Dear Starkville, Stark-Vegas, Mississippi’s College Town,
Your nicknames are basically endless; the first time I came and visited, I was a little confused by the whole “Stark-Vegas” thing. No offense, but you’re not really like the real Las Vegas. Like, at all. You don’t have any casinos or celebrity appearances (unless you count that one time I saw Dak Prescott at a volleyball game), and the closest strip club is actually in West Point. But that’s okay.
You’re situated in a kind of oasis. You’re the only real town for miles around, and the second town you hit coming through Mississippi from the east. Surrounded by farmland on all sides, you’re right at the intersection of like, six highways, which for an already-confused Atlanta driver presents something of a challenge. I still don’t know the difference between 82 and 182, I don’t know where 25 is, and one time it took me 20 minutes to reach an apartment complex located three quarters of a mile from campus. Yeah.
Confusing roadways notwithstanding, you’ve been a huge, important, awesome part of my life. The parts of you that were initially kind of irritating have become endearing. A trip to Kroger isn’t complete without a sighting of that guy who drives around in a Cadillac with one-dollar bills plastered all over the inside and outside. You know the one. I’ve found that even though there’s always construction, or traffic, or even crazy Pentecostal protestors, there’s a charm about you that I’m drawn to. Without question, you’ve become home, and now that I’m back where I grew up, I find myself missing you. A lot.
You’ve taught me a lot too. I had no idea what a blue plate special was before I came to Starkville, and I’m still getting the hang of those gas station pumps where you have to flip up the handle instead of pressing a button for Regular Unleaded. You’ve taught me that “five miles down the road” can be five minutes or twenty, that the best crawfish comes from roadside stands, and that the “duck butter” from Starkville Café doesn’t actually have duck in it (oops). Did you know the best biscuits in the world are from Starkville, too? You seem to have the best of everything, from the state’s best barbecue (though I’d like to argue that Petty’s is better than The Little Dooey) to the state’s best public university.
You’ve brought me to love so many new things. Would you believe I had a passionate dislike for iced tea and country music before I found you? I wish I could be so impactful. Thanks to you, I have a new appreciation for cheese fries (thanks, Bin612), boiled crawfish, and pimento cheese.
When I left for the summer, I started to miss the things I had grown accustomed to and that I started to realize I’d been taking for granted. I miss my rides to the barn in Sessums with Luke Bryan blasting and my windows rolled down. I miss weekend trips to LaTa’s for pollo fundido, and late-night runs to WalMart and McDonald’s for things we probably didn’t need. I miss my classes, my teachers, my friends. Starkville, you’re not just a place. You’re a feeling, and a feeling that I miss more than anything else.
You came into my life during a difficult time, and that probably has a lot to do with why I latched onto you so quickly. But I wouldn’t say that’s the only reason; there’s just something about you that draws people from all walks of life, whether it’s for a day at Davis Wade Stadium, for four years in the hallowed halls of MSU, or for a lifetime.
Starkville, I love you, I miss you. We’ve had good times and bad times, had ups and downs, and our fair share of tear-your-hair-out moments. But I’ve realized that I’ll always come back to you. You’re home now, and that’s okay with me.