A Mother's Tears • Ch. 11 of 16
The 95th Floor
The next day my new friend and I met up at The Edge of all places and sat outside in the shaded section of the patio.
“So tell me about your mother,” she quickly started. We spoke at length about my upbringing, being a single child, and having to lose my dad at such a young age. Memories you wouldn’t normally talk about over a light lunch but she wanted to dig into deeper things. Suddenly, we became good friends. We started going grocery shopping together and I’d help her walk back home with the heavy bags. We began going to different neighborhood antique stores so she could teach me what she knew.
“This is how to spot good silver,” she’d say, holding up little trinkets or dinnerware. She proudly showed me all her tricks.
One day I called her to see how she was doing. “Are you free tonight?,” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then we’re going someplace special.” That was it, we hung up our phones and I met her downtown later on that night. We walked into the glitzy John Hancock Center and rode the elevators to the ninety-fifth floor. There, we went straight and entered The Signature Room. We took our seats near the windows as we surveyed the city dozens of flights down below. Tiny specks of light lit up the land like punctured holes in a stretched-out canvas. “This is such a beautiful place to live,” she said. I agreed wholeheartedly and with that, we ordered our drinks and sat with a spectacular view in front of us.
Never Out of Style
A few days later, we met up in a donut shop and she pulled out a measuring tape she’d brought along with her.
“Hold out your arms at your side,” she suggested before starting to take measurements. “Let’s go downtown today and buy some new clothes.” That was all she had to say, we got right down to business. She pulled out dark nail polish from her purse and unscrewed the top off. She started painting her fingernails with the deep carmine color right there in the restaurant. “Can’t go downtown without looking my best,” she said. I respected that. No matter the age, she liked taking care of herself.
We rode the 151 bus toward Michigan Avenue and got off at our stop. Upon entering the ten-floor department store, I immediately saw her change and adapt to the high-end atmosphere. She was back amongst her own people—, those dressed-up-at-all-times-of-the-day people. She walked over to the nearest sales associate and introduced herself.
“Hello dear—,” she began before telling the assistant exactly what type of makeup she was shopping for. We stayed a good hour before heading upstairs toward the men’s section. Once there, she held up a shirt much too out of my price range and told me why I needed it.
“Yellow’s a good color—, it doesn’t go out of style.” I appreciated her fashion advice but couldn’t afford much more than another tie or so. With that, we left the store to head back toward our homes. She sparked up a cigarette and two seconds later saw the bus coming down the street. “It never fails,” she said, putting out the lit ember. We said our goodbyes and knew we’d see each other again soon.
Cherish, Always
My mom came out to visit me and planned to meet my new friend as well. When I saw her walking up the street from the taxi I quickly went to give her a huge hug.
“Hi Mom!—, I missed you so much,” I said to her earnestly. Gabriela and my friend went out to lunch together at The Edge while I worked. On my break I walked over and saw them sitting opposite one another at a table inside. I kissed both of them on their cheeks and sat down to my already-prepared omelette.
“Your son has been so wonderful,” she said to my mother. She made me feel like this was the best place I could’ve moved to. I was meeting new and exciting people, they liked me, they didn’t hold my past against me. “You two have such a beautiful relationship,” she said to my mom and I. “Cherish each other, always.”
My friend and I planned to meet at our local donut shop one morning and I woke up an hour early to get ready. I walked the few blocks from my studio and sat down in one of the chairs inside—, and waited. I waited and waited but she didn’t show. I never saw her again after that. I got a new phone and my number changed shortly afterward so we never had the chance to reconnect, though I think back to her quite often. I wonder if everything went as planned for her. I wonder if she still paints her nails before going downtown or if she still circulates throughout the neighborhood antique shops on the hunt for good silver. The truth is I miss her and probably always will.
Christmas, Part 3
The holidays were here again. My mom came out to see me and we immediately knew where we needed to go first. The Magnificent Mile was lit up on both sides of the street—, white lights wrapped themselves around the snow-covered trees like thin strips of fine linen. It was Black Friday and we decided to stay out well past midnight. People were everywhere and everyone was holding at least two shopping bags in each hand. We entered department store after department store—, all adorned with beautiful decorations, embellished trees, and ornaments galore. The remixed holiday music blared through hidden speakers above. We exited back out onto Michigan Avenue and decided to have hot coffee while watching the snow fall like intricate ash from the night sky. An image of pure happiness remained in my mind for many months afterwards.
