Chicago mornings are one of two ways: beautiful and warm or bitingly cold. There is no in-between. Normally Michigan Avenue has your usual people: the human statues, saxophone players, vocal homeless people that follow you around, and of course the token person wearing a Blackhawks sweater. I decided to wear a floral sundress, given that it was the first warm day of the year: May 3rd.

I walked down Michigan Avenue the only way a person can walk down it: with confidence. I could smell some flowers lining the sidewalk, but the overwhelming smell of exhaust from the Pace busses covered it up. I felt pretty untouchable until a group of people wearing “Wilson Family Reunion 2014” shirts shoved their way past me to the curvy subway staircase.

“Oh, George! George!” the oldest woman said. She was wearing baggy jean capris and a fanny pack that said “Disney World: The Happiest Place on Earth!” on it. She gave George her camera and he took her picture in front of the “Cheesecake Factory Subway Stop.” Classy. Probably from Wisconsin.

I caught my breath and kept walking past the people who had obviously been unaware that subways don’t just exist in New York. I made my way for Watertower Place because if there’s something that you can do right it’s shopping at Watertower Place. Even if you’re broke.

I walked into the Lush store in the Macy’s and made way for the Benefit counter. It didn’t really matter whether I bought anything or not; the ladies at the counter understood why I didn’t pay for anything. I was broke and owned 4 dresses, all of which they’d seen. I debuted number 5 to them that day. They did my makeup—which they had to redo 2 times because I sneezed while they put on my mascara—and then I went my merry way.

Walking through Watertower is an experience. You watch people buy their stuff and everybody tries to “one-up” the other. You see someone with a Fossil bag, while the next guy has a Fossil and an Abercrombie bag, followed by a Fossil, Abercrombie, and Victoria’s Secret bag. You know you’ve hit rock bottom of pettiness when you’re seen carrying around a Betsey Johnson bag. Then you have the little girls with their American Girl dolls and the boys with their Lego Store bags. It’s incredibly predictable.

I walk past 2 DePaul students and make way for the never-ending escalator ride up to the floor with a Forever 21 store on it. I yawned while I watched the floor below me become little. I was almost to my floor when a boy rushed down the up escalator, taking my little purse with him. Me being oh-so-cliché quickly yelled, “My purse!” I got off on my floor and sprinted to the down escalator to try and catch him. I made my way down the escalator, only to see him waiting for me at the bottom. I stopped in my tracks and let the escalator glide me down.

I finally made it to the bottom where he said, “Excuse me.” He held out my purse and allowed me to take it.

“Excuse you!” I snapped at him, “What was that?! Do you think I’m an idiot or something?!”

“No,” he said, “Although I now know what it looks like to run that fast in a dress.” He started laughing.

“What is wrong with you?! I could have the cops called on you!”

“But will you?”

“What?!”

“Hush, don’t yell, this is a public place. What I said was, ‘but will you?’”

“Uh…well, yeah.”

“That sounded pretty confident.”

“Shut up. Leave me alone. This city is so damn messed up.”

“Whatever. I’ll leave you alone. Goodbye.”

I kept walking until I saw a boy with a Loyola sweatshirt approach me. He had wavy red hair and freckles that blended right into his sweatshirt. He was wearing a messenger cross body bag with pencils sticking out of the pocket.

“Was he bothering you?”

“Who? The psycho?”

“Well that won’t narrow it down but, yes.”

“Well, he took my purse then gave it back to me to see what it would look like if I ran in a dress.”

“He’s a sociology major at my school that was for a project.”

“What a weird project.”

“Anyway, I’m sorry if he creeped you out or freaked you out or whatever.”

“It’s okay,” I said. I looked down at my feet. “Well, thanks.”

“Where are you going?” he turned around once I walked away.

“Home. I guess,” I shrugged. I kept walking while he followed.

“What, you’ll let him ruin your day?”

“No, I just want to go home.”

“Where do you live?”

“I’m not telling you,” I finally stopped and looked him in the eye. We were in front of the Victoria’s Secret. I massaged my arm and grimaced in pain.

“You okay?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah,” I said, “I’m fine.”

“Will your parents get mad?”

“I don’t live with my parents,” I turned back around and walked with him following me like a dog.

“You look pretty young to not live with your parents, how old are you?”

“18.”

“Are you in college?” I walked into Macy’s and he kept following, questioning.

“No,” I sounded irritated.

“Well do you have a job?”

“Yes.”

“Where?” We walked past the perfume and onto the down escalator.

