Sugary, Seeping, Summer

In Honey, Baby, Sweetheart, Deb Calleti writes, "Summer just opens the door and lets you out." 

Oh, how true. 

While the hours of the day flow by like molasses and mosquitoes perform pirouettes in the air, summer is the season where you are supposed to throw your comfort zone out of the window. 

This summer, I have done just that. 

While I might still order the same flavor of ice cream every time I go to Cold Stone, ride the same bike route, and listen to the same fifteen songs, I discovered new layers of myself this sunny season. But I could not have done this without summer catapulting me out of my home and into unknown lands. 

Over the last three months, the trips I have taken by myself and with family and friends have painted a new way I see the world. The Covid-19 pandemic has made the universe feel rather scary for the last eighteen months. However, now that I am vaccinated, the opportunity to embrace my surroundings and become comfortable with all the unknown they still bring is liberating. Whether I explored a new neighborhood for a couple of hours or took a day trip to the beach, every place I went left a unique stamp on my heart and mind. 

I still remember the slow shimmy summer made into our lives as spring wallowed away. But already, I can hear the door of summer whispering to me, "Get out there while you can!" because soon autumn will bring me back inside again. 

Here are four locations that shaped my summer 2021. Many thanks to my film camera, Penelope the Pentax K1000, for helping me capture each unfolding memory. 

Chicago

Before my family and I visited Chicago in late July, much of what I knew about the city was from the television show Shameless. So, as our flight headed into O’Hare International airport, I vowed to enter the city with an open mind, an open stomach (to try new foods), and hoped to see Lip Gallagher in the flesh. 

On our first night, my family and I went into the Skydeck building. Though fog covered much of our view,  it was exhilarating to see a new city from 1,353 feet in the air, knowing that no one below me knew who I was. 

Over the next few days, we rode the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier, ate hot dogs at Portillo’s, and went to a Chicago Cubs game with such enthusiastic fans we realized Mets fans back home need to step it up! After running out of all my vacation reads, I dragged my mom to the bookstore, and we poured over novels on Chicago’s Black Panther Party. When my family visited The Bean in Millenium Park, my siblings and I sang “Two-thirty, baby, won’t you meet me by The Bean,” at the top of our lungs. 

But my favorite part of our visit was the pizza tour my dad and I went on. 

Led by Chicago native Jonathan Porter, our tour group was filled with people from across the country. We chatted about which commercial pizza chain was the best in our hometowns while we waited for steaming hot pies. We tried Roman, Artisanal, Neapolitan slices, and excellent Deep Dish at Labriola Chicago. My dad and I folded each slice as we do in New York, never afraid of tomato sauce pooling on our lips. But an unexpected treat from the tour was the historical stories behind each pizza establishment. 

At our first stop, Robert’s Pizza & Dough Company, Robert, the owner, was fascinating. Originally from New York, he blew us away with all his careers before becoming a restaurant owner — playwright, journalist, marine engineer, and more. His love of pizza with the perfect balance of “crunch and chew,” spurred a 20-year journey to find the perfect recipe. Throughout the tour, hearing more tales on how one food could connect so many cultures, locations, and people was a reminder of all the good it can bring to share your passion and love of something — anything, with the world. 

Still, New York pizza is #1. 

Chicago was amazing. But, as soon as my family’s flight landed in JFK, we drove home singing “New York, New York,” by Frank Sinatra with smiles so wide they cast a glow on the nighttime drive. 

There truly is no place like home. 

New York, New York

Manhattan is nothing new to me. Before Covid-19, my morning commute to school involved riding the subway to 42nd Street and walking past the sprawling billboards, dirty Elmo costumes, and reeking hot dog carts of Times Square. 

But the last time I entered the radius sparkling with tears from tourist's eyes and pee on the street was March of 2020. As I rode the train, instead of New Yorkers with North Face jackets crowded inside, five other people and I sat alone wondering where all of our annoying yet memorable friends had gone. 

Non-New Yorkers might claim the "ghost town era" of the city was on the horizon. But, no. New Yorkers knew the party of life was on hold, and if we stuck it out, the streets would be ours to roam again.

And this summer, the streets were ours to roam again. 

In July, as the suffocating heat sent sprinkles of sweat down our foreheads, my friend Christy and I perused every store on 34th street we could find. As we waited in line at Zara, chatting about the places we wanted to travel to once we stopped spending all of our money on Shake Shack, I realized that this is what friendship is. In an age filled with uncertainty, talking about nothing and everything, making plans for the future, and enjoying the moment is an unappreciated beauty.

