Show...

I step out of the cab a few blocks from my house and race home. I couldn't sit at the traffic light any longer. I'm already late and anxious.
At home I fly down the hall and into my room where I throw my things down and jump under a hot spray of water, taking a shower that felt like thirty seconds.
After drying off, I glance at the clock. I still have forty five minutes before I have to be ready. I exhale for the first time all day. Work was a constant adrenaline rush ending late and having me nervous I would still be running late when Charlie arrived. I had looked forward to this all week. Before leaving on a business trip last week he asked if I'd be interested in going to dinner and a show on Saturday. "Of course!"
I met Charlie a couple of weeks ago at a coffee shop. I was writing in my journal and after refilling his coffee he stopped by my table and said, "Are you writing a book over there?"
His voice caught me by surprise. I looked up at him and smiled. "Somethin' like that." My what sparkly eyes you have I think to myself. Stop it. "It's just my journal."
"What happens when you fill it up?" he nods towards my hands resting on the thick journal.
"I buy a new one."
"Are you serious?" his eyebrows raise.
I nod as if this is the most normal thing in the world, suddenly wondering "doesn't everybody?"
"How long have you been doing that for?" he's firing questions at me fast than I can think and it reminds me of something I do when I like someone.
"About eight years."
"Eight years?! How many of those do you have?" he exclaims.
"Um.. I'm not sure really. Thirty? Forty?"
"You go back and read them?"
"Sometimes." I laugh.
He nods. "I'll let you get back to it."
I return to my writing trying not to giggle. A little while later he's back, after refilling his coffee again asking more questions. I notice he's been in front of a laptop the whole time he's been here.
"Whatcha doin' behind that computer screen?" I smile.
"Procrastinating mostly. Working a little."
I nod.
"Hey, do you mind if I join you?" he asks.
"Not at all."
He sets his coffee down and brings his computer over and closes it.
"I'm Charlie by the way."
...I'm standing inches from my mirror applying my 17th coat of mascara. When I'm satisfied I stand back and think "Lipstick. Where is it?" I go into my room and start looking for a purse to carry. "Umbrella. Hmm... Where did I last see it?"
This is how my brain operates before a date. It's a wonder anything gets done. "Earrings..."
Charlie called me three days after asking for my number at the coffee shop and asked me if I wanted to go to the aquarium with him on Sunday. I had to work so we agreed on dinner after I was finished.
He met me at the salon and we walked across the street to a quiet little sushi place. Dinner turned into drinks by a fireplace at one of my favorite bars. We entertained each other with stories about our life, family, school, and work. It was getting late and I had to be in class the next morning. He walked me home, stopping at my gate and carefully kissing me goodnight.
"I had fun tonight." he smiled at me.
"Me too. Thank you."
"I'll give you a call."
"Ok." I smiled and walked inside.
..."Hairspray. I walk into the bathroom again and spray my carefully styled hair until it no longer moves in pieces but as an entire unit. I'm back to looking for lipstick when I glance at my phone. I have fifteen minutes. I start rummaging a little faster through my make-up drawer.
After dinner with Charlie that Sunday he called a few days later and we decided to go to the aquarium on Thursday. We met at the coffee shop we originally met at and set out to watch the fishes.
While wandering around his hand slowly finds it's way into mine and I suddenly feel like I'm in high school again. The aquarium turns into lunch, which turns into a movie which turns into a brief trip to the suburbs. While driving back I felt we were on I-85 and would soon be under Spaghetti Junction but no, the image in front of us is wide open interstate, and the Chicago skyline. It sometimes doesn't feel real that I'm here. It's like I'm living someone else's life and eventually I'll wake up in my bed under Kat's roof, smile at Rob and and start the day.
"Will you cut my hair?" Charlie asks.
"Of course! I was going to ask you if I could."
"Really?"
"Yup. I miss cutting boy hair." I laugh.
"Does Sunday work for you? I have to fly to Colorado but we could do it before."
"Perfect."
..."found the umbrella, what about the shoes? High heels or low heels?"I pull out the sheer black tights I bought earlier in the week and carefully pulled them on, trying not to forget that I am stil not wearing lipstick. "Hmm... low heels."
Sunday arrives and I let Charlie in to my place. "Sorry about the mess. Kaci's moving out and we haven't been doing much."
He smiled and followed me to my room. I'm pulling out my cutting things and he's bent down looking at my picture on my bookshelf. Three are of Rob, three are of my travels and one is of my family and me on the day Patrick graduated from college. I can see Charlie looking back and forth from picture to picture trying to make a connection somehow.
"Was your brother in the military?"