“I work at Tiffany’s.”

“And you’re 18?”

“Yes.”

He let the escalator take us down to the ground floor, which had the makeup display scattered everywhere. Right where I started. We hit the ground and I walked swiftly through the makeup counters. The Benefit girls waved to me.

“How do you know them?”

“I go here a lot, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Nope. Unfortunately, I’m yours.”

“Goody,” I said as we walked onto Michigan Avenue and turned left. I was headed home or to the police station, whichever I hit first.

“So how did you pull off a job at Tiffany’s?” he asked as he walked by my side only to be pushed out of the way by commuters and tourists. He ended up walking behind me.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, no offense, but I never would let an 18 year old handle priceless jewelry.”

“It’s hardly priceless. How old are you anyway?”

“19.”

“Nice. You’re really considerate, you know?”

“I’m not saying I would man the counters either!”

We passed a group of people admiring a human statue and I lost him for a few minutes before he caught me on the crosswalk over to Sak’s.

“So, how much do you get paid?” he asked out of breath as he caught me.

“Would you mind your own business?” I turned sharply, making him stop himself before ramming into me. He looked shocked.

“I’m just wondering. You’re pretty interesting. And very pretty.”

“Go down to Englewood, you would get great reception,” I sneered at him.

“You’re pretty mean too.”

“I’ve lived in this city long enough to know when someone’s trying to either pickpocket me or make a big deal.”

“You’re not very trusting then,” he struggled between making it a question and a statement.

“There’s no one left to trust,” I turned back around and headed down Michigan Avenue.

We walked in silence for 2 blocks, which on Michigan Avenue is like 2 continents.

We waited at the crosswalk by Guess and he stared at me.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“Why, don’t you trust me?”

“Well trusting people usually don’t usually ask people what their salaries are.”

The Walk signal came on and we walked.

“I’m sorry. That was my fault and it was out of line. I’m sorry. But anyway, why do you live on your own?”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” I said.

“Trust me.”

I looked back and glared at him. As I looked I got a glimpse of the Allerton behind him.

“Tip. Top. Tap,” I said.

He turned around and noticed the hotel.

“You ever been?”

“No, but I dream. I used to be scared of that hotel. Reminded me of the Tower of Terror in Disney World.”

He looked back and chuckled, “Yeah I guess it does.”

“I want my wedding to be there,” I said, “I want it to be there and for it to be white. With white table linens and white roses and white embellishments on everything. And I want my first dance to look over the skyline like my apartment does. I want to take a deep breath of the city. I want to basically dance over the skyline.”

“Where do you live?”

I groaned and kept walking.

We walked in silence to Illinois Street where I turned left. He finally spoke.

“So, what’s your story?”

“My what?”

“Your story. Why are you 18, working at Tiffany’s, where you hang out at the Benefit counter so much the girls know you?”

“Will you leave me alone if I tell you?” I stopped and looked him in the eye. Tribune Tower was behind him.

“Yes,” he looked sincere.

“I was scared,” I turned and walked slower, “I lived in Aurora and I thought I would never get out. It was all fine until this year. I was happy growing up. I was a dancer and I was involved with my Church and I had all these friends. Everything was fine.”

“Until…?” he looked up at the Tower, just noticing it.

“Well, I took English History and I heard about all these legendary authors who ran away and I thought I could do it. So…”

“That’s the worst story I ever heard.”

“Well that’s what you’re getting.”

“Just tell me.”

“I won’t. I was sick of Aurora and having the MetLife building and the casino be my only skyline.”

“So you came to write?”


“Yes.”

“About what? What could you write here that you can’t write in Aurora?”

“Stuff. I don’t know. I needed inspiration. This is just a stepping stone.”

“To what?” he got louder and stopped again. We had a habit of doing this. We were just approaching the roundabout.

“To New York. To art. To literature. To my pupils having to expand to take it all in. That’s what I want,” I grabbed my head and turned around to take everything in. I was nervous around him. “Now please,” I caught my breath, “Please go away.”

“Let me take you home,” he said, “You seem exasperated.”

“It’s just cold sweat,” I looked down at my arms. I was doing it again.

“Okay, but let’s be sure you’re okay.”

“My body hurts,” I said.

“Then let’s get you home. Where do you live?”

I caught my breath and glared at him while I bit my lip.

“Bad question, I just wanted to get you home.”

“North Water Street.”

“Okay.”

He kept walking with my arm around his shoulder.

“Let’s just talk about you or something,” I said.

“No,” he said, “Tell me your favorite childhood memory.”