The Ticking of a Clock
Time passed by, the job was secure, and I was meeting new people everyday. I started to date a lot more than I ever did back in Michigan. A couple months here, half a year there—, the deeper relationships were sporadic but each seemed to hold special lessons I’d always learn too late.
I especially loved one of my longer-term girlfriends. She was so sweet and charming and bright. I’d bought a brand new guitar with the paychecks I saved up from work a couple of weeks before our first date. Afraid that I wouldn’t have enough money to pay for the dinner, I returned the sunburst-orange acoustic and had a great time at the restaurant with her instead. I didn’t regret the decision—, she was worth it. The relationship was a battle of wits—, and I always lost. I repeatedly told her how smart she was. I only hoped she knew for herself. When we weren’t watching our favorite movies or showing each other songs we liked, we’d go to coffee shop patios and write short stories out on the spot—, reading them aloud afterwards. She was the type to sit alone at five-star places, eating the expensive meals while reading her book of the week. I adored her personality, but eventually, she too tired of the same old problems I’d bring to the table
I woke up earlier than usual one morning as we’d be having a store meeting at my job and every employee needed to be there. Even walking up the street I sensed that something wasn’t quite right. I entered through the front doors and while there were donuts and coffee awaiting us, I just took a seat in the middle of the main room. The manager walked in a minute later. Everyone sat in a circle as he began explaining the situation.
“So, the neighborhood’s changed—,” he softly said. “It’s gotten younger and people aren’t buying the same types of shoes they used to when we first opened.” The implication was clear. We’d be closing soon. “We’re looking at another month or so,” he went on. Everyone’s futures suddenly became uncertain in a matter of moments. I had many opportunities open to me around the same streets; restaurants, movie theaters, etc. It was the older folks I’d felt sorry for. We all got up from our seats and my mentor said something about going down to The Edge.
“Can I join you?,” I asked.
“You want to have lunch with me?,” he asked back, surprised that I didn’t want to just head home. “Of course,” I said. We walked the short distance to the restaurant and sat inside by the front doors. I ordered my coffee and felt honored to be having this opportunity to chat with someone I so looked up to. His food arrived and before taking a single bite, he bowed his head in prayer. I greatly admired that and made the habit my own. We exchanged ideas for another half hour before splitting ways. We’d have a month left at work—, after that, who knew what would happen.
Rooftop Obsession
My lease was almost up toward the end of my first year there so I started looking around for slightly larger studios. After numerous visits to different buildings in the area, I’d found a perfect spot down on Deming Avenue right across the street from a beautiful church. I was already sold on the place when the property manager said the magic words;
“Wait until you see the rooftop.” We climbed a few floors until reaching a door on the side of the stairwell, he opened it slowly and there on the other side stood the entire city. It was a stunning view of the downtown skyline. I knew this is where I’d spend the next couple years of my life.
I’d walk around the lower side of the neighborhood connecting it to the Gold Coast and marvel at the beautiful brick townhouses. I imagined that’s where people moved into after living in smaller studio apartments—, after they’d married and settled down. I tried to picture the different families in their separate condos and how they must feel whenever they’d step out into the tree-lined streets. How charming, I thought while daydreaming of my own potential future amongst the buildings one day.
The Mechanic’s Past
Back at work, we were readying for a permanent close as shelving came down, stock got shipped, and the clearance racks grew to take up half the store. The company had a go-to guy who took care of all the loading and unloading, dismantling of displays, and other odd jobs that needed to be done. A type of mechanic that was more scruffy than everyone else, he rarely spoke without a cigarette balanced in his mouth. I offered to be his helper. I wanted to learn from him as much as possible, I could tell he knew things that I’d never get the chance to know again. We would pile shelves in the back of his white van and drive to the other neighborhoods toward our designated warehouses. Over and over this went. We’d go to scrap metal yards and transport decades- old files from storage unit to storage unit. I always felt like I was on a certain type of mission while out with him. The van would drive down the streets with both of us exhaling cigarette smoke in the front seats and I suddenly felt more important than I ever did back in Michigan. Something exciting was taking place, I was finally living out an adventure—, even if it meant cleaning out a shoe store.
