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There will always be a part of my heart in Chicago, and a lot of my stuff was there too. That included my speakers, still sitting on the bed in the tote bag where I had forgotten them some months prior. I could have replaced them at any time. Maybe I should have. But retrieving them made for a great excuse to go back when my heart craved the city and the comfort only it could provide.
The only thing that was holding me back was the drive. On one hand, I would be taking it in the car that had almost become my coffin. The touch of death lingered in the upholstery long after the broken glass had been vacuumed and the drops of Professor Evory’s blood that had been spilled were scrubbed away. But surprisingly, the ensuing nightmares didn’t bother me so much. At least, they didn’t once I got into the car. I had known worse ones. I had ones where someone had actually died. The more pressing issue was my lack of skill in driving. But for that, there were driving lessons Chris had been giving me, including all the tips and tricks he had learned from delivering pizza for so many years.
He was my rock, I could admit now. He was that foundation that got me through such tense and frightening storms. So in addition to the lessons, Chris had helped me plan the route, told me what time of the day to leave, kept an eye on the weather and the looming threat of snow, got me snow tires in case we misjudged the weather, and loaded up the card I’d be using at the toll booths. I’d never taken toll roads before, I told him, and he talked me through it. But that was only after he offered to drive me himself, which I refused. We didn’t fight about it. Instead, we reminded each other that we were–in fact–in love and still sorting out what that meant. The details could be hashed out later. It was the big picture we couldn’t forget about.
And it felt weird to have things be that easy. It felt weird to not be on the verge of crying or screaming or yelling with him. It was odd not being scared that I would turn around and find him gone one day. Just like it was odd to have things go smoothly, to drive down a road with no traffic, and to get a toll paid on the first try despite my short arms being somewhat incompatible with the distance between the toll booth and my car window.
It was a little different when I pulled into the city, but it wasn’t overwhelming. It was familiar. Chicago was just as I remembered it: crowded and chaotic but in a way that only human life could be. I was almost cut off twice on Lake Shore Drive and a third time coming off of it. But I made it to my building, to a parking space I had never used before, and to my home.
I couldn’t tell you what I was expecting to see when I opened that door or what I thought would happen. No one would have been going in or out. No one but me had a key. There was no need to give one out, considering there was nothing to take care of in there. There were no pets or plants whose deaths needed to be prevented, and there was nothing of value worth stealing. It was just a glorified storage unit full of furniture that had seen better days. That was what I had left behind, and that was what I found when I came back. Down to the speakers on the bed in a random tote bag.
I should have known the place would feel lifeless when I got back to it. It was that way when I lived in that space, it was that way when I left it, and I had done nothing to fix a situation that bothered me from time to time. It was what it was. Somehow I didn’t expect that.
With a sigh, I looked around. This was my home. There was a thin layer of dust on the furniture, but it was hardly noticeable unless someone looked for it. I wasn’t looking for it. It had just caught my eye as I looked about. I was actually looking for some sort of explanation for why this place felt so much colder than when I left. Not temperature-wise either. This was not the late fall or early winter chill seeping in from some sort of window crack or break in my wall. This was a more lifeless chill, not that my condominium had ever had much life to it. But still, I could feel the remnants of something, the faint memory of warmth in the silent pleas of the walls to have said warmth again.
Ellie, I suddenly realized. My breath caught when her name hit me. I had left her warmth here with my speakers. But that wasn’t my fault. Her warmth wasn’t the sort of thing I could bring with me. If I could have, I would have. I wouldn’t have let myself forget to bring it like I did the speakers.
I sat on the couch, in the same spot where I declared my engagement over and pulled out my phone. The smart thing to do would have been to text her, to check in or to ask to see her while I was in the city, but I didn’t do the smart thing. I did the same thing we all do when we want to escape our life or the present moment of said life for half a second: I scrolled through social media. Or I started to. But once again, the algorithms or deities that operated that social media app took great pleasure at my expense. It was Ellie’s most recent post on top of my feed.
Can I get a ride from O’Hare this afternoon? she wrote. Cab fare to Hyde Park is like one hundred bucks for me. I know when they hear my accent they jump the rate thinking I’m a tourist.
Immediately, I closed the app. There was nothing else I needed to see. Nothing else mattered. There was just this opportunity to pick up Ellie from the airport. After all, I had my car. I knew where O’Hare was, but that also meant I knew how terrible the drive was. It was torture to get from that airport to Ellie’s neighborhood. The route was long and the actual roads one had to take were unforgiving. I didn’t want to deal with it, but I did want to see Ellie.
At the thought of her, the urge to take care of her returned. That moral imperative to ensure that she was okay and everything I could give her came back in full force. It was like a revival, in some way. Or I just fell back into that desperate need and longing for her. I wanted to fix things with her, which likely wasn’t possible. But if not, then I wanted to give her closure. It might have meant nothing to me because nothing could make me feel okay with losing her, but it would have helped her. Or so I thought.
Regardless of the quality of said idea, I was ready to commit to it. I was committed to it. I pulled up my messaging app and scrolled down to find our thread, still neglected from all the weeks I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her.
Saw your post, I said. I’m in Chicago with a car for the day. I could give you a ride.
I sent it. Then regretted sending it because inevitably, she was going to ask why I was in Chicago without telling her first.
I hastily added a second message. I forgot something when I left. Never got around to getting it, but I had a spare day, so now I’m here.
I looked at my phone for a second. When no response instantly appeared, I assumed the worst: that she was well and truly angry with me in the sort of way that burns the bridge and makes forgiveness impossible. And it wasn’t like I hadn’t done some unforgivable things.
But no one ever responds in an instant, I reminded myself. That wasn’t a reasonable expectation, no matter the comfort it would bring. So I could add that unfair expectation to my list of sins, the many things I needed to atone for. If Ellie could give me the chance.
After half a second, my phone vibrated. It was Ellie. Confirm that you understand this is O’Hare. I know you hate O’Hare.
She was right, though she had neglected to mention that said hatred was “with a burning passion,” but there was no point in correcting her.
Yes, I hate O’Hare, but I am willing to set aside my hatred for the airport to go get you, I typed out, but then my fingers hesitated. It will be good to see you.
For whatever reason, I imagined her smiling when she received that message. Maybe she was. Or maybe that was the more romantic side of me, playing up the sort of fantasy where everything works out in the end.
Regardless of her expression, she responded, Okay then. I’m on a layover in Detroit. I’ll text you my flight information.
And she did: flight number, arrival time, etc., etc. Some of it was completely irrelevant, but I appreciated her being thorough. Then, after saying she needed to get something to eat, she went silent.
I could understand why. I even expected that. People need to eat, and meals on the road are taken whenever you had a minute to spare. Eating was a better use of that spare minute than talking to me. But despite all of that, it still stung a bit. It was curiosity gnawing at my mind with its sharp teeth. I didn’t have a right to know what was going on with her life. She didn’t have to tell me, but suddenly, I was wondering what she was doing, where she had gone, and why. But with those questions came the thought of her new partner, that guy she once mentioned to me right before I disappeared. It wasn’t a real face, just a shadowy placeholder, but it was enough for me to recoil.