My gaze followed a chewed-down fingernail pointing at an office building with a Wells Fargo sign. “See that?” my companion said. “I held a seven-karat diamond there.”
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
Once I’d made the decision, everything in Chicago took on a new weight: a view of the skyline at night coming in north from the Kennedy; a final perfect $34 manicure and pedicure at Nail Gallery on Damen, where every time I visit they put my socks back on for me, tie my scarf around my neck exactly how I like it, and reach past the snotty tissue in my handbag to dig for my keys before sending me out the door with a cheerful good-bye; finally cashing in free-movie coupons at North Coast Video; a last shameful late-night visit to the Taco Bell drive-through on Clybourn; spending too much money on my pooch at Doggy Style, the friendliest pet store in town; a final shot in the ass of B vitamins and magnesium from my doctor, who reads this column and has never once clucked at me about the damage I do to my body; one more meal at De Cero and another at Green Zebra; and one more coast down the smooth, freshly paved section of Loomis between Cermak and Archer, my favorite stretch of road in the city.
Chicago’s a transient city, which makes it exciting–there’s always something or someone new. But eventually everyone you know leaves. People from small towns come to try out living in a city; people from larger cities come for a break. Eventually they all move on. My friend Marci is the last one standing from a tight group that formed eight years ago. I feel like I’m abandoning her, and even though she’s too sweet and reasonable to admit it, I think she feels that way too.
Saying good-bye to my family, friends, and hometown has twisted my heart until I thought it might snap, but I got the most choked up when saying good-bye to the people I work with, especially photographer Andrea Bauer. She was my silent partner, the quiet one who never gave me the Look that says, You really shouldn’t do that, or, Can we please go home now? She never once complained about being dragged along on my shenanigans, nor did she egg me–or anyone else–on just for a good photo. Perhaps most important, she has the proof that everything you’ve read here really did happen.
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photos/Andrea Bauer.
