Chicago

We left Cleveland before the sun came up.   We didn’t want to stay too long, besides, Ethan hated the Cavs and LeBron.  There was something else on our minds and it glistened like a beacon on Lake Michigan ahead of us. We didn’t even need to talk about it, we knew where we were gonna go: my kind of town—Chicago.

Chicago could have actually been my town. During my senior year in high school, I had to choose between Stanford and Northwestern for college, and I came close to choosing Northwestern.  The one reason why I almost chose Northwestern over the Resort in Palo Alto is Chicago.  It has always had a mythical tug on me, the skyscrapers in the Loop pull me in.  We were going to stay for a couple of days with my aunt and uncle in Northbrook, an affluent northern suburb, I was excited, but something seemed wrong.

It was one of those perfect days, where it was cool and the sky was a brilliant blue without a single cloud in the sky.  I wish I could fully describe how magnificent Lake Michigan looked, but some things you just can’t write down.  I-90 curved slowly and the steel and concrete of Chicago suddenly appeared in the distance.  We slowly made our way past the city to drop our bags off in Northbrook. 

As we were getting out of the car, I suddenly realized what was wrong.

“Yo, Ethan, let’s explore Chicago”

“Ya, I thought that’s what we planned on doing.”

“No I mean lets like actually explore it, and not go to Michigan Avenue, or the other touristy places.  Let’s go to the South Side.”

“I mean alright, we’re on this trip to have an adventure.  Let’s have an adventure.”

We drove into the city and quickly made our way along Lake Shore Drive.  We wanted to experience the true Chicago and we parked our car near the University of Chicago in Hyde Park and started to walk around.  We soon left the familiar enclave of a University.   To pass the time, Ethan and I started recounting our time in High School, starting freshman year.   

“Remember that time Sammy passed out in science from the blood?!”

The years and memories flooded back.  We didn’t realize what neighborhood we were in and suddenly we were lost. 

“Or that time when Daniel played basketball with Mr. Grande’s children in homeroom”

We walked down street after street trying to find someone to ask for directions.  All of a sudden, we almost ran into an extremely old Black lady.

            “Excuse me, I’m so sorry.  Are you okay?” I gasped.

            “Yes, I’m quite alright.  You boys look out of place, are you lost?”

            “Yes, we are.  Do you know how to get back to the University of Chicago?”

She told us the quickest way to get back, and I looked into her eyes.  They looked like they had seen too much pain and I felt a strange connection to this lady.  Her accent was unfamiliar, so I asked about it.

            “Are you from here?” I asked, hoping to finally talk to someone truly from Chicago.

            “No honey, I’m originally from Chickasaw County, Mississippi…”

She continued to tell us about her journey North escaping the Jim Crow South.  She had been an original migrant in the Great Migration, had seen Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. speak live and had even voted for Obama when he was running for State Senate.  Here was someone who had lived!   She told us her entire story, and two hours later finally said, “You better be off now, I’ve talked long enough.  Besides, some lady already knows my story and is writing it down, so you should read it then.  Isabel, that’s her name.  Get her book when it comes out!” 

            We walked with her back to her house and eventually, after thanking her relentlessly, walked back to our car and headed back to Northbrook.  The rest of our stay in Chicago was uneventful.  We were spoiled by Ida the first afternoon.  Eventually, we said goodbye to my aunt and uncle and left Chicago.  It was time to venture to parts further West.