As I sat on a bench in a park a little ways away from my home, I noticed the branches of a grayish brown barren tree. They pointed in countless directions and got increasingly thin as they reached out. A shredded black plastic bag is wrapped around one branch, swaying during the few times that the wind started to pick up. I watched as groups of people passed, their shadows blending and parting on the sidewalk behind them. The ground is covered in black specks, colored only by a splash of red paint that had dried. Vehicles hummed, waiting for the stop light to turn green. The second it did they were off with buses creaking, ladders rattling atop a van and motorcycles revving to life. The motorcycle engines were especially loud. The smell of gas was faint, fortunately, but accompanied by the even vaguer smell of Caribbean food from a restaurant across the street. Besides the restaurant there was a vendor selling flowers. Roses of various shades of red and pink compose bouquets awaiting customers to indulge in their beauty. My attention was drawn away by the laughter of a woman waving off a friend as she crossed the street, a wide smile was on her face as she turned away from them. The white lines of the crosswalk were beginning to crack and fade. It was a bit warm even as the sun was starting to set and the shade grew. My eyes returned to the greenery before me. Tiny blades of grass move slightly, revealing two birds flitting about. This would go on for a few moments, but one would eventually fly away with something orange in its beak with the other following unyieldingly.

The hill coming up seemed like an endless road. Gum-spotted concrete rose up like a stairway to familiarity – the discomfortable comfort in poverty. The sun was too warm for the jumper against my bare legs, the polyester along my collarbone. My mother called me a tropical baby, born with an overheated body meant for hot weather – but I disagreed. My sister grabbed my hand with a parental-like grip as the shops blurred together, the bell of the icee lady ringing in my ears as she towed her cart around the streets. 

“One dollar, one dollar! Coco, cherry, mango!” 

She guided me towards the woman, reaching for her wallet to pull out two bills. Handing me the “rainbow” colored treat, I licked and licked, desperate for relief from the approaching summer. My sister’s tongue was red with her own. 

“Can we go to the store?” I asked. 

“For what?” She gazed down at me. I knew she felt the same, but she wouldn’t admit to being hungry like a kid would. 

“A snack.” 

She gave me a look. No. I knew. It was okay. I had something already, right?

Marching my mary janes past the bakery, my favorite smell wafted through the air, sweet and cozy. I longed to eat just one piece of bread – but it was out of reach, out of budget. General Tso’s chicken and slices of pepperoni and cheese mingled with the scent, becoming a food symphony that taunted my nostrils. Melancholy, I slurped up the remaining sugar water from my cup as she tugged my arm up the hill, home to an empty fridge, faucet dripping into my glass as I awaited dinner.

It’s not as if I’ve never been to a Shake Shack restaurant. I’ve even been to this one many times before. However, I think this particular lunch is as if I’ve never been to any Shake Shack before, not just this location. The reason for this is because two weeks ago I was diagnosed with Celiac Disease.

Celiac disease is an immune reaction one’s body has to eating gluten. When someone with the disease eats gluten, their small intestine is destroyed and over time becomes unable to absorb the necessary nutrients for, frankly, survival. For those of you unfamiliar with gluten, it appears in many of the world’s greatest foods therein causing those with Celiac disease to go mentally insane. 

Since receiving my diagnosis, I haven’t been going to my regular food spots because, more often than not, they serve food laced with the harmful gluten chemical. But, after two weeks without a burger, I decided it was time to take the leap of faith. See what gluten-free bread was all about. 

It cost me an extra dollar to order my burger with the gluten-free bun as if I weren’t in enough despair. Frankly, though, I was without choice and ate the extra expense. Then it came time for me to actually try the stuff. Now, no one usually gets excited over the bun when anticipating a burger, but when you find yourself having to eat without it, or with some faux-bread substitute, you find yourself longing for that soft, velvety loaf. 

To add to the strangeness and tension, my burger came encased in a new box, new branding that made my meal feel that little bit more foreign, and due to my unfamiliarity, takes a few extra moments for me to get into it. 

Unwrapped and sitting in front of me, I look at my burger. It is dark and glossy. I poke and prod it a few times. It is hard. I tweeze it with fingers from both hands and pull the top bun ever so slightly apart. It is filled with gaps of air. I can imagine it attached to the back of a scuba diver swimming through a coral reef. 

I open my mouth and raise the burger to my lips. I chomp down and think hard during my first couple of sturdy chews. It’s dry. Is that bitter? Is that sour? It’s dissolving with just the application of my spit. After the next few bites, I sit in mental solitude as I resign myself to a life devoid of real bread. 

In conclusion: Ugh. 

Those nice warm breezes that cool me off from all the sweat that had accumulated on my forehead, giving my body relief from all the heat it’s been feeling. I take a deep breath in, feeling new again, refreshed. Not that I mind, I enjoy being under the sun. I get enough wind every time I run, feeling my feet pound on the ground, my hair rising up and exposing my neck. Running feels like flying, after a while where I don’t even feel my feet anymore, like my legs are no longer a part of my body, it’s as if I am floating. My chest begins to feel tight, the air has been removed from my lungs and suddenly I feel my legs as my own again, aching a bit. My body has demanded a break. Water from the public fountain tastes like the best thing on Earth, so fresh, clean, and pure. Not being able to get enough of it. I take a seat and hyperventilate until my lungs inflate again with air. Time is up though, as one of my friends is approaching quickly but not fast enough as I dash away as far as I can. My feet are taking flight again but this time they become entangled and my knees and palms take the brunt of the fall. I skid across the cement. Without another thought I jump up from the ground and swerve around the corner. After a few more minutes of my other friends getting caught, everyone is breathing heavily, gasping for air, and rushing each other at the fountain. I approach victorious when suddenly there is a sizzling sensation in my hands. Bright red scratches on my palms, shreds of skin coming out, dirt surrounding it. Both of my knees looking identical. The once relaxing and rejuvenating wind had become a warning for upcoming pain. My hands close up, my knees pull inward but my head faces the clouds. Feels very bittersweet to feel such pain and pleasure simultaneously. My friends ask me if I’m ready to play again, I smile.

The cold breeze blew through my hair. The sun shined on the soft waves, making the water sparkle like diamonds. The gentle rocking of the ferry created a calm and serene moment, while my two friends and I enjoyed the scenery. We approached the Island slowly, and the big white letters reading “Governers Island” got closer and closer. The ferry came to a stop and we walked out. We walked side by side, making small chatter with each other. The path was filled with cracked cement, making the path uneven under our feet. We walked through the grass and dried leaves crunching under our feet. 

We each picked up our skates, and the heavy shoes weighed down my arms. Putting on the shoes, I wobbled onto the rink. The ice made me lose my balance with every step. I held on to the wall and took small and slow steps. The ice gleamed under the sun. My thighs burned from the effort of skating and we finally walked out of the rink. My legs feel a sense of relief after sitting down and taking off the heavy skates. We continued walking throughout the location. The smell of smoke and charcoal filled my nose. Families were sitting around grills, as dark smoke rose from them. 

The sound of children running and laughing died down as we walked under this old red-bricked building. We reached these bright red hammocks and we each laid down on one. The only thing that could be heard was the wind blowing through the naked trees. The sun shined down, but not excruciating blinding. The sky was a bright blue and only a few thin white clouds covered the sky. Time seemed to stop, as I softly swayed on the hammock staring at the sky. The world went quiet and a sense of calm washed through my body.