“I was 6,” I said way too quickly, “My first time at the Fox Valley Mall. My mom let me pick out an Ariel dress from the Disney store.”

“Sounds lovely,” he said.

“It was,” I responded, “I want my mom and dad.”

“I bet you do.”

“I want my sister, Cami.”

“I bet you do.”

“She’s the greatest,” I said, “She’s always there for me. I miss her.”

“What happened?” he asked.

I started to say but put my hand over my mouth. I started to cry.

”Is she dead?”

I shook my head.

“Is she sick?”

I nodded.

“Where is she?”

I started to pick myself up and mumbled, “Linden Oaks.”

“What’s that?” he asked gently.

“A hospital in Naperville.”

“For…cancer?”

“Mental health,” I responded.

He was silent until we stood in front of my apartment building. He took me up the steps and grabbed my keys from my purse. He gave them to me.

“You going to be okay?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

He hugged me and I accepted. I looked up at him and asked, “So why did you do this?”

“I wanted to know the pretty girl who was the cruel guinea pig in a sociology experiment.”

“This felt like one,” I laughed.

He hugged me and looked down at me. I acted on impulse and went up to kiss him until just before he said, “Too bad I learned the pretty girl’s poor life had to be taken by the Black Pearl.”

“What?” I pushed him away and felt like I looked manic.

“Heroin. It pushed you over the edge, not some stupid English Lit class. Your sister’s at Linden Oaks for heroin abuse isn’t she? You were headed with her until you packed your bags and got as far from 88 as you could. Too bad you ended up at her starting point.”

I started to cry and quickly unlock my door.

“Stop,” he said. I did.

“Who died? Who pushed you over the edge?”

I was bent over with tears and had my hand over my mouth. I looked him in the eye, “My friend, Molly,” I started to sob, “My best friend, Molly.”

He looked at me cry and finally said, “Go upstairs. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Sorry I did this to you,” I said to him as he walked away. He was grabbing a notebook from his messenger bag.

“Don’t be sorry for trusting someone,” he said. He pulled a pen and bit the cap off, opening the notebook I saw was labeled Sociology. I gasped for breath. “Be sorry for trusting the wrong people.” He turned around and headed down Illinois Street. I felt the pavement hit my face and sunk into it like tar.





















0870
String of Pearls

Chicago mornings are one of two ways: beautiful and warm or bitingly cold. There is no in-between. Normally Michigan Avenue has your usual people: the human statues, saxophone players, vocal homeless people that follow you around, and of course the token person wearing a Blackhawks sweater. I decided to wear a floral sundress, given that it was the first warm day of the year: May 3rd.

I walked down Michigan Avenue the only way a person can walk down it: with confidence. I could smell some flowers lining the sidewalk, but the overwhelming smell of exhaust from the Pace busses covered it up. I felt pretty untouchable until a group of people wearing “Wilson Family Reunion 2014” shirts shoved there way pass me to the curvy subway staircase.

“Oh, George! George!” the oldest woman said. She was wearing baggy jean capris and a fanny pack that said “Disney World: The Happiest Place on Earth!” on it. She gave apparently George her camera and took a picture in front of the “Cheesecake Factory Subway Stop.” Classy. Probably from Wisconsin.

I caught my breath and kept walking past the people who had obviously been unaware that subways don’t just exist in New York. I made my way for Watertower Place because if there’s something that you can do right it’s shopping at Watertower Place. Even if you’re broke.

I walk into the Lush store in the Macy’s and make way for the Benefit counter. It didn’t really matter whether I bought anything or not, the ladies at the counter understood why I didn’t pay for anything. I was broke and owned 4 dresses, all of which they’ve seen. I debuted number 5 to them that day. They did my makeup—which they had to redo 2 times because I sneezed while they put on my mascara—and I went my merry way.

Walking through Watertower is an experience. You watch people buy their stuff and everybody tries to one up the other. You see someone with a Fossil bag, the next guy has a Fossil and an Abercrombie bag, followed by a Fossil, Abercrombie, and Victoria’s Secret bag. You know you’ve hit rock bottom of pettiness when you’re seen carrying around a Betsey Johnson bag. Then you have the little girls with their American Girl dolls and the boys with their Lego Store bags. It’s incredibly predictable.

I walk past 2 DePaul students and make way for the never-ending escalator ride up to the floor with a Forever 21 store on it. I yawned while I watched the floor below me become little. I was almost to my floor on the escalator when a boy rushed down the up escalator, taking my little purse with him. Me being oh-so-cliché quickly yelled, “My purse!” I got off on my floor and sprinted to the down escalator to try and catch him. I finally made it down the escalator to see him waiting for me at the bottom. I stopped in my tracks and let the escalator take me down.

