quickly as we climbed.
For the fifteen-minute drive back to Amherst, Eli surprised us with country music. For years, ending right now, it’s been classic rock, only classic rock. My son Eli volunteered to be the driver for the weekend. “My car, my music” is his mantra, and I’m certain it’s the reason he drove. The day before, during the first two hours of our drive to Massachusetts, we listened rap. He recently started a new life as an Emergency Medical Technician. He drives an ambulance for hours each day with various partners. Apparently, he’s absorbing interest in new music genres.
None of the teas on the boba menu appealed to me. I’m a die-hard coffee guy, but no coffee at this joint. The one non-tea menu item was a coconut drink. It looked promising. I love coconut drinks. For seven years in my late twenties/early thirties, I spent every summer weekend at the beach. Each weekend started with a pina colada. My modus operandi: eight o’clock Friday night, find Jeff on the deck at Obies. WIth alcohol out of my life, coconut drinks are a thing of the past.
I ordered my Amherst drink with oat milk, boba and “100% sweetness.” While 100% might sound like the sweetest drink available, the menu tells me it’s “normal” sweetness. The sweetness scale goes up to 125%.
I’ve never wished for an out-of-body experience before, but watching my first sip of that wonderful drink would have been a once-in-a-lifetime event. Sunrays shined from my eyes. My skin glowed crimson. My hair radiated blue and green sparks. A pink halo encircled my head. Sophie, who watched my face transform to utter pleasure, smiled. To say I loved my drink grossly under-sells the situation. My coconut boba drink was the best flavor I’ve ever tasted.
Okay, while none of that magical stuff happened, my boba drink was a lovely cap to what felt like a magic afternoon.
Two hours later, Sophie received a text from University of Vermont warning her of a Burlington shooting. This morning we learned that three Palestinian college students were ambushed by a gunman a couple of blocks from Sophie’s house. I’m thankful she was safely out of town with us. This bigoted violence has to stop.
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Previously Published on jefftcann.com and is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
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Internal image courtesy of author
