Hope's Imperfection

Chapter 6: Chicago

It was my second time in Chicago and I enjoyed my tour of the city on the way to the hostel. Sarah pointed out all of the landmarks for me along the way.

I didn’t remember much from my first visit to Chicago when, at the age of nine, my father took me to Wrigley field and Comiskey Park to see the Cubs and the White Sox play. It was a guy’s weekend. My father loved baseball and enjoyed teaching me about the subtleties of the game. I preferred basketball but enjoyed spending time with my dad and appreciated that he took time from his busy schedule to spend time with me. A city’s character is related to your age. I couldn’t tell you much about Chicago from my first visit but I could likely recite for you all of the junk food that was at the stadiums. Today, as we found our way downtown, I saw the Sears tower (though it goes by some other corporate label these days) seemingly for the first time, and I got a sense from the architecture of the history and significance of the city. Chicago is the dividing line between east and west and, for the Stanhopes, once this landmark was reached there was no turning back. 

We arrived at our accommodations. They were better than I expected.

“Are you still in school?” I asked.

“Just finished high school,” Sarah replied. “I’m supposed to start at the University of Chicago in the fall; apparently I have a full scholarship waiting for me.”

“Supposed to? Are you going?” I questioned.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t decided.” Sarah answered.

“Does your family live here in Chicago?” I asked.

“Milwaukee, Wisconsin, “she replied. “I came down for a quick look at the campus. It is very nice. I’m travelling to the west coast this summer,”

“California?” I asked.

“Portland,” she said, emphatically.

“Portland, Oregon?” I asked.

“Is there another?” she replied, with a smile.

“Maine, I suppose. I’m sorry. It just seems like a random destination, “I observed.

“I want to travel along the Columbia River to Multnomah Falls. I want to sit by the raging river and have the splashing water tell me what I should do with my life. I am exhausted from school. I don’t want to play anymore. I am too good at it, but I know it isn’t real. I felt more alive today operating the shoeshine for a couple of hours at the airport than I ever have sitting in boring high school classes. I don’t want to watch the world go by anymore while I sit in a lecture hall and pretend to know the first thing about life. I want to participate. No one understands,” she finished.

“I envy your passion,” I said, “though I don’t really know how you feel. I’m attending Loyola University in Maryland in the fall, in my home town of Baltimore. No scholarship for me. I’m a pretty hopeless student. I fear participation. I find the best hiding spots and keep their locations to myself. I wish I was good at school; it would allow me some breathing room.”