I finally made it to the bottom where he said, “Excuse me.” He held out my purse and allowed me to take it.

“Excuse you!” I snapped at him, “What was that?! Do you think I’m an idiot or something?!”

“No,” he said, “Although I now know what it looks like to run that fast in a dress.” He started laughing.

“What is wrong with you?! I could have the cops called on you!”

“But will you?”

“What?!”

“Hush, don’t yell, this is a public place. What I said was, ‘but will you?’”

“Uh…well, yeah.”

“That sounded pretty confident.”

“Shut up. Leave me alone. This city is so damn messed up.”

“Whatever. I’ll leave you alone. Goodbye.”

I kept walking until I saw a boy with a Loyola sweatshirt approach me. He had wavy red hair and freckles that blended right into his sweatshirt. He was wearing a messenger cross body bag with pencils sticking out of the pocket.

“Was he bothering you?”

“Who? The psycho?”

“Well that won’t narrow it down but, yes.”

“Well, he took my purse then gave it back to me to see what it would look like if I ran in a dress.”

“He’s a sociology major at my school that was for a project.”

“What a weird project.”

“Anyway, I’m sorry if he creeped you out or freaked you out or whatever.”

“It’s okay,” I said. I looked down at my feet. “Well, thanks.”

“Where are you going?” he turned around once I walked away.

“Home. I guess,” I shrugged. I kept walking while he followed.

“What you’ll let him ruin your day?”

“No, I just want to go home.”

“Where do you live?”

“I’m not telling you,” I finally stopped and looked him in the eye. We were in front of the Victoria’s Secret. I massaged my arm and grimaced in pain.

“You okay?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah,” I said, “I’m fine.”

“Will your parents get mad?”

“I don’t live with my parents,” I turned back around and walked with him following me like a dog.

“You look pretty young to not live with your parents, how old are you?”

“18.”

“Are you in college?” I walked into Macy’s and he kept following, questioning.

“No,” I sounded irritated.

“Well do you have a job?”

“Yes.”

“Where?” We walked past the perfume and onto the down escalator.

“I work at Tiffany’s.”

“And you’re 18?”

“Yes.”

He let the escalator take us down. We hit the ground floor with the makeup scattered everywhere. Right where I started. We hit the ground and I walked swiftly through the makeup counters. The Benefit girls waved to me.

“How do you know them?”

“I go here a lot, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Nope. Unfortunately, I’m yours.”

“Goody,” I said as we walked onto Michigan Avenue and turned left. I was headed home or to the police station, whichever I hit first.

“So how did you pull off a job at Tiffany’s?” he asked as he walked by my side only to be pushed out of the way by commuters and tourists. He ended up walking behind me.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, no offense, but I never would let an 18 year old man priceless jewelry.”

“It’s hardly priceless. How old are you anyway?”

“19.”

“Nice. You’re really considerate, you know?”

“I’m not saying I would man the counters either!”

We passed a group of people admiring a human statue and I lost him for a few minutes before he caught me on the crosswalk over to Sak’s.

“So, how much do you get paid?” he asked out of breath as he caught me.

“Would you mind your own business?” I turned sharply, making him stop himself before ramming into me. He looked shocked.

“I’m just wondering. You’re pretty interesting. And pretty pretty.”

“Go down to Englewood, you would get great reception,” I sneered at him.

“You’re pretty mean too.”

“I’ve lived in this city long enough to know when someone’s trying to either pickpocket me or make a big deal.”

“You’re not very trusting then,” he struggled between making it a question and a statement.

“There’s no one left to trust,” I turned back around and headed down Michigan Avenue.

We walked in silence for 2 blocks, which on Michigan Avenue is like 2 continents.

We waited at the crosswalk by Guess and he stared at me.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“Why don’t you trust me?”

“Well trusting people don’t necessarily ask people what their salaries are.”

The Walk signal came on and we walked.

“I’m sorry. That was my fault and it was out of line. I’m sorry. But anyway, why do you live on your own?”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” I said.

“Trust me.”

I looked back and glared at him. As I looked I got a glimpse of the Allerton behind him.

“Tip. Top. Tap,” I said.

He turned around and noticed the hotel.

“You ever been?”

“No, but I dream. I used to be scared of that hotel. Reminded me of the Tower of Terror in Disney World.”

