Hometown Starbucks

Elaine Li
Elaine Li
Sep 4, 2018 · 2 min read

The house with the creaky back porch stairs. Mama’s lamb hotpot on a winter night. Or the grease filling the air from fried chicken restaurants trying to out fry each other. The annoying lawnmower next door. Summers where we’d let our skins lap up sun as we donned rubber swim caps and pretended we were Phelps.

Most people miss things that are unique to their hometown*. But me? I miss the Starbucks on Highway 141 most.

The swirl of over-roasted coffee and oak wood filling our nostrils. How cool we felt because we finally had cars and could drive there from school. The piercing screech of chairs and tables being moved to accommodate group project discussions. Huddled whispers about the male anatomy (for biology class, of course). The conversations in which we swore no sex, alcohol, or drugs. The first semester back when we realized rules were meant to be broken. That Thanksgiving when we all finally turned 21 and split an overly expensive bottle of wine from the “Reserve” bar.

Starbucks on 141 watched us grow. It helped us pick who we were going to ask to Homecoming. It sympathized with our college applications and then our internship/job search. It learned about how crazy study abroad was. It eavesdropped on our conversations about who from high school did what and where. Starbucks on 141 was and is high school. How can I not hold it dear?

And on days like these, when I’ve come home to visit and all my buds are out doing the incredible things they do — this is when I miss them most. Forever thankful for the crew that stuck by me through high school so I didn’t have to do it alone. And forever will Starbucks on 141 remain a special place for us.

*Though I spent my childhood in Brooklyn, New York, I spent my most formative years in Forsyth County, Georgia and since my parents still live here, I consider this home. And thus, my hometown.

Written by

Elaine Li

a new yorker at heart with a dash of southern hospitality, hoya blue and chicago maroon.

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