The Cheeseburger Trilogy, Part 1: The Scenic Route
You have some time to kill before Little Pete’s wedding at the Elks Lodge, so you decide to take the scenic route, turning off the interstate at Perch Place to drive down the lakefront. Just like anything else that’s always there, most of the time you don’t even notice the lake. But sometimes, you just can’t take your eyes off it. It’s beautiful. Funny, that. Boring things, the things that are always there, aren’t usually beautiful.
And sure enough… today it isn’t. It’s overcast. There’s no sun to glint off the lake’s surface, no sky-blue sky to reflect. Just greyish white over greenish grey. The lake is still impressive – deep and endless and reassuringly there. But it doesn’t draw the eye.
You hardly used to notice the way the lake looked at all. It wasn’t something to sit and stare at, it was a place where you actually did things. You had fun. Now, you sit on a bench with a cup of coffee at Lakeshore Park and gaze out over the beach and wonder: what was it, exactly, you used to do at the lake?
Build a bonfire?
Go for a swim?
Take a boat out?
Go fishing?
Build a sandcastle?
No… none of that feels quite right. You squint and furrow your brow, and the fact that you can’t remember makes you feel anxious and restless. You swallow the last gulp of cold coffee from your to-go cup, and get back in the car.
It’s a bit early for lunch, but you’ve still got time before the wedding, and nowhere else to go, so you go to another diner. There’s a place off highway 45 called The Hop that does a really good burger and craft beer. You’ve been going there for years. They just might do the best burger you’ve ever had (and you’ve had a lot of burgers). But it’s a funny place, the kind that’s all decked out in 1950s memorabilia, even though it actually opened in the 90s. Who is it for, you wonder. Who’s left that remembers the 50s so fondly? Nostalgia for a time you never lived through is just fantasy. Maybe that's the whole point.
You were born in 1960. The fifties were already history. You came of age when the liberation and sensuality of the sixties had congealed into the clammy sleaze of the seventies. Happy days were dead and gone, so in their place you watched Happy Days on TV. Grease was the word, and what a gross word it was.
The burger arrives. It looks just as good as you remember it, and luckily, it is. When the lake has lost its lustre, it’s good to know you can still count on cheeseburgers. You don’t get to eat them that much anymore. Doctor’s orders. All those cheeseburgers are killing you, he said. He said it in a kind, half-joking way, but it was tough news to hear. How could cheeseburgers do this to you? It was like being betrayed by a beloved friend.
You wash the burger down with a bottle of amber ale and leave the diner feeling sentimental, looking forward to the wedding. Little Pete is getting married. What a good kid. A bit weird, but a good kid. After the wedding he’s moving to Austin because his wife’s got a job lined up down there. Big Pete isn’t happy. He loves that boy, and he’s the kind of guy who just wants things to stay the same. Big Pete lives in a house three doors down from the one he grew up in. He drank nothing but Hamm’s Light since he was 17 years old and was furious when they discontinued it a few years back. Just couldn’t cope, and now all he drinks is vodka and Diet Dr. Pepper.
You’ll have to remember to check in on him in a few months after Little Pete’s gone. Maybe you can take him out for a cheeseburger.