"Nope. That's Rob..." I look at the picture he's looking at of Rob dressed in his Citadel uniform on the day he graduated. "...my deceased boyfriend." I wasn't hoping to have this discussion just yet but didn't want to remove the pictures before he came over either.
"Oh. I'm sorry." Charlie's eyes don't meet mine.
"Thank you."
I cut his hair, so happy to feel the blades of my shears move over his head. We don't talk much. He watches me in the mirror and I watch his hair take shape, stopping to smile at him every so often.
"So how do you feel about getting dressed up on Saturday and going out for dinner and a show downtown?" he asks.
"Are you serious? That would be amazing!"
"I haven't done that here yet."
"Me either." I smile.
I go to O'hare with him when I'm done with his hair. We say goodbye at security and I take the train home.
...I don't find the damn lipstick I was hoping to wear, so I settle for lipgloss and decide it's good enough. I pick up a bottle of lotion and apply it. It was Rob's favorite. I wore it on our first date and he didn't stop talking about it. I didn't wear anything else until after he died. I move the creamy substance over my arms and look over at the pictures of him on my bookshelf. I smile at the one of him in the car looking at me. For a brief moment I wish so hard that it was him I was going out with tonight. I remember racing home after work on Fridays and getting all fancy for him before he came over, anxiously awaiting his knock on my door so I could sink into him. I barely let him in before squeezing him and melting into his kisses. Guilt fills me up and I stop thinking about anything but getting dressed. I step into a black and magenta dress and zip it up the back. My phone beeps with a text message. I snatch it up and smile when I read a message from Charlie. "I'm at your door." I race down the hall passed Kaci.
"Well look at you." she says to my back.
I turn and grin at her, hand on the doorknob. "I'm so excited!" I fling the door open and run downstairs, opening the front door and exhaling.
"Hi!" I beam.
"Hey." Charlie smiles at me. "You look nice."
"So do you."
He's dressed in a suit, holding his phone. "You ready?"
"Almost. Come up. I need to get my coat."
Minutes later we're out the door, my arm looped through his.
"So I wanted to surprise you and pick you up from work. I went to Evanston thinking you were there, but you weren't and I was almost late getting back." he tells me.
"Seriously?!" I squeal at the sweetness of this gesture.
He nods.
"Thank you though. I appreciate the thought."
"I wouldn't make a good stalker apparantly." he smiles.
He hails us a cab and opens the door for me. A few minutes later we're downtown, pulling over to the curb. He gets out and offers his hand. I smile and take it, sliding out of the cab and onto the pavement underneath the glittering lights of the theater. We're going to see the Broadway musical "Chicago."
"Wow." My eyes are about to pop out of my head. He grins and we walk in.
Once seated we quietly chat about our week until the show starts. "This is my life!" I'm squealing to myself. "I'm really here, really doing this and it's so fun I can hardly breathe!"
The show is one of the best I've seen. We both talk about how this is what we thought our lives would be like once moving here. (he moved from Madison three years ago) I wonder how many people make a habit of going to the theater...
We have dinner at a cute Italian place around the corner. I'm telling him about Atlanta, Kat and how I met her.
"She's coming to Chicago in April!" I exclaim.
"When? Don't say the weekend of the eighteenth."
I laugh. "Yup, that's when she'll be here."
"Damn. I'm going to be in Wisconsin. I want to meet her."
"You'd like her. I'm trying to decide if I'm going to fly back with her. Um. Rob..died on April twentieth. I can't figure out if I want to be home then or not. I took the day off work. It's weird. I don't know how I'm going to feel...if I'll want to be in Atlanta, or in Chicago with friends or completely alone wandering around aimlessly..." I trail off trying to take in air. His hand reaches across the table and takes mine. I smile and look away.
"Don't do it." he says.
"Do what?" I almost snap. "Cry? I'm not. Why is everyone so afraid of a crying person? I can talk about him and not lose it. Sometimes it catches me off guard though, but I'm ok with that. I don't think a lot of people are though."
Charlie watches my face as if he's waiting for me to say something else. The subject begins to change until we realize we're the only two people in the restaurant and decide we should probably go.
It isn't until the next day that I find myself crying for no reason. I wonder if I'm going to cry after every date I have with someone. It's like something else is stirring itself up in me and it's only way out is through my tears but I can't put words to it. I enjoy the company of another person but find myself scared to give anything to them. I'm terrified of getting hurt, terrified of getting too far away from my feelings for Rob, terrified of my own tears, of seeming unstable.
Despite all these feelings, it still doesn't keep me from exploring this path I seem to be on at the moment...

