coffee, if you please.

the weather has finally warmed.

it’s ridiculous to think that our winter was as extreme as others across the country suffered with snow that blocked people from leaving their own houses; after all, we’re in the south, how bad can it possibly get? it might not have been necessarily the snow or the ice that worried drivers or lead them away from the roads. it might have been our lack of preparedness — knowing that others would be just as unprepared as you — that steered us. no pun intended.

but the weather is warm. spring may not have lasted long, which is unfortunate it being my favorite season, but i have vowed to not complain this summer. after the horrid cold, no complaints will come from me.

now that the sun is radiant again and it’s pleasant outside, this particular group of friends is one of the patio-loving variety when the temperature rises; there is a devout subculture of memphians dedicated to patio and outdoor culture, whereas the others who despise any sort of heat whatsoever have to manage.

ideas and comparisons dominated our conversation that night on the patio, the welcomed warm air rustling our dresses and the button-downs of our companions. most of us are unattached, with the exception of ally and rich, who are shy of six months of dating each other.

the breeze is complacent to our needs; it seemed as though when one of the seven folks in our group mention the warmth left over from the sun earlier in the day, a wind pranced through, reminding us that it’s supposed to be spring — it’s still may, after all.

memphis is the capital of mississippi, harold had said earlier.

it ruffled some feathers of the group. ally gnawed on her straw, lingering on her drink. harold’s argument was, in a way, compelling; memphis shares a bit of culture with mississippi, particularly in the music department, but there was something about being attached to mississippi that irked: a kicker to a perspective we hadn’t seen before, a little uncomfortableness at the idea of being anything but tennesseans, at least when it came to memphis, at this point in our lives.

“didn’t they just ratify slavery?” someone asked. the pause it left gave us a chance to catch up to our smoking habits.

mississippi was a low-hanging fruit; years of ammunition have been fed to us from generations past and rankings of states have indoctrinated us, even the ones self-aware and wary of generalizations.

harold continued his defense: demographically, we’re similar; musically, we’re similar; gastronomically, by golly, we’re similar. and memphians will argue with you ’til your ears fall off about food. it’s our bread and butter — again, no pun intended.

we conceded. harold was effectively calling us on our collective bullshit, schooling us in what we thought we knew — a circular problem with a group of folks in their mid-twenties.

“we should secede,” i said, blowing a cloud from my cigarette up out of my neighbor’s eyes.

“not from the union, i mean,” i quickly added, “from the rest of tennessee.”

my companions looked confused.

“what would we call ourselves?” roger asked, tilting his head with a grin.

“west tennessee, of course!” i threw a smile right back. “shit, west virginia can do it, why can’t we?”

“you’re on to something there, though,” harold said as he looked past me for just a split second. i hadn’t spent much time with him, but i knew that meant he was thinking it over. “we’re nothing like chattanooga, or knoxville, or nashville. we’re more delta.”

he shrugged before taking a sip of his very patriotic budweiser.

“we may be more progressive than east tennessee,” harold offered.

the conversation made its way through, traveling through blues music and the circumstances of privilege and it might have gone on a bit longer, but our server came back ’round to ask if this group of unlikely friends wanted more drinks and, unsurprisingly, it was a unanimous yes.

pour another?