Reflections Across Time…
Dregs of hot chocolate pool darkly in my cup, drank to the bottom, and a candle flickers on my altar as I write this.
Chicago, the distant past
My grandmother grew up in a small town called Lanark, a couple hours west of the city.
My grandfather briefly lived in Chicago as a boy. Later, as a young man, he studied at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign, a couple hours south of the city. This was where my grandparents met. He was a mathematician. She was a chemist.
…
Chicago, the winter of 2018
Gazing out from the interior of a taxi. The window is peppered with raindrops, the rain is coming down hard. Beyond the hazy pane there are buildings wrought in bronze and chrome, dark glass and stone. Skyscrapers so tall that I have to lean forward to see where they finish, my cheek and breath warming the window, creating clouds. The buildings loom; gilded monoliths stamped against a white sky, speckled with rain, blurred by breath. This brief scene hangs in my memory like a photo drying on a string, so clear and fresh I could have sworn I had captured it on camera, and not simply tucked it into the corners of my mind.
Memories follow memories, running like rivulets in the well-worn grooves of my thoughts when I gather them…
A visit to Oliver’s mother’s family home. The warm kitchen with its sturdy table and painted ceramic fruit bowl and beautiful old benches, all speaking the language of use; generations of dinners carving the space into a shape looks like home, even to the eyes of a stranger.
The liquorice grooves of a Vampire Weekend record, played in the bedroom of Oliver’s cousin. My favourite band. Later, an outing to a local student bar where punters dress in the colours of their favourite sports team.
A yellow gingko leaf, plucked from the lawn of a University building.
Our forays into the city…
I had hoped to follow in the footsteps of 80s character Ferris Bueller, with a day of rollicking shenanigans, but our finances were a little too skint to pay the entry fees to the Art Institute and the Sears Tower. So, instead, we visited a free garden and a zoo in Lincoln Park.
A lion behind glass. A child banging on the glass.
Hot chocolates at Katherine Anne’s to warm ourselves after walking around in the cold.
A hazy memory of a deep dish pizza, all cheese.
My knee injury, which began that day and continues to this day.
There is a thread that runs between all of my memories of Chicago: a feeling, as if of looking in through a window at a familiar scene. In the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Cameron stares at a young child in a pointillist painting. The painted child stares back. This is the kind of uncanny feeling I had. Chicago is a place I am deeply connected to, but it is not mine. It feels familiar, but I am only ever a visitor. My past, present and future flow from this place, and yet it remains mysterious.
…
Chicago, present day
My brother currently lives in Chicago, studying mathematics at the University of Chicago.
