A Mother's Tears • Ch. 13 of 16

Angels and Aquarians

Upon returning to Chicago, I walked into my apartment to see three or so strangers standing around in a semi-circle. All had their own drinks in hand; water, beer, etc. They turned around to look at me but none knew who I was or that it was even my place they were in. I didn’t care—, I actually enjoyed the company. Those days were difficult enough, I didn’t want to be alone for too long to process them.

“Hey,” I said to everyone. They all sounded back in their own ways and went on with their conversations. Even though I’d moved into a larger space, there still wasn’t much room for so many people in the studio at once. I sat down and just stared at the walls, trying to seem in the moment, though I was a million miles away. I tried listening in to the random talks around me when something specific caught my ear.

“Yeah...,” one of the guys said, “you can actually pray for Michael to protect you.” I didn’t know much about angel hierarchy, but asked anyway.

“Archangel Michael?” The guy looked up and brushed his light brown hair aside to see me better.

“Yeah, do you believe?,” he asked back. I knew I was a believer, but didn’t know how much of the spiritual realm was real and how much was made up.

“Kinda—,” I said. He explained more of what he knew and we started becoming friends. I admired his knowledge and insight, he admired my being an Aquarius. On top of knowing much about theology, he was well-versed in astrology too.

“My girlfriend’s an Aquarius,” he proudly said. “They’re special.” I didn’t know about that, but I smiled at the thought.

Friends of All Types

Over the next couple months, I started meeting more and more people—, most of whom were extremely creative and kept me inspired to be the same. I wanted to group together, to have a base of operations we could construct projects within. There was so much negativity flowing through and around us that I knew we had to get that energy out somehow. I wanted to begin something which provided us the perfect type of outlet to be ourselves and make something significant in the mean time. I thought about my own emotions during those days —, what came of their presence in my life. You’re either going to create or destroy, thoughts kept telling me. I was already doing the latter more often than not and I knew many other people were in the same type of situation I was in—, mentally at least. They told me stories that I couldn’t believe—, I couldn’t let my feelings get the best of me however, so I pushed them down as far as they’d go. I needed to be numb to handle some of what was going on around me. I could no longer let sympathy get the best of my reality—, I needed to harden my heart as much as possible. It was a mistake. Ultimately, I lost touch with who I was and why I’d become the person I was becoming. I never let my true thoughts shine through anymore—, the truths that I’d always known, I kept to myself. If there was an opinion thrown out in a group of people, I just stood there in silence, knowing there was no possible way that I’d be able to change anyone else’s mind but my own. I said what everyone expected me to say—, I acted the way they expected me to act. Everything began being premeditated down to the smallest degree. Either way—, I knew there was more to each person than they’d let themselves believe. I knew that deep down, each had something valuable to contribute.

“We should start something,” I said to my astrological friend. What I had in mind was some type of art collective or team that’d stick by each other no matter what—, much like a family. I was so scared of losing the only one I’d ever known that I badly needed to begin another—, grassroots and all.

He liked the idea though saw me beginning to have a negative outlook—, to lean toward the destructive side of things. I couldn’t explain that it was just my reaction to what was going on around me; a reflex.

“Whatever you start, from here on out,” my friend advised, “make sure that it’s based on something positive.” I had so much pent up within me that I didn’t even realize how numb my emotions were getting. The need to show my mom what I could do took over all other concerns. My friend and I began talking about our beliefs and he opened my eyes to something I’d never thought of before. “You know, sometimes God’ll put someone in a dark place just so they can infiltrate it and set off a glitter-bomb of light all around. Kind of like a spy.” The thought lasted with me for a long time afterward—, appreciating its subtle beauty.

“Should we go to the roof?,” I asked him.

“Let’s go—,” he said. While riding the elevator up with drinks in hand, he began talking about things that I didn’t even know I was feeling up to that point, but he had me right all along. “Listen man, I have to tell you—, any person you’ve ever known that may leave us and ascend toward a higher place —, they’re still going to stay with you, they’ll always be with you—, now and forever.” I turned away, trying to hide my true feelings. We exited the lift and walked through the rooftop door—, taking in the splendor of the city lights once more, trying to forget all of the heartache. I eventually went over his apartment a few days later while he sat on the floor, packing his bags.

“Are you going somewhere?,” I asked him.

“I’m moving out today—,” he said, “but I have nowhere to go.” I knew he was living with two other roommates and I figured he couldn’t maintain it anymore. I felt bad for him, especially since we’d become good friends. I immediately had an idea weigh on my heart.

“Come stay with me—,” I said. His eyes widened. “Are you serious?,” he asked. “Just like that?” “Just like that.” I knew he only needed some shelter and a place to sleep when he wasn’t at work, plus I needed the company so it worked out both ways. He arrived at my place later on that night, giving me a big hug once I opened the downstairs door for him.

