Chicago in Winter

Reads: 17  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 23, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 23, 2018

A A A

A A A


Andrew Bird and Kanye West and Frank Sinatra raved about you. Carl Sandburg and Aldo Kraas sermonize your wonderment. They said you feel like home. They colored you player with railroads, husky, stormy, a city of light. I wanted to dance the samba and feel music reverberate in my bones under the hot sun on the beach. I wanted to get lost in your coarse, proud shoulders. I wanted to see why State street was so much better than Broadway.

It didn’t matter to me how quiet and guarded everyone is, or how much colder the people are than the snow, or that strangers would be my closest friends, or that dusty drinker of dust wouldn’t do everything I did. I came to this city because I believed in magic and a part of me still might, I don’t know. Everytime I catch the sun break over Lake Michigan, watch cars crawl lazily down Lake Shore Drive, or witness the red line run in its iron shoes, my heart pitter pats in my chest and a small voice tells me, yes, there yet may be magic.

The charm of Chicago is not lost even in the windless snow, even in the cold shoulders and icy stares, the warmth of Chicago is there, in the smiles of passersby, in the approving eyes of puppies and their owners and sunsets, in the couples at their Al fresco brunches laughing ugly laughs, or in the gratitude of those left asking when someone finally hears them.

I come from a town where waving at strangers was well mannered and people helped others and listened and listened and helped others and I brought that with me when I came here, I’ll never forget it; Sometimes you surprise me in the light of that cold sun, while the trains dash their own brand of samba in the snow.

But you don’t stay long and you don’t say much, so I watch the trains dance. Sometimes I join them, and sometimes I cry, and sometimes I laugh when I hear a joke that wasn’t meant for me, but that moment, it belonged to me, and this snow, it fell for me, and I, I fell for you, but your big shoulders didn’t catch me when I dived. You disappeared, again, when I bore my soul to you, but I still dance. I still dance and I still wish, and there’s still that tiny, tiny piece of me that still believes in magic; That waves with the lake, sambas with the trains, and tells jokes with strangers without you, somehow, and not at all sad.


© Copyright 2018 Z Christian. All rights reserved.