Sight For Sore Eyes

Chapter 2

I was no tourist to Chicago, yet at times I caught myself walking to "those" places. Navy Pier, The Bean, the river and its large bridge. Swarmed with noisy families on vacations really. No one wanted to bother getting caught up in all that. Honestly, neither did I. But I caught myself mindlessly walking to these places.

Even with my distance to the large reflective bean, my image was still visible. Hands in my pockets, black hair swaying slightly in the evening summer wind. I was standing alone, surrounded by laughing and happy people with their friends and family. I could've walked closer. In truth I had never even touched the bean before. I was sure I had never been closer than this before. I didn't dare.

I didn't dare because I didn't belong. I didn't belong to the image I was looking at at this moment. The smiles, the handholding, the gleeful chubby cheeks of children, the peace signs as they all crouched down together to snap a photo for memory.

Yet here I was, standing on the side, slowly beginning to take steps away from the small plaza and going down the stairs. I wasn't in the mood to pain myself anymore than this.

In the summer there was always the sound of squealing and screaming children with the loud splashes from the mouth of the stoic and unknown faces. Kids run around the statues, back and forth, while the water turned on and off. The eyes of the holographic faces on the slabs of tile blinked and followed the children as they laughed and played under their sprayers. Childhood memories formed here, only thinking of the cool water against their pink, warm skin from being in the sun too long.

Rather than getting any closer to the faced statues I continued to drag my feet past it in the direction I had been walking before. It was the beginning of summer, my first time coming to these places since the winter. The sound difference between the cold and heated temperatures was amazing. The change from silent walks to joyful yelling made this place feel like they weren't the same in different seasons.

Instead I practically brought myself to the museum just across the street, the Art Institute of Chicago. It was my comfort zone when I was in moods like this. Any museum was really. There was something about them, looking at these simple yet complex things people created. It made time stop, knowing and only being able to imagine the long hours, emotions, and issues the artists went through to make these things. An artist myself there was something about the time at which the artist made these million dollar masterpieces, some priceless, all enough to put a man in jail for life because he punched a hole right through one with his fist. I had so many questions to ask these people, yet I could only wonder.

I kept to myself as I made my way through the long rooms of works, waving to some security that seemed to notice my frequent visits and knew my face by now. They had nothing to worry about with me - I knew every rule they had at this point.

"Wanna know how many people have asked me where the Ferris Bueller areas are today? Seven. That's a record for a Sunday."

Standing in the silence for so long made the sudden voice strangely scary. However with the short moment to recollect myself I didn't have to guess who it was. There was only one person who spoke to me in this place.

"It's the day most tourists leave, yeah, but it's the first week of summer for some families with their kids out of school and all. Probably gonna stay longer than just a weekend." I said this as I turned on my heel. If it wasn't who I thought it was this would be very awkward. There wasn't a doubt in my mind it wasn't him.

Six feet tall. In comparison to me being five-foot-ten I had to look up at him. Under the dimmed lights of the room it was hard to see what expression he was making due to his dark skin other than the bright white of his crooked teeth and glowing eyes. He slowly stepped closer to me, hands adjusting the security vest that hung across his chest, his shaved black hair now showing. The small circle of light he stepped into made it clear it was him.