“Thanks again for letting me crash here,” he said. “I don’t know anyone else who would’ve done this for me.” We walked back up to my studio and I blew up an inflatable air mattress I’d had from previous visits that he could use. We talked well into the night until finally falling asleep.

One of the Worst Nights, Period

A few days passed when we thought to order some drinks from the local liquor store down the street. They’d deliver just about anywhere and we figured that was as good an idea to pass some time as anything else. Drink after drink, my friend and I sat and spoke about anything that’d cross our minds. Finally, evening rolled around and we each laid down on our mattresses to rest. The room was spinning and I felt an intense vertigo whenever I’d close my eyes. I already knew what type of night it’d be. I pulled up the garbage basket and placed it near my bedside. Every ten minutes like clockwork, I dry-heaved into it with every muscle my stomach could convulse with. We had the window cracked open and the air blowing in made the place colder than it should’ve been for that time of year. We both stayed underneath our separate blankets, trying to get some sleep. I continued my battle with keeping down even the smallest bit of water when my friend sat up and came over to give me his blanket as well, seeing my body shivering from both the cold and the toxins.

“Thanks man,” I got out before letting my head fall back onto my pillow. He tucked me in like a worried parent and went back to the air mattress in hopes of falling asleep once more. That was one of the worst nights I’d spend in the city—, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I was a mess—, inside and out. There was nowhere I could find relief—, not in my studio in Chicago, not in my mother’s home in Michigan, I was floating through life without a place to call my own, without a spot to pull the covers over my tired head and just rest until I’d finally awaken from this long, ongoing dream.

Restless Train Rides

A few days passed and I knew there was nowhere else to go but back to a lonely studio apartment. Instead of locking up and leaving work like I’d done so many times before, I found myself shutting off all the lights after closing and taking a seat in the back of the shop—, thinking of who knows how many strangers were over my place and how I was so much more fractured than anyone around me could’ve guessed. I just sat there in an empty shoe boutique with my head on the desk, in the dark—, and surrounded by it.

I was becoming restless. I’d find myself traveling from one end of the city to the other just to pass some time. When I needed to be around people, I’d head downtown and walk the streets without a purpose, with nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from my problems. Since I’d moved, my L-train station was no longer Diversey but a stop before it, at Fullerton. I switched to taking the Red Line from there on out as it conveniently ran at all hours of the night. I’d wait on the platforms with hands in my pockets, looking down the empty tracks with nothing in sight. Finally, it’d arrive and being so late in the evening, there was usually no one else around. I’d enter the first car I saw and again—, I’d be completely isolated. There’d be nobody there but me and my reflection in the train’s windows. I’d sit anywhere and just stare out at a light-filled oil painting. I’d pass over the Chicago River and see the magnitude of the Merchandise Mart still standing, guarding the city from the opposite side.

“Grand...,” I’d hear the automated announcer say of the upcoming stop. Its voice would echo throughout the deserted car like someone calling out for help in a ghost town. I’d continue staring past the fiberglass to my side—, thinking, wondering about anything and everything all at once. With so many souls in such a big place, how was it that not one understood what I was going through? It didn’t make sense, but I had to keep going on my own personal journey.

“Chicago...,” the announcer would chime in again. The gloomy nature of things began altering my daily perceptions of the world around me. I spoke in lower tones, nothing could hold my attention for longer than a few seconds at a time, and the abstractions of all things macabre took over. The same sprawling shadows which I’d felt so many years back had once again found my happiness and were intent on destroying every last ounce of it.

“Clark/Division...,” time was passing, I was still moving. Always keep moving, I’d remind myself. To stand still for too long meant coming face-to-face with what was really going on; every bad decision, every bad medical report, every bad thought that’d pass through my mind. Things got to a point where I stopped caring what’d happen to me. If our fates were already sealed, I couldn’t do much to change it now.

“North/Clybourn...,” I was getting close—, I could sense it. I was about to take my worst fears head-on and hopefully still come out the other end to capture the emotions I’d gone through. That’s all that kept me going—, the hopes that one day, my journey may help someone else on theirs. Life; it seemed so temporary, so momentarily important. My mom explained to me multiple times, how it was like a roll of thread—, we’d keep pulling and pulling and one day, when we’d least expect it, the thread would reach its last bit and we wouldn’t be able to pull anymore. Life, life, life—, and then? Who knew?

“Fullerton...,” my stop. It’d snap me back into the present and I knew I’d have to exit the car and again, it’d be vacant. No more of my thoughts swirling around it with the negative energies they’d brought along with them. I was leaving—, heading back to a home I hardly knew anymore.

