Ice on the lake - that’s all I can see. As the car rumbles
up Lakeshore Drive I’m staring. I wonder if I am ready for winter after five
years. The first time it learned how to dress for it. Now I’m so bundled that
I’m sweating. Can I already have forgot? I loosen my scarf, ditch my gloves in
my pocket and unbutton the top of my coat. The cab driver honks at the packed
road and dodges around a minivan. I catch myself from falling over.
It’s only January. I missed Autumn. I remember when I first
moved to Chicago I was so excited to have a real fall, with the evenings that
were perfect for sweaters and hot chocolate. Each progressive year, the falling
leaves only reminded me of snow, which reminded me of the grey sludge the plows
would pile on the sidewalks. Before long I’d be huddled under the heat lamps on
the EL platform, wondering if I actually needed to see my friends tonight and
maybe it would be better to skip my birthday this year and just stay home.
Maybe there was an upside that I was forgetting. My hands were feeling raw so I
slipped my gloves back on and tightened my scarf.
We passed a sign reading Division. My mental map of the city
had faded. I got Division mixed up with Diversity, though I was pretty sure
where Damian was. If we got to Lawrence I’d be sure. Although I don’t know if I
was going that far. Traffic has come to a creep. Suddenly my whole word feels
small - me in the taxi, ice on the right, city on the left.