He looked back and chuckled, “Yeah I guess it does.”

“I want my wedding to be there,” I said, “I want it to be there and for it to be white. With white table linens and white roses and white embellishments on everything. And I want my first dance to look over the skyline like my apartment does. I want to take a deep breath of the city. I want to basically dance over the skyline.”

“Where do you live?”

I groaned and kept walking.

We walked in silence to Illinois Street where I turned left. He finally spoke.

“So, what’s your story?”

“My what?”

“Your story. Why are you 18, working at Tiffany’s, where you hang out at the Benefit counter so much the girls know you?”

“Will you leave me alone if I tell you?” I stopped and looked him in the eye. Tribune Tower was behind him.

“Yes,” he looked sincere.

“I was scared,” I turned and walked slower, “I lived in Aurora and I thought I would never get out. It was all fine until this year. I was happy growing up. I was a dancer and I was involved with my Church and I had all these friends. Everything was fine.”

“Until,” he looked up at the Tower, just noticing it.

“Well, I took English History and I heard about all these legendary authors who ran away and I thought I could do it. So…”

“That’s the worse story I ever heard.”

“Well that’s what you’re getting.”

“Just tell me.”

“I won’t. I was sick of Aurora and having the MetLife building and the casino be my only skyline.”

“So you came to write?”


“Yes.”

“About what? What could you write here that you can’t write in Aurora?”

“Stuff. I don’t know. I needed inspiration. This is just a stepping stone.”

“To what?” he got louder and stopped again. We had a habit of doing this. We were just approaching the roundabout.

“To New York. To art. To literature. To my pupils having to expand to take it all in. That’s what I want,” I grabbed my head and turned around to take everything in. I was nervous around him. “Now please,” I caught my breath, “Please go away.”

“Let me take you home,” he said, “You seem exasperated.”

“It’s just cold sweat,” I looked down at my arms. I was doing it again.

“Okay, but let’s be sure you’re okay.”

“My body hurts,” I said.

“Then let’s get you home. Where do you live?”

I caught my breath and glared at him while I bit my lip.

“Bad question, I just wanted to get you home.”

“North Water Street.”

“Okay.”

He kept walking with my arm around his shoulder.

“Let’s just talk about you or something,” I said.

“No,” he said, “Tell me your favorite childhood memory.”

“I was 6,” I said way too quickly, “My first time at the Fox Valley Mall. My mom let me pick out an Ariel dress from the Disney store.”

“Sounds lovely,” he said.

“It was,” I responded, “I want my mom and dad.”

“I bet you do.”

“I want my sister, Camille.”

“I bet you do.”

“She’s the greatest,” I said, “She’s always there for me. I miss her.”

“What happened?” he asked.

I started to say but put my hand over my mouth.

”Is she dead?”

I shook my head.

“Is she sick?”

I nodded.

“Where is she?”

I mumbled, “Linden Oaks.”

“What’s that?” he asked gently.

“A hospital in Naperville.”

“For…cancer?”

“Mental health,” I responded.

He was silent until we stood in front of my apartment building. He took me up the steps and grabbed my keys from my purse. He gave them to me.

“You going to be okay?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

He hugged me and I accepted. I looked up at him and asked, “So why did you do this?”

“I wanted to know the pretty girl who was the cruel guinea pig in a sociology experiment.”

“This felt like one,” I laughed.

He hugged me and looked down at me. I acted on impulse and went up to kiss him until just before he said, “Too bad I learned the pretty girl’s poor life had to be taken by the Black Pearl.”

“What?” I pushed him away and felt like I looked manic.

“Heroin. It pushed you over the edge, not some stupid English Lit class. Your sister’s at Linden Oaks for heroin abuse isn’t she? You were headed with her until you packed your bags and got as far from 88 as you could. Too bad you ended up at her starting point.”

I started to cry and quickly unlock my door.

“Stop,” he said. I did.

“Who died? Who pushed you over the edge?”

I was bent over with tears and had my hand over my mouth. I looked him in the eye, “My friend, Molly,” I started to sob, “My best friend, Molly.”

He looked at me cry and finally said, “Go upstairs. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Sorry I did this to you,” I said to him as he walked away. He was grabbing a notebook from his messenger bag.

“Don’t be sorry for trusting someone,” he said. He pulled a pen and bit the cap off, opening the notebook I saw was labeled Sociology. I gasped for breath. “Be sorry for trusting the wrong people.” He turned around and headed down Illinois Street. I felt the pavement hit my face and sunk into it like tar.