By the Chagall, you see her. Perhaps she's looking at the mosaic, perhaps she's looking at her phone. She doesn't know you're there. You think she'll be happy to see you but, suddenly, you're not so sure. Maybe you should leave. Then again, you've come all this way; why don't you just approach her? You could ask if she'd like to take a walk. What's the worst that could happen? She'll either say [[yes->Let's Go]] or [[no->No]].
Eventually, I told her that I, too, once lived in Chicago. In fact, I spent a summer working just down the street from her current job. At lunch, I'd sometimes go and try to make sense of the nearby Chagall.
A few days later, she sent me a message. [[Hello Chagall->Yes or No]], she said. You look beautiful today.
One day that summer, I had an episode that must have been similar to what my friend experienced when he fled to the Moon Palace. Despair; I had to get out. I decided to walk from the Loop to Hyde Park. (Why not?)
As I crossed Grant Park (Millenium Park didn't exist back then), an orchestra was rehearsing Mahler's sixth and the sun was setting over the city. Music. Laughter. People relaxing in the alpenglow.
Chicago truly spoke to me then. It thrummed something deep. Carol the letter carrrier is right: it's hard to describe when a city touches you like that. All I can say is that that was the moment when Chicago really became a part of me.
[[The Art Institute->America Windows]]
[[I've had enough, thanks.->No]]
I know you've gone to the top of the Sears Tower (I'm sorry, but it'll always be the Sears Tower to me) or the Hancock and looked out. It's amazing, especially at night.
But, that's not the upper Chicago that I remember most. I remember working on the 57th floor of Three First National and looking out into the corner office of a law partner in the building across the street. Every day, there sat that same lawyer. Occasionally, he would pick up the phone.
No doubt, he was a man of importance. Millions of dollars probably crossed his desk each week. But, from where I was sitting, he was just an old man moving papers around, wasting what little life he appeared to have left.
[[The Art Institute->America Windows]]
[[I've had enough, thanks.->No]]
It's called //America Windows//. You know it, I'm sure. (Ferris and Sloane kissed in front of it, remember?)
What does it mean, all that blue? Pops of yellow. Musical instruments. A menorah. A dove. What do you think it means? Will you tell me?
You see: we don't live long. (Chagall is already dead.) I'm trying to get to know you in this thin sliver of our lives.
What do you see? Will you tell me?
[[The Island]]
Where should we start?
[[The Moon Palace]]
[[Frango]]
There's great comfort in discovering that someone (maybe it's someone you've known a long time, maybe it's someone you've just met) shares the same fears, doubts, interests as you. It makes you feel less like an alien. Instead, you start to think that maybe, there really //is// a place for you in "the family of things."
I felt that when I rode into the Loop on the Red Line and saw //The Moon Palace// in the distance. I've never actually eaten at //The Moon Palace//, but a friend once told me about how, in a time of desperation, he got on the eL and started riding without aim, simply transferring wherever. He finally got off at some random place, which just happened to be the Cermak stop, and he saw //The Moon Palace// in the distance. Such a hopeful name, it drew him inside. He ordered tea and a meal and, slowly, things started to be okay again.
[[Grant Park]]
[[Chicago Above]]
Were we leaving the Hyatt, or coming back? I don't remember. What I //do// remember is that the fireworks surprised us. After all, it wasn't the 4th of July or anything. It was just a Tuesday. But there they were, wonderfully lighting up the river and the Wrigley building beyond. The bursts shining in her eyes. The bursts blooming on her cheeks.
[[The Raffaello]]
[[I've had enough, thanks.->No]]
Remember how you were a kid and maybe you went to a summer camp? You imagined that you'd go back there every summer. But now, you look back and you only went there two or maybe three times. That was it.
When we were in the Raffaello that night, playing pinochle with my granddad, I had come to understand that. He was already in his eighties and I just knew that I'd probably never play pinochle with him again. My sister was there, my wife, my mom, and there was just this spending atmosphere. It was totally jubilant. We even bought the deck of cards (I still have it), and my mom was like: buy wine! Buy food!
It was cold outside. There was snow. But we were warm and cozy. It was a moment, you know? Our tiny spot in the universe. This small room on all the earth. Us. Now.
[[The Island]]
We made our first visit to Chicago just after we'd gotten the news. It was April and cold and, coming from Florida, we weren't ready for that. Still, we went everywhere, working the eL like real Chicagoans. We even stayed out so late that we saw the underground stations get spraywashed at night. There was a certain exhilarating energy to the entire trip.
On one of the days, though, we became truly exhausted. I don't remember where we were going, but she saw Marshall Field's and coaxed me in. We found a little café on the seventh floor and it felt like a secret in the mammoth bustling city, and that made us cozy and happy.
So much of what brought us comfort that day is gone (it's even called Macy's now), but the memory, the memory is still so powerful.
[[Frontera]]
[[The River]]
We took the brown line way the hell out there. It was snowing, but that was the only Sears I could find and I needed a new suit. (Dad said he'd buy me one, but only from Sears.)
God. Trudging through snow knee-deep in dad's old army coat. Holding her hand to keep from falling.
Finally, we found the place. No suits, but I got some shirts by John Henry and a few ties. The long walk back. The long ride.
It was her idea not to go straight home, tired as we were. We need some fun. Let's go to //Frontera//.
People everywhere. Noise. A ninety-minute wait. Dragon piñatas.
I checked the Sears bag (the lady gave me a strange look) and bought two limonadas. Wound my way through the pressing crowd, collapsed next to her and handed her one. She turned to me and smiled.
¡Ritmo!, she said.
[[The Raffaello]]
[[I've had enough, thanks.->No]]
This game will take approximately six minutes to play.
(It might even be finished before you're done listening to this song: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r8BsuT0PWdI" target="_blank">YouTube</a>; <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/5mpLcXEsk3jjzLFGuNKk5I" target="_blank">Spotify</a>).
---
[[Begin->Hello Chagall]]
This game was written for Blue Heart, Rainbow Lashen, and the Chicago of my mid-twenties.
Thank you for playing.
References:
<a href="https://soundcloud.com/brainpicker/mary-oliver-reads-wild-geese" target="_blank">the family of things</a>
<a href="https://vimeo.com/5988391" target="_blank">Carol, the mail carrier</a>
toulousio.itch.io
On State, between Wacker and Lake, there is an island. The ocean is concrete and the waves are cars. In the flow, there are people and they are also waves and they are also the life within the waves. And there, long ago, you'd have found sitting me on a bench.
She met me there and took my hand.
If you return to that place, or even if you just imagine it, you will still find the energy of togetherness that settled there. The secret to unlock it is hidden, but now I have pulled back the veil for you. Look for me there and you will find me and the company of me and we will be together, even as the ceaseless city swirls around us.
([[Ω]])
Toodle-loo!
(Someone actually said this to me while I was waiting for the bus at the Garfield station. He asked me if he could tell me about Jesus and I said no. I thought he handled it pretty well.)
Ω