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Leaves me with my food.
My thoughts.
My breathing finally steady again.
I eat slower after that.
Not rushing.
Savoring.
Letting each bite ground me.
And somewhere between the rice and the last enchilada?—
the noise in my head quiets.
Just enough.
Because out there?—
on campus?—
everything feels like a game I didn’t agree to play.
Rules I didn’t learn.
Moves I didn’t make.
But here?
There are no strategies.
No mothers whispering plans.
No girls positioning themselves.
No boys caught between.
Just food.
Just warmth.
Just me.
I finish the plate.
Every last bite.
When the waitress brings the check, I stop her.
“Gracias,” I say softly.
Thank you.
She nods.
“Con gusto.”