Mutual Mistakes

Some of the friends I’d made in the past few months were influential in their own neighborhoods. Some lived right down the street from me. Either way, they began circulating in and out of my place like a gear that kept turning. Rain, sunshine, it didn’t matter—, there was always someplace to go, someone to interact with. Like many months ago with my old job’s mechanic, I was always on a mission. On a particular evening, I was to meet someone of high importance in the area—, someone who most everyone knew. I walked the few blocks over from my place and met him outside of a lively bar on a busy street. We went down into a darkened alleyway and once there, we spoke at length about how we’d been holding up. We quickly exchanged product and I was on my way back to the apartment. Once there, I greeted whoever was over at the time and took a seat next to a little wooden nightstand I had. I poured out the goods I’d just gotten and began chopping it up—, just like I’d done years prior to ever moving out into the city. Line by line, I divvied up the substance and prepared it for my guests. Nobody partook, so I just shrugged and bent my face down toward the table, inhaling every last flake. I looked back up and the room was suddenly in extreme focus—, the walls were crisp, the appliances were exaggerated, everything seemed like I was peering through a fish-eye lens. I wiped my nose and headed into the bathroom to wash up. I’d never been more tired in my life—, I was simultaneously passing out and wired like I hadn’t been in months. My body didn’t know what to do.

My phone rang in the living room and I asked a good friend to answer it for me. I was too exhausted —, mentally and physically. He handed me the cell and the man on the other end wasn’t too happy with me not answering myself.

“Why did he just answer your phone for you?!,” he said, frustrated. I didn’t know how to tell him that I couldn’t even talk anymore—, I’d already been up for days and my head was spinning at that point.

“I’m sorry man, I can’t make it right now,” I said. He too, knew of my mom’s situation and the fact that I was so stressed must’ve set off some empathy as he agreed that I should just get some sleep and that was it. That’d be the last time I’d ever see or talk to him.

Rooftop Pity Parties

I was starving one night and found myself at a local fast food restaurant right down the street that always played classical music through its speakers. I didn’t have much money at that point—, just enough to afford a sandwich on their dollar menu. I took my tray to the nearest seat as I couldn’t wait to unwrap the paper and devour the meal. I suddenly felt complete gratitude take over—, even for the little bit of food I had. I remembered my mentor from months ago and so, I bowed my head in silent prayer, thanking the universe, thanking what was left out beyond the planets and stars and if it was something like God—, then at least He’d hear my attempt at some type of reconciliation.

Up on my rooftop was a little square smoke-stack made of bricks that I sat propped up against. I faced downtown while above me hung a perfect harvest moon—, full and magnificent. I stared at it a long while without moving. Finally, I started feeling tears drop down my face.

“Please give me enough time—,” I both whispered and begged. My mother’s tired eyes were all I could see. I couldn’t give in to the thoughts of never having had the opportunity to show Gabriela who her son truly was. A fear so real took over my entire body and I knew at that moment I’d never felt so lonely before in my life. Even through all of my mistakes and self-induced misery, Something still loved me, Someone still hugged me from a different realm—, but I could barely feel it now. I wondered what my father would think. All of the sacrifices he and my mom made for me—, to do what? To waste away in pity? I didn’t know what else to do so I just replayed all of the happier moments I’d made with my mother in my mind before getting up and returning inside my studio.

Facades Are So Easy

Back on the roads, I moved around the city the same way I’d walk around my neighborhood streets —, aimlessly. The music was always louder than the other cars’ that’d pull up alongside us at red lights.

The smoke escaping through our cracked windows always smelled extra sweet. Everything coasted onward though it quickly became what my friend had mentioned earlier—, pointless. All of it meant nothing and I was beginning to think of just running away to a foreign country somewhere on another continent—, far from the smoky spotlights of darkened clubs I’d come to know as my home.

My friends from both Michigan and Chicago began worrying about me and wondering if I’d completely lost my mind during the past few months. Nobody understood what I was doing—, that I just needed an outlet to vent my frustrations through.

“It’s hurting my heart to see you like this,” a good friend said to me.

“That’s all you’ve become Dre; partying, smoking, and trying to be something you’re not,” another good friend told me one sunny afternoon. We sat on a bench while I tried my best to explain what was really going on. I truly valued her opinion and could tell she genuinely cared.

“I promise—,” I began, “this isn’t the real me. I just need to be this person for a little bit longer.” It was useless to try and explain my recent actions. Only I knew the truth and started caring less and less who accepted me anymore. Only a handful of people mattered to me. They too—, eventually drifted away. I was left completely alone—, maybe for the best.

About that time, I was traveling back and forth between Michigan and Chicago every other week. Visiting my mom took priority above all else, though I still held down a job while juggling a pretty hefty smoking habit—, anything to ease the pulse of reality just outside my immediate bubble of haze. Constant movement meant that I didn’t have the time to stop and let it all sink in. Gabriela began chemo again. Her coughing was getting worse. Eventually the daylight crept in and the real world welcomed me again in its grasp, realizing I needed to move back home, permanently.