Summer I fell in love with The Young and the Restless. Junior college freshman destined for a daily lunch date with the La-Z-Boy and lives of Genoa City. Summer I overwrote the simple journalism assignment to impress a girl in the class, Mitzi, and the professor told me I did the assignment wrong, but should join the school paper because I had “a knack for the romantic.” Summer my leg lived in a cast because Baby Joker, just released from jail, thought I looked like a rival who tagged his heina’s house with bullets. Family on welfare that summer—we cut out name brand cookies, cable, and conversation. Unsure whether to be insulted or thankful the neighbors bought us groceries. Summer I lived on ramen and Hot Pockets, sitting sideways with my leg that never forgave me for cutting the cast off myself, draped over the armrest like a lovesick pendulum, longing to be Danny Romalatti: resident soap opera rock star, so I could write sonnets to his wife Cricket, whose real name was Christine, but who looked like a Mitzi.