Pause...

...life is coming at me faster than I can keep up with at the moment. It's been unbelievable but overwhelming at the same time. It's hindering my writing process currently. Everytime I go to write, I get introduced to another experience or another person that shows me something worth writing about and it all get's jumbled in my head. I'm trying to keep up, make sense of it, and eventually come up with something else to put here in all this space, but for the time being... I have to go and figure it all out.

February...

I knew something was wrong when I found myself on the train home from work wanting to scream at a homeless guy who was asking an uninterested audience for money for the billionth time. For a week now I could feel something bubbling under my skin but I couldn't quite figure it out. Whatever it was it was trying to escape me by unleashing a verbal attack on an unsuspecting victim.

It isn't until the next day, while writing in a coffee shop before work that I realize what I've been suppressing. It's February. I met Rob on the 10th, my parent's wedding anniversary. It was my dad's sister that set them up and also Rob and me. I loved telling that story when people asked how I met him. Never did I ever imagine that a year after I met him, I'd be sitting alone in a coffee shop 800 miles from home, trying to rebuild my life without him.

I don't want to feel hurt so that gets transformed into anger and it sits there until it builds and builds into something most unattractive and before I know it I want to scream at the slightest irritation.

It doesn't help that I haven't heard from Pete either. I've been through all this before though. People floating in and out of my life. Not that it hurts any less when it happens but this time it's combined with my insatiable wanting for Rob, making it harder to handle. I didn't want a new person, I wanted the one I had. I didn't want to give everything I had left to Pete at such an odd time in my life but still found myself doing it anyway, thinking I'd deal with it later.

I'm dealing with it alright...

February 10th came and went. I work at Lincoln Park, enjoyed my day, and ultimately felt nothing. I think my brain was tired from all it's raging it did the previous week.

On the 14th, after an insane day at Wicker Park I joined my friend Christine and a bunch of her friends at her (beautiful!) apartment for a pot luck dinner, wine, and good story telling. I had been looking forward to it all week.

The next day I was back at Christine's eating leftovers for lunch. While sitting on her couch the subject of Rob came up. I haven't shared much about him with many people since moving. Sometimes the floodgates open with certain people and random things pour out of me. This is one of those times...

She asked how his accident happened. I explained it as best I could although I'll probably never fully understand it. I include the most random details, like what the weather was life that day, what time I sent him the text message asking when could I expect him in Atlanta, and what time it was when my dad called.

Normally I stop there. For whatever reason, I continue, talking about the following day, driving with my cousin Shevis, and Rob's sisters, Kate and Laura to South Carolina to move him out. I tell her about walking in the door, about the dishes in the sink, his toothbrush on the counter, along with his shaving cream,and hair products. I told her about folding his clothes with Laura, about meeting his friends, about how packed the church was at his funeral, how months later while at church I asked the man who dealt with Rob's body what he looked like when we was brought in and how afterwards I sat motionless on my couch for an eternity staring at the wall until I picked up the phone and called a friend to explain what I had been told.

I don't really look Christine in the eye when I tell her all this. She's so easy to be with. She listens, holds my hand when I cry and maybe that's why it's so easy to open up to her. Lots of people have listened though but I find myself only sharing the most intimate details of my memories with a tiny handful of people. I don't know how my mind selects them, how they just seem to feel "safe" and others don't but I try not to question it or think too much about it.

I finally stop talking. I feel exhausted. Christine has to get some studying in. I leave and take my time walking to the bus, despite the chilly air. Fat snowflakes drift gently down from the sky and I wonder if more is to come and if it'll stick.

Once I'm home, the snow has stopped. I make dinner and feel a bit guilty for unloading like that on Christine. It's as if I've asked her to carry my rather heavy load because I can't seem to take another step. I'm afraid of stopping to rest because everything I'm scared of, all the hurt and uncomfortable feelings will paralyze me and I'll never be able to move again.

None of this is actually true and I know it. I've been putting one foot in front of the other for a while now. Some steps are just harder to take.

I put a movie in and half way through it for no reason I find myself crying. A song I love is playing. The chorus goes, "Come pick me up, take me out, fuck me up..." Maybe that's what I want and I'm not finding it. I want someone to take care of my crazy ass for a moment because it's so hard right now, or at least it feels hard and I need a break but don't know how to actually take a break so...I want someone to do it for me.

Impossible. Tomorrow will come, no matter what and I'll have to get up and face it whether I like it or not. By myself.

Security Blanket...

"Melissa, you hold on so tightly and you don't let go." the therapist said to my fifteen year old self, curling her fingers into tight fists. I remember looking back at her thinking she just opened a door that I didn't know existed and I'm walking through it, unsure of where to go. I do hang on too tightly. To everything, and no, I don't know how to let go.

Fast forward twelve years later and I'm still bumbling around trying to find the answer. I never asked her for it. I remember just nodding, feeling paralyzed.

I'm currently sitting on board a non-stop flight to Atlanta that left Chicago an hour ago. I stare out the window at the clouds beneath me and suddenly I'm filled with an intense desire to jump out and run all the way back to Chicago. What the hell am I doing on this plane? Chasing after something that doesn't exist anymore? Yup, that's it and I'm angry with myself for doing it.