“My cousin is buried three plots over from Al Capone,” he said to me while talking about deeper things than usual. “They tried to get me into that life, but I never paid it much attention.” His story made me want to ask a million questions that I knew I shouldn’t, so I didn’t. Though I was absorbed by that lifestyle, I already knew it’d never be for me, despite trying to live it out later on in my journey.
End of an Era
Closing day finally came and as the last of the displays were being carried out through the front doors, a small congregation huddled in a quiet, reflective circle. The owner stood contemplative, looking through the empty showroom which he’d called his second home for so long. He peered past the drywall and wooden pillars which had held his store in such high esteem for more than half a century. His father had established the empire seventy years prior. Photographs taken at the opening in 1944 capture a much different era; Sinatra stars in his film debut, Poland’s army begins its Warsaw Uprising abroad and distinguished men wear herringbone tweed suits with hats to match. It’s no wonder that a place such as this exponentially grew in reputation amongst its following.
As the newest hire and having lived in the city a short while, I had no prior knowledge of the company’s culture and influence which it held in the minds of so many Chicagoans. Throughout my year there, I heard stories of different times. Of when customers would go the extra mile for superior quality—, from both product and service. Of when shopping itself was more of an experience rather than chore. Most importantly, I was able to witness firsthand what many retailers strive to get from their clientele—, loyalty. Countless occasions occurred when people wearing bright smiles walked through the front doors and were greeted on a first- name basis. They’d walk straight to their favorite salesperson and spark up a conversation much like old friends catching up. It’s something that can only be found in the independent shops that have built a real history of integrity and customer devotion.
Indicative of the surrounding neighborhoods’ modernity however, shoppers traded in personalized service for high-speed e-commerce, quick one-stop shops which may have added convenience but swapped it out for quality and so, the youth which moved in didn’t bother adapting to long-standing traditions. Patrons which had lived in Lincoln Park and nearby neighborhoods would often say; “It seems you guys have been the shoe store for ages.”
I wondered if the days of such brand-loyalty were gone forever, or if they’d just become harder to find. If shopping had gone the way of so many other daily experiences and was now a tedious exercise of clicking, webpage after webpage. If the physicality of holding onto a newspaper, flipping through the pages of a book, or touching the Italian leather of a shoe between index and thumb had become a thing of the past. Technology made so many things easier for the modern consumer and in the same breath, had taken a certain intimacy away which can’t be replaced by smartphones and tablets.
During the store’s last few months, nearly every customer who entered replied in shock, anger, or disbelief regarding the announcement to permanently close up, particularly at how such a neighborhood staple could suddenly vanish after seventy years on the same corner. Though no longer there, the famous royal blue awnings still stand in the memory of many commuters for a time when neighborhood pride trumped all else.
Now, there were only three of us left inside the vacant store; the owner, the mechanic, and myself. It was the last time I’d see any of them. The owner knew I liked to write so I asked him his opinion on something that’d been weighing on my mind.
“I’m sure you’ve had many articles written about you before,” I began, “what’s the most important piece of advice you can give me?”
“Be direct,” he said. With that, we all walked out the front doors for the final time, locked them up, and went our separate ways.
Finding Neo
Months would pass by and I’d eventually change jobs, women, and my aimless wandering of different streets and back alleys. There was a new convenience store to get used to, other restaurants to try out, and different bus lines to memorize. Things were looking pretty from the outside in, and I was starting to believe my own persona.
Walking up the main avenue one day, I stopped to rest on a bench when I heard loud honking and looked up to see my old delivery friend driving down in his work truck.
“Westside!,” he yelled out while pointing at me through the open door and smiling. Even though the old store had shut down, he still had his route to maintain and I still lived near it enough to see him once in a while. I was glad we’d be able to catch up every so often.