A month prior, the same thought occurred while I hung out with my friend, Rebekah, at New York's annual Pride parade. It was freeing and amazing to see so many people living their truth because if you can't be authentic in New York, what's the point? 

Rebekah and I are still babies compared to the rest of the world, figuring ourselves out every day. Yet, I will forever cherish that we were together at that moment. It served as a reminder that true friends stick by you through all the uncomfortable layers you shed as you find your truth. 

That is what we New Yorkers did during Covid — stayed true to our hometown through all the alterations it needed to make. As Jerry Seinfield wrote in "So You Think New York Is 'Dead’”, as a response to everyone who ditched New York in the height of the pandemic to cruise out in Miami, "We're going to keep going with New York City if that's all right with you. And it will sure as hell be back. Because of all the real, tough New Yorkers who, unlike you, loved it and understood it, stayed and rebuilt it."

Montauk 

If you have ever watched The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, you know the phrase, “Meet me in Montauk!” At the very tip of Long Island, Montauk is a magnetic spot where people flock to in every season of life. 

Last summer was the first time my family and I visited the beach town that makes you forget all of your troubles while trapping you in a bubble of relief and joy. My best friend Arielle came along for our day trip as well. It was late August, and the threat of school returning, work picking back up again, and life plopping a heaping handful of responsibilities on our plates made everyone want to venture into the warm weather one more time. 

We arrived at Montauk Point Lighthouse, which overlooked a blue sky and an even bluer ocean. It made me stop in my tracks and breathe. The rest of the day felt just like that — every bird flapping its wings, shops advertising navy blue Montauk hoodies, and bike gliding past made me pause and reflect on how beautiful life can be. 

Last weekend my family and I went out to Montauk again. Now familiar with the area, we took our time getting to each destination, letting our feet melt into the ground and heads swing with the breeze. 

We had dinner at Lobster Roll, a retro seafood shack, which was much better than the luncheon reeking of garbage and lukewarm banana milkshakes we went to last year. Even though I am allergic to shellfish, my chicken fingers and roasted potatoes were incredible. 

Then we drove out to the beach. Though we didn’t have swimsuits, my siblings and I would not let that stop us from having fun. We galloped waist-high into the crashing waves. Soon sand stuck to every crevice of my body, and no amount of washing it out helped. So, I attempted one last spray with the communal showerhead, shimmied on my Montauk crewneck, and understood that this is what summer was — letting sand stick on a little bit longer because it would be another nine months until I would walk on it again.  

As we drove out of Montauk that night, I was lost in the music flowing out of my earbuds. Then all of a sudden, amid the dance break in “Sunflower Vol.6” by Harry Styles, the pink sun peeked out of the trees to set into the sky. “Woah!,” everyone in my family collectively gasped, and at that moment, I knew Montauk would always welcome us back again. 

Home

There is one place between every journey, always waiting to welcome me with open arms — home. But what happens when a home is no longer your home? When the place where you sleep, eat, shower, cry, sing, and dance — the nucleus of your universe, can no longer be the nucleus? 

This summer my family and I moved into a new house. Though the center of my world is only ten minutes away from my previous one, it feels like these trees dance a different dance, birds sing another song, and the sun casts a dimmer light than before. 

Yet, it was breathtaking to watch our house rise from dirt mounds covered in snow to a home — our home. 

When my parents closed on the house, though I saw this place a million times before, it felt different. Our blue shingles twinkled brighter than ever, and our red door called my name. Although I tripped coming up the stairs and almost gouged my eye out, walking into the house was like walking into Disney’s Cinderella Castle. 

That night all my grandparents, cousins, uncles, aunts, and family friends came by the house. No furniture did not stop us from having a good time. We ate Chinese food in folding chairs, slurped pizza on the porch, and rejoiced in The Rashid’s Residence. 

The following week, our family helped us move all of our boxes over into the house. Then, after the long day, we had my Mimi’s corn soup as a reward. As we slurped the thick broth from new teal dishes, nibbled on corn and dumplings, and joked about memories from the old house, it was clear — it takes a village to make a family bloom.

Now I am sitting in my favorite location in the house, the porch, just rocking, and rocking, feeling the last summer 2021 breeze. 

I know I will come back and sit on this porch many more times, but soon the view will be different. 

The nest tucked in the tree in front of my house will crumble away. The sky will set earlier, new hues dancing across its canvas. The lawn will suffocate under crunchy orange and red leaves, and I will not hesitate to fall back onto this blanket of earth. 

So, until next time, summer. I will see you again from this very porch with a smile just as wide.