The plane lands and I contemplate staying at Hartsfield and boarding the next flight out to Chicago. I talk myself out of it and take MARTA into the city. All I wanted was to wrap myself up in the sparkly security blanket I left behind when I moved.

Weeks before leaving for Chicago I stumbled upon the blanket and carried it everywhere with me. It eased my anxiety of moving, listened to all my confessions, kept me warm while I slept, and like a narcotic, it coated my brain with a wonderful illusion that everything was flawless and free of any sort of hurt or anger. It was this sort of safe place I found myself turning to every chance I got.

When it came time to move I had no room left for the blanket. I carefully placed it in a safe place, promising to be back as soon as I could and then I left.

I missed it terribly and upon returning I hoped to find it in the same condition as to when I left. Sure enough, it was and my worry dissipated leaving me feeling elated and calm once I left again. I went back again and again and everything was still the same until this time.

This time is different. Something must have happened along the way because when I went back for the blanket, it was merely a collection of string. There was nothing warm about it. I pick up the strings and lace them around my fingers, squeezing them, trying to get that warmth back but there's nothing. "No, no, no." I tell it. "Not yet. Don't go away. I'm not ready." Very slowly the strands begin to disintegrate in my hands.

Anger boils underneath the surface of my skin and I snatch a pair of scissors and begin to cut furiously away at the strings, slicing my skin in the process. I keep cutting until there is one left. I can't bring myself to sever this one despite the fact that it's threatening to slip away. I keep it around my fingers, fall asleep, carry it with me on the plane back to Chicago, waiting to wake up one day without it. In the meantime, I'm still struggling to find the answer to the question "how do I learn to let go?"

Catch up...

It's been an eternity since I've written because my computer has decided to go on an die. Very poor timing on it's part I must say. I've since discovered the public library but of course, it's busy and there's a time limit on the use of the computers. It's not always conducive to my meandering daydreaming that usually happens when I write.
That being said, I'm trying to figure out how to start. How do I sum up the past several weeks? It's part of the reason I've been dragging my feet on writing. So much has happened and I'm bursting at the seams to share it with you but figuring how to begin has been debilitating.
Moving here to Chicago is the best thing I could have done for myself. I'm thrilled beyond explanation to finally be living the life I've wanted for so long. I often wonder why it took an eternity to actually do it. I feel completely free here to be myself 100%, in my furry, heeled, impractical (but SO cute!) snow boots and a tank top underneath my heavy winter coat as the wind whips itself around me, threatening to take the skin off my face as I walk to work.
I couldn't ask for a better job. Assisting isn't necessarily my most favorite part of the hair industry but simply a stepping stone to the next phase in my career. I've been bouncing from Evanston to Wicker Park to Lincoln Park each week for about two months now. I am always surounded by respectful, talented, kind and helpful people. Not only have my co-workers been incredible, so have the clients.
After being a stylist for so long, it's tough going back to the bottom of the totem pole again. My hands bleed from getting dried out after being in so much water, I'm in a constant state of freaking out over obtaining models for class on Mondays when I don't know many people here, and keeping the likes and dislikes of the stylists and colorists of each location straight takes getting used to but I would not trade it for the world. I'm happy to do it because very slowly, I'm erasing my past experience as an assistant and all it's negativity and replacing it with something sparkly and uplifting.
Of course I wouldn't know what good was unless there were some unsavory moments thrown in the mix. I've gotten on the wrong bus one too many times. I've stood on a street corner looking both ways under a blast of wet, cold snow wondering where the hell I am, and I've been caught running to the train like an Olympian trying to win a gold medal only to watch the damn thing leave without me.
While work distracts me in the best way possible leaving no room for anything but the 17 things I have to do right that minute, grief still manages to find a way into my head. It reminds me that it's still here even though I moved and there is no escape. If anything it's tightened it's grip now that I'm free from my usual routine I had established in Atlanta. Everything is completely different now in Chicago. I don't just get in my car and go somewhere anymore. I map my day out according to where I'm going to be working that day and whatever gets done, gets done. Otherwise it'll have to wait.
Trains are still very novel to me. I enjoy the fact that I don't experience my psychotic road rage anymore and can sit and read or stare out the window until it's time to get off.
Walking everywhere has also been nice. Sometimes, it's a pain in the ass but there is something wonderful about replying on my own two feet to get me where I need to go.
The holidays were certainly different this year. I spent Thanksgiving in the suburbs of Chicago with one of my clients from Atlanta. On Christmas Eve, dad left me a voice mail that said all the flights to Atlanta the next day looked so bad it wouldn't be worth the effort to try and get home. I had just had an emotionally hellish week and his message was icing on that cake. I was reduced to tears as I trekked home from work in the frozen snow.
Kaci, one of my roommates was on vacation in Texas and Stacey, my other roommate had just missed her train to Michigan and was home when I walked through the door. Her sisters drove down to see her on Christmas morning and we hung out all day, went to dinner and to the movies, then to the bar that Stacey works at and had some drinks with her friends. It was the first Christmas Stacey and I had without our families. I was grateful for the company.
The week before and the week after Christmas, despite all the fun that was had were two of the darkest emotional weeks I've had since Rob died. I did everything I could think of to snap out of it. I made some sparklies, tried to write, started another creative outlet, talked on the phone, ate too much, drank too much, went out and danced, stayed up all night, slept all day, allowed myself time to cry when needed, aimlessly wandered the streets of downtown and tried desperately to get a hold of myself.
By New Years I was barely keeping it together. Kaci invited some friends over and shortly after exclaiming "Happy New Year!" I was asleep. The next morning we had more people over, made brunch and watched the first season of Friday Night Lights. Slowly people left until it was just me and Kaci on the couch, glued to the television. I was thinking about how happy I was for this moment of calm, fabulousness but at the same time, was on the verge of tears. I glanced over at herin between episodes and said, "How's you do it? How'd you move here?"
"It wasn't easy." she said and told me her story and all the ups and downs she experienced. "Why do you ask?"
"I feel like I'm going crazy. I'm truly happy here. I have everything I could ever want but underneath all the good stuff I feel I could shatter into a million peices all at once. How is it that I'm ecstatic and so upset all at once."
"Leaving is hard. You didn't move at the best time of year either. Winter is very isolating." she reminds me. "Plus, you've have a hard year."
"I know. Part of me wanted to be here in winter to get it over with It can only get better from here. I'm just trying to figure this out. I'm having feelings I've never had before and I don't know what to do with them.
"You're going to be fine. I don't worry about you at all. My door is always open if you need to cry, talk, or whatever."
"Thank you." I inhaled sharply to keep from crying right then. We went back to watching Friday Night Lights.
I believe her. It all will be ok, it's just in the meantime, I'm sorting through things and trying to figure out what to do and where to go next.

