So, did your grandma, or I guess for some of you younger whippersnappers out there, your great-grandmas, ever sit down and tell you a story of what it was like during World War II? About what it was like having her father, her brother, or even your granddad, head across the pond with their grand notions dishing out the ol’ what-for? I mean, I know, there have been countless movies and stories about that time, and yes some of them dwelled upon this very scenario, but I’m not talking about the sentimental love triangles, or the down-and-out, can't-make-ends-meet sob stories. Has she ever told you what the towns looked like, what the diners, the movie theaters, the streets themselves, really looked like when all the men had left?
Well, mine never has, and so I really can't be too sure, but I'd imagine it looked a lot like Denton over Spring Break. Make no mistakes, ladies and gents: spring break is a war, and we fight it on both the land and on the sea. And, much like that very famous war from the 40’s, there have been many movies and stories told about this one. But, in all of those movies, the battles control the screens. The entire running time – either what you're seeing in a theater, in the presence of a dread-locked James Franco or even just the story you hear from your younger brother about how awesome he is at beach volleyball now – in each of these instances, the battleground is the only setting allowed to exist. Your Fort Lauderdale's, your Cancun's, every Joe’s Crab Shack within spitting distance of the coast, each one ground zero for a new D-Day as the soldiers storm in armed to the teeth with an artillery of beer bongs and jello shots, all are made to be these glorious Colosseums where only the strong (or at least strong of liver) survive.
But what about the world that's left behind? What about those who remain to take care of it? The unsung heroes who must pick up the slack of those who've forsaken them? I mean, don't they know the mess they've left them in? That numbers won’t crunch themselves, stores won't stock themselves, Taco Cabana and season 2 of Daredevil won’t plow through themselves in glutinous fashion? People are still needed in the world, even during the time of war.
Now, let me confess something guys. It’s a big one. No, seriously, y'all may as well start calling yourselves Alderaan, because y’all are about to be blown away. I – yes, cool, life-of-the-party, never-a-dull-moment-with-me Logan – was one of those the world chose to leave behind. I’m not bitter, I’m not mad, I’m just telling y’all that I was here. I walked the street of Fry, prowled the confines of the Square. It was dark. It was quiet. Everywhere I looked, I saw only the forgotten walls of Lucky Lou’s, or the soft flickering sign over LSA Burger. It was strange. It was eerie. It was….Honestly, it wasn't that bad.
There were no lines at the bar, no waiting for as many Georgie Boys as one person could ever hope to eat. No crowds, no loud noises, just you and the still night air and maybe, just maybe another one of those unsung heroes, those beautiful souls that elected to stay and put up the fight here on the home turf. Maybe you talk to her, maybe it's the best night of your life, or maybe y’all just nod at each other, passing back knowing smiles with a mixture of sadness that this is your last night of peace before the chickens come back to roost. Either way, Spring Break ends, and life resumes its course. Facebook and Instagram are flooded with bikini pics and keg stands, and that quiet moment in time when this city was yours to control becomes another distant memory.
And so, until next year, let me leave you simply with this: there are stories in the void, memories to be made here in that period of Dentoning that can be considered either the wasteland or the Eden, that enigma in the script of the week that is known as Spring Break. Look for them and enjoy them, but just leave the battles on the beaches where they belong.