There was a full moon out on a night I was walking around the neighborhood, trying to find something to do or some place to go. There were random stores lining the boulevard but most of them were closed, between those were restaurants but they were all packed. Down the block a bit, I saw people standing in a line that led out into the street. Figuring it was either for an upscale club or a bar, I almost passed up the opportunity to check it out, but curiosity still peaked my interest enough to go see what it was about. Following the people up from the end, I looked at everyone standing there and liked what I was seeing; bright blue mohawks, gold- plated nose chains that reached the ears, band patches stitched onto jeans and jackets. The further I walked, the more unconventional the looks got. Finally, I reached a point where the line curved around a corner and led down a dark alleyway. I couldn’t make out much other than an open door on the side of a building beyond some trash dumpsters and a headless mannequin propped up beside it.
“Where’s this lead?,” I asked the first person I made eye contact with. The woman in a light blue Little Miss Muffet outfit pointed up to a brick wall behind me. On it were the letters N-E-O spray- painted in pink. I’d walked by the alley many times going up and down Clark Street but never noticed there was a club tucked away within it—, hidden from the mainstream in ways I was yet to find out.
Naturally, I walked to the back of the line and waited for my turn to pay the cover and go inside. I began hearing deep pounding bass from outside the doorway. I peered through as beyond the darkened entrance were flashes of spotlights and strobes. Making my way into the main room, I was enshrouded in neon. Black-lights flickered from the ceiling above. The speakers were nearly bursting apart from the surging music. The bar served a single brand of beer and that was it—, cash only. Each of the club-goers around me had their own style from head to toe. The city’s outsiders were all gathered here in one place at one point in time and it was glorious. I felt at home amongst my own people—, punks, goths, and ravers alike. I lost myself in the pulsing blue and green lights surrounding the dance floor—, moving like my mother used to so many years before I ever showed up. I’d finally found my own personal Paradise.
Weekend after weekend passed by; there was either Frank’s down the street with a giant portrait of a young Sinatra, trendy Mother’s downtown or when I needed a break from the regular routine, there was Neo. I’d go there with a good friend—, both wearing our buttoned-up dress shirts which made us stick out in the crowd. I didn’t mind. I just wanted to be apart of the atmosphere.
Stoned Gargoyles
I’d made new friends along the way and began having them over more often than not. We’d sit on the benches on my rooftop. The skyline glowed a gorgeous amber throughout the blankets of night. I slowly blew out thick streams of smoke and stared out at the dozens of structures just a mile or so down from my studio apartment. The spot served as a perfect vantage point for surveying the concrete land I’d come to call home. The lights inside those rooms all looked so bright. They illuminated so many different types of lives living within those walls. Who knew what those people loved or felt or dreamed of for their futures? One thing was certain; we were all in the same boat—, one made of pavement and emerald trees that glimmered along, alone in the vast open sea. A city separated by borders and boundaries of surrounding towns that paled in comparison. Chicago was exuberant.
I remembered all of the nights I’d spent lying awake in my bed back in Ann Arbor. All of the dreaming I’d done suddenly washed over me and I understood that God had fulfilled the promise He’d placed deep inside my heart so many years ago; the stars above shimmered like mine used to up on my ceiling and the outline of tall buildings was finally realized.
On the streets eight flights below moved the shifting midnight shadows of drunken socialites. They’d holler up to my friends and I watching the back alleys while perched on our peaks like stoned gargoyles. The fire-escape ladders provided an ideal position to take in the entire city up ahead as well as the ground down beneath. When we’d get low on cigar papers or drinks, we’d do a quick run toward the center of the neighborhood. I’d walk to the twenty-four-hour convenience store and intermingle with all the people I’d pass by.
“Have a good night,” we’d say to each other. Either the store clerk selling me cigarettes or the high girls giggling to themselves on the corner, we were all apart of this living organism. Though I was in my element, I was slowly falling back into a routine; work, play, sleep, rinse and repeat. No matter how many new people I’d meet or where the next party was, the feeling that I was getting tired of it all was ever-present. Like so many times before, I needed to shake things up—, a new job or hobby or perhaps a different place to live within the city itself. I expected anything except what eventually came calling.