Work...

The next two days were a blur. I decided I would let myself do whatever my little heart desired. If that meant sleeping all day, alright. If it meant eat until I explode, great. If it meant shopping until I plowed all the way through next month’s rent, awesome. I did none of those things though. I think because I had given myself unabashed permission to do so, the idea was no longer appealing.
I slept until I woke up, I ate when hungry, and shopped a little for Christmas. I visited Lincoln Park like I always did when I came to Chicago for interviews, walking along West Armitage, looking at all the cute shops and stopping outside Art and Science on Halstead. This was the location I dropped my resume off at earlier this year and the location I was at when I accepted the job.
I turned and headed back towards the train, stopping into a chocolate shop for hot chocolate and a moment to write for a while. Once I couldn’t sit still anymore, I headed out again, this time for the Loop.
I was immediately swept up and sucked into the undertow of the city’s energy. It moved me across streets, pushed me into thick crowds of people bustling down the sidewalks and occasionally dropping me off into a store or two to catch my breath.
Borders book store downtown is one of my favorites. It’s got several floors and the café’s windows expose magnificent views of the city. I wanted to stop for coffee here but it was packed.
I took the train everywhere and loved it, wondering if it would ever get old. I loved watching the people, the views, and loved the fact that there was no traffic to sit through and I could read if I wanted to.
I knew Kaci would be home around seven and so I made sure I was there at that time both days of freedom before the seriousness of employment settled in. I realized that before seeing Kaci walk through the door, I’ve barely uttered a sentence all day.
“What have you been up to?” she asks while putting her things down in her room.
“Aimless wandering. All day. It’s been amazing!” I reply.
“You’ve been outside walking around in all this?”
I nod. It was clear today.
“It’s so cold!”
“I know!” I laugh.
We exchanged crazy travel stories, family history stories, and work stories. I told her about Kat and me coming to Chicago for my birthday last year, about meeting my friend Paul in December and the insanity of that first trip back to Chicago after my birthday. I told her about Rob and about Pete. It’s like I’ve known her forever, and I can tell her anything.
“Your life is insane!” she exclaims, perching on the counter, swinging her legs.
I smile and shake my head. Sometimes I feel I live the most boring life and other times, not so much.
“Just you wait. Once the weather gets really bad, it’ll be me and you, firing up the fire place, and making s’mores and doing crafts.” she laughs.
I can’t wait really. To talk with someone while snow is falling and making the sparklies sounds wonderful.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” she asks.
“Yup!” I smile. “I have my clothes and everything all ready just like the first day of first grade!” I laugh. I swear, some things never change.
“Good! I like to leave a little after seven. It’s the last possible minute to leave without being late. You’re going to get there early. I’ll have another 45 minutes on the train.”
“Are you serious?”
“Oh yeah. I just take a little nap or do my make-up.”
For whatever reason, I’m not worried about a thing. It’s as if time doesn’t exist and if it does, it’s on my own terms. Even waiting for the trains today, I know I don’t have any control over them and they’ll get there when they get there. I feel perfectly relaxed as I crawl into bed, excited about this new thing I’ve started…
My alarm goes off at 6:00am. I eat breakfast and stay on the computer a little longer than I should have. I quickly hop in the shower and get dressed. I’m about to apply my make-up with I hear someone knocking on my door.
“Melissa?” Kaci whispers.
“Yeah?” I step out of the bathroom and open the door. She’s still in her pajamas.
“Can you be ready in twenty?”
Uh oh.
“Yup!”
“Kay.” she nods and walks down the hall. I get back to my face, racing through make-up application and drying my hair curly instead of wearing it straight like I had planned. I pushed my feet into a new pair of shiny high heeled boots, grabbed my purse, and walked to the kitchen.
“Ready?” Kaci asked, closing her bedroom door.
I nodded.
“Are you going to be able to walk in those?” she eyed my boots.
“Oh yeah.”
“We have a ways to go.”
“It’ll be fine.” I smile, thinking I’ve been wearing heels since the seventh grade.
I was practically crying by the time we got to the train platform. What have I done to my feet? I’m not even at work yet, plus how am I going to get back? Worry about it later I guess.
Kaci sits in the same car every morning. She likes the sweet man who takes the tickets.
“So you’ve got a friend with you this morning.” he smiles at her, and nods at me.
“Yup! She just moved here. I feel like a proud mama on my baby’s first day of school!”
We laugh, I buy my ticket and sit back, staring at the window. We’re on a double decker commuter train that heads directly north of the city. Our stop is one stop from downtown and fifteen minutes from Evanston.
“The next stop is yours.” Kaci smile at me.
“Ok. When I get off, which direction do I go?”
“Hmm. Take a right off the train, go down the stairs and take another right. I think that’s the street the salon is on.”
“Kay.” I smile.
The train stops and I stand up, pulling my coat back on.
“Fly away little bird! Have a great day!” Kaci exclaims.
“You too! I laugh.
