Fear in the Windy City

Jean-Pierre’s heart filled with dread. He hated the mere idea of traveling into Chicago. Marcus lived deep in the Windy City and had invited him for a weekend museum walk around. It was the Achilles's heel that would get through Jean-Pierre’s excuses for a visit. Their time together was all that Jean-Pierre could have hoped for. He appreciated the relaxed comfort that Marcus was able to give him under the rising monoliths that surrounded them. They passed comments to each other about the various exhibits before them within the halls of each museum. Jean-Pierre was lost in the intellectual buffet, happily walking hand in hand with his man. He knew their time was fleeting before the clock would run out once again and he would expunge himself back to the slower lifestyle he relished. Being with Marcus allowed him to push past his usual hangups. The city was not as daunting when they were together. Passerby’s in the city cared less about seeing men of two different ethnicities being together. The suburbs wouldn’t be so flippant about such a personal connection. They both knew a crusading Karen or Chad would likely have something to say in order to force the weaning hetero-normality of suburban living.  

Jean-Pierre was not a fan of engaging with Chicago. He felt, of anything, that there was no convenient way to access the city. In a car, street parking offered a limited array of unfavorable options when compared to the consistent ease of suburb travel. In most downtown areas, parking was either limited to needing a permit, costly street meters or extortion-high, parking garage fees. That didn’t include the cumbersome hassle of parallel parking. Tightly packed traffic was always a time consuming inconvenience. Traveling into the city by train was not much better. Commuting was restrained by the train schedules. Then one was forced to pay for a cab, ride sharing or enter in one of the many buses with their mysterious color coded routes and unpredictable passengers. Walking was a good option on a nice weather day, though he always felt on guard against the paranoia of threats that he imagined around the corner of every block. Walking also limited the ability to move from one spread out location to the other.

Jean-Pierre thought through risking all of these inconveniences for the chance to see Marcus’s gentle, mocha face with his own eyes once again. He wanted to have the opportunity for them to go to those intellectual parts of the city he really did favor. The world famous museums. He loved the homage to knowledge and culture made available on the grandest of stages. He hated Chicago as greatly as he enjoyed what the city offered the soul. Jean-Pierre traded those obstacles for the happiness he always felt leaving one of the downtown institutions. The Art Institute of Chicago. The Field Museum. The Museum of Science and Industry. The suburbs excelled at convenience over substance. Jean-Pierre wished he was able to find such a nirvana that offered each in quantity. He always exited the buildings filled with a reinvigorated faith in humanity’s future. He loved them all more with Marcus in tow, their fingers entwined in a mixed palette of mocha and peach. Most days he relished in the fantasy of being a wealthy tycoon with the convenience of owning a helicopter shuttle to whisk him and Marcus to the entrances of each museum. Jean-Pierre hugged the solace of the suburbia town that offered no street parking fees and noises that ricochet between the structures. He liked being able to get to his favorite theaters and restaurants without being hassled by the Mayor’s aggressive taxes.

He was happy to give in to the city’s tax machine for the privilege to experience worlds larger than he could ever explore an hour away in the suburban life’s coffin comfort. Chicago institutions of great knowledge offered a person the chance to walk through time among the painted pots of ancient people long gone, or experience art expression that forced one to delve into their emotions. The best Jean-Pierre could hope for in the suburbs was an amateur art show in a high school parking lot. There were no great pillars of thinking in the cookie cutter strip malls of conformity. He knew that wasn’t good enough for them, let alone reason for Marcus to make the extended trip away from Lake Michigan.

Once in a while he tried to imagine enjoying the hustle and bustle of city life as Marcus lived every day. Marcus loved the constant flow and noise of city living. Jean-Pierre knew that this was one of the main obstacle waves breaking against their relationship as it rode on the water of time. Their inability to find comfort in the other’s living preferences kept them in a constant orbit just inside each other’s friends with benefits zone. Their quality time together peaked at amazing hook ups and meeting over coffee. Once in a great while one or the other would make the trip out of their personal status quo and into the home of the other. Sometimes this would be for a night or maybe, just maybe, a long weekend. The departure always ended with a goodbye kiss back to the open pastures of their separate lives.

Marcus was well aware that Jean-Pierre was hooking up with run of the mill, predictable suburbia guys. Jean-Pierre knew Marcus was clubbing it up with unfiltered, downtown party dudes. Neither of them directly acknowledged their companion activities. Both talked around their personal companionships in code. Had a friend over. Met someone for lunch. Went out with a buddy. No further questions would be asked, no additional parts of the abstract expanded upon. Jean-Pierre felt as though his love-hate for the city was to blame for them never fully making the complete connection they should have. Marcus never directly suburb shamed him, though he had made some passive comments that were meant to push their relationship to close the living distance.

“You know, city living isn’t that bad. Sure it’s a bit pricey sometimes, but if we shared a place, the costs would be liveable. You wouldn’t need a car which would be helpful and I would, totally, be willing to teach you the bus system which goes everywhere. And I am sure that finding a job would no biggie. ”

Jean-Pierre would placate him with the usual “I’ll think about it” and then did his best to move the conversation along to something more emotionally palatable. Sometimes Jean-Pierre would shut him up with a kiss on the neck. Jean-Pierre knew that there would be nothing he could say to convince Marcus into suburban life so he didn’t bother wasting their limited time together on a lost cause. Marcus looked at the “simple life” like a veteran sailor looks at riding inside a paddle boat on a large pond after coming off of an ocean liner.

Jean-Pierre entered every meet up knowing that this time could be their last. He was aware that some day Marcus would find his city guy to make him happy and who lived only a couple “L” stops away. Then again, Jean-Pierre was secretly open to finding someone local who would be more than content with a simple neighborhood and the droll lifestyle he chose to nestle in. This made him love-hate the city even more. He wanted to stand 1000 feet over the vast metal and glass expanse and yell “why can’t you be more convenient like the ‘burbs so Marcus and I can be happy together!”

A time came after their last get together that Marcus hadn’t called in a while. While this wasn’t too unusual, he hadn’t texted as well. Jean-Pierre didn’t want to deal with the silent issue that grew as the sunsets increased. Sad days became sadder weeks. Jean-Pierre did his best to not care. He also did his best not to be overwhelmed with concern. A passive reach out to a mutual friend confirmed Marcus was still alive. This fact was as bad as if Marcus had been laid up in a hospital. He felt a want to rage at Chicago for coming in-between them as the asphalt monster always had. Jean-Pierre also felt a selfish relief that he wouldn’t need to make any future city excursions. Being ghosted wasn’t the manner by which he expected his relationship with Marcus to end. He had hoped for some emotionally involved, mutual agreement that they would always remain best friends. The more Jean-Pierre thought about the situation, the worse the ending festered under his skin. Marcus was the first man he had been with, the first he had any significant feelings for. Marcus with his soft hands and willingness for patience during an inner journey of acceptance. Jean-Pierre concluded that city guys were another reason to hate Chicago.

The months passed. Jean-Pierre made a trip into the city at the bequest of his new beau, Lincoln. Lincoln with his bouncy afro, darkened, chubby cheeks and who lived several neighborhoods over. They planned a long, romantic weekend together. Lincoln’s best friend offered them the use of her apartment, overlooking the winding, Chicago river. Jean-Pierre felt that he needed this occasion to excise Marcus from his heart with a new, more permanent lover. Someone who was able to offer him the time and attention that a healthy relationship needed to fully form by. He privately missed Marcus