I follow her instructions and find the salon. I’m thirty minutes early and don’t see a Starbucks. I stop into Panera and have a mocha, constantly glancing at my phone, waiting for the minutes to tick by. Finally I decide to go.
I stop outside the door and notice a cute girl leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette.
“Do you work here?” she asks.
“I do now.” I laugh. “You?”
She takes a long drag off the cigarette and nods. “Yeah, it’s my first day.”
“Me too!” I examine her a little closer. Cyndi told me I’d be starting with another girl. She’s about five feet tall with a jet black bob and bangs. Her eyes are blue and her nails are green. She’s wearing black pants and a navy blue down coat that is tied around her tiny waist. “I’m Melissa.” I offer my hand.”
“Lauren.” she smiles and shakes it. She tells me she’s from Chicago, and just graduated from school.
“I’m so nervous man!” she stomps on her cigarette. “Are you?”
“Kinda.” I smile, looking at her, thinking this was me eight years ago, starting at Van Michael. Nervous. Everything is different now. Yes I’m nervous because I don’t know anything about this company really, but at the same time, I’m not because, I’ve already done this before.
“When was your interview?” she asks.
“April.” I reply.
“Oh wow! Why are you starting now?”
“Um. Life got crazy for a minute.” I didn’t want to talk about it today.
“I understand.” I she nods.
“Are you waiting to get in?” a voice behind me startles both of us.
I turn to see a black woman with keys, unlocking the door. We nod.
“C’mon. You could’ve knocked. Someone’s there.”
Lauren and I looked at each other then walked inside.
“Have a seat. I’ll tell Cyndi you’re here.” the woman tells us.
We do as we’re told and within minutes Cyndi emerges from the back of the salon.
“Hey ladies!” she exclaims, shaking our hands. “Come on back!”
We follow her to the back of the salon where we later learn is the blow dry room. There are two 3 ring binders sitting at the stations we’re standing next to.
“Can I get you any coffee?” she asks.
“Sure.” Lauren and I say in unison.
“Ok. Let me show you where to put your coats.”
We follow her further back down a narrow hallway and stop when she shows us the rack of coats that we can add ours to.
“I’ll meet you back out with your coffee.” she smiles and disappears.
Lauren and I giggle and head back to the blow dry stations. Cyndi appears again with two cups of coffee.
“Ok, I need you guys to fill out,” Cyndi opens Lauren’s notebook and pulls out several sheets of paper. “these forms and hand them into me and we’ll go from there.”
We nod and get to it. It’s the usual employment tax forms and an acknowledgement that we’ve received the employee handbook plus a questionnaire asking about various likes and dislikes.
We finish at the same time, give the papers to Cyndi and wait for more instructions.
The day goes by quickly. It was eight hours of going over the handbook, asking questions, training, meeting the stylists and other assistants, and shampooing clients. My head was in a fog when it was all said and done. There is so much to remember. Everything has it’s place, things are to be done in a specific way, and everyone has their own idiosyncrasies that we have to learn. The process starts over again when we’re rotated to Lincoln Park, and moved again to Wicker Park. We’ll be rotating between all three salons for the remainder of our time as assistants before being placed at one location as stylists. We’ll be attending class every Monday from eleven to eight, and are expected to have models for our first class on December first. Whew!
We leave at five and I head to the train station. My feet are screaming. I noticed that all the employees wear flats. I don’t own any and am still splashing through the waters of denial that I can handle heels at work. Maybe not these damn boots but other heels, the ones I wore all the time at Salonred should be fine. Right?
I have to wait forty five minutes for the train. I can’t stand any longer. I perch my ass on the cement edge of this thing sticking out from a beam that’s helping to hold a roof over the platform.
The train comes, and drops me off at my stop. I exit the platform then stop. Which way do I go? Straight? No. Left? Maybe. I think so. Yeah. I start walking. Nothing looks familiar and it’s dark. Maybe I’m going the wrong way. I go back the other way. No this isn’t right either. Damn! I look around. There are three bus stops. One will take me home, one will take me away from home and one will take me to Lincoln Park. I don’t care anymore. I get on the one that’ll take me to Lincoln Park, knowing at least I can take the train from there. I just need to sit.
I get off the bus when I see the train station and take the brown line to the blue line. The brown line is my favorite, even though it’s slow as hell. I think it has the best views of downtown.
Kaci is home when I get there.
“Hey! How was work?” she exclaims.
“Good! There is so much to remember! It took me forever to get home!”
“How come?”
“I had to wait for the Metra then I got lost, and took the Armitage bus to the brown line and went from there.”
“Whoa! Why didn’t you take the Ashland bus?”
“I didn’t know which one to get on.”
“It’s the one on the corner right when you get off the train.” she smiles.
“I’ll remember that.”
“We taking the train tomorrow?” she asks.
“Oh yeah!” I smile and headed to my room.
I’m all freaked out. I don’t know how to explain it, but there is so much in my head at the moment that I can’t seem to focus on one thing. I eat half a box of cereal, knowing it won’t solve anything but at that exact moment the feeling of the crunchy substance beneath my teeth lulls me into a satiated numbness and I fall into bed.

Now what...?

I’m up early and milling around my room, trying to figure out how I’m going to unpack all these boxes and where am I going to put everything. Kat is still asleep and everything is very quiet. We agreed we’d be up at eight to get ready for brunch.
Once showered and ready to go we look at the map of Wicker Park.
“Oh my gosh, this is illegal.” I giggle. “We can walk there! I’m going to be four hundred pounds!”
“This is trouble.” Kat laughs.
I found the Bongo Room over a year ago when Kat and I came to Chicago and I was on the lookout for chocolate chip pancakes. Although they didn’t have any, everything else looked so delectable that I insisted we go and each time I went back to Chicago after that, I stopped in.
We get bundled up and head out. There is no wait and we realize that we made it just in time as a swarm of people came through the door.
After ordering we sit back and sigh.
“I still feel like this is vacation.” I smile.
“It’s not going to feel like it once I get on that plane!” Kat laughed.
“I know…” I trail off.
“Don’t you start. There will be no crying.” she warns.
“I’m not.” I assure her, remembering Pete saying the same thing. I reach into my messenger bag and pull out a blue Tiffany’s bag. “Got something for ya.” I push towards her.
“Ooo…” she smiled and pulled out a box that matched the bag. When she pulled out the necklace, I exclaimed, “It’s the bean! It reminded me of our first trip when we ran over to the park to see the bean sculpture before rushing to the airport!”
“Yay!” she exclaims, examining it. “ Not gonna cry, not gonna cry… she blinks while clasping the necklace around her neck. I’m chewing on my face to keep from losing it. She pulls out the card containing a letter I wrote her explaining how much she means to me.
“Don’t read that now.” I swallow.
“Ok.” she smiles. “Thank you.”
“Thank you. I couldn’t do this without you.”
“Sure you could have.”
“Hell no. Who was gonna drive?”
We both laugh and chatter on about various things.
“Promise me you’ll go to a bar one night and simply watch a Bears game, just to be around people. I know football isn’t your thing, but just go.”
I nod. “I can watch a game for a little bit. ’Bout third quarter though, I’m bored.”
I never really understood the game anyway. I start asking questions and before I know it, Kat has various table items like sugar packets and little vials on cream spread out on the table, explaining the game.
The food arrives and we’re quiet for a little bit. Again, the weird feeling I had with Pete and wanting things to just speed up so I could get over the uncomfortable feelings of missing him have returned and are continuing with Kat.
“I think I’m going to take a cab back.” she announces.
“Ok.” The train is down this weekend.
“So I need to get my things and probably get a cab at Division and Milwaukee.”
I nod. “Kay.” We pay the bill and head back.
“You want to take that road instead?” she asks as we approach a street we passed on the way to brunch.
“Sure.” I nod.
“Are you going to be able to find your way back over there?” she asks.
“Eventually!” I laugh. “The pancakes will lead me!”
Half way down the street words painted on a fence catches my eye. They read “I love you so much!”
“Hang on Kat.” I call out to her, digging in my bag for my camera. I snap a picture of the fence wondering if it’s Rob’s way of saying hello. We resume out trek home.
“Hey you guys!” Kaci’s voice calls to us from the kitchen as we walk in.
“Mornin’!”
“What have ya’ll been up to?” she asks.
“The Bongo Room!” I chirp. “Kat’s got to head to the airport now.”
“Yeah…” Kat trails off.
“Ok, well if you want, I’m going to the grocery store a little later. You can come with me and I can show you around after that.” Kaci looks at me.
“Sounds good!” My head is swimming again. This is real! I live here and there really isn’t any going back…
Kat gets her things and we head down Division, crossing the street, neither of us saying anything, and my mind void of any emotion.
“Alright!” she says as we approach a cab. “Have fun!” she hugs me hard.
“Will do!” I exclaim as if I’ll see her sometime that evening, as if she’s not going to get on a plane, as if I’m still on vacation…
She closes the cab door and I turn to walk across the street again. My hands fumble in my bag for my phone. Whatever feelings that might hit, I don’t want them. I dial Pete’s number.
“Hey darlin’! his warm, deep voice answers. I want to keep his voice in my ear always to recall when I need some sort of calming down.
“Hi!” I squeak.
“How’s it going?”
“Um. Good. Uh, Kat just got in a cab to go to the airport…”
“Oh…how you feeling?”
“Don’t know yet.”
He tells me stories of his past couple of days, getting together with some friends from law school and I tell him all about our drive up here until I look up and realize that I don’t know where I am. I must have crossed the at the wrong street. Dammit. I walk back in the other direction and find the street I need to be on, eventually making it home. Pete and I stay on the phone a little longer then it’s time for me to head to the store with Kaci.
“I think I left my list at home.” she tells me as we’re half way there.
“Uh oh.” I glance at her. I didn’t actually need anything, just didn’t want to be alone just yet.
“Don’t let me forget coffee filters.”
I nod. We weren’t at the store long before heading out again.
“Ok, so I’ll show you what’s all around here. You can walk to Art and Science from here and when the weather gets really bad you can either take the blue line on the train, or the Division bus.”
I nod, having a feeling I’ll be doing lots of nodding and lots of trying to understand everything.
“The buses will become your best friend.” she says.
“I don’t, or well, I haven’t done buses. They freak me out. I can never tell which direction they’re going in.”
“It’s tricky at first but I promise, eventually, it’ll click. Ok, so this is Bucktown. This is where all the fancy shopping is. Lots of good restaurants as well. There’s a coffee shop.” she pointed to our left. “They have great coffee.”
I glance inside as we walk by. It’s attached to this little bakery with fancy cakes displayed in the window.
“Starbucks is right there.” she pointed across the street.
“Good to know.” I smile. “I’m in need of some fabulous coffee shops. Atlanta has a lot of independent ones but I haven’t noticed too many in Chicago.”
“Well. There are like, six right here.”
“Perfect!”
We stop in a couple of stores and continue on our way, telling stories, laughing, leaves crunching under our feet, bright blue sky hovering above us. I couldn’t be happier.
“I start work in Evanston on Wednesday. How should I get there?” I ask as walk back into our place.
“What time do you have to be there?”
“Eight thirty.”
“Oh! You can take the Metra with me. It’s the commuter train.”
Could this be anymore perfect?
“Are you serious?!” I laugh.
“Yeah, it’ll drop you off right at the salon.”
“This is fabulous!” I exclaim.
“I know!”
Later I retreat back to my room, talking to mom on the phone, unpacking, stumbling over boxes, texting Kat, stopping to eat, and unpacking some more.
“You’ve made a lot of progress!” Kaci exclaims standing in my doorway.
“Yay” I clap. “Trying to…”
“It looks good.” she smiles and walks away.
It isn’t long before I’m done. Actually finished with the whole project and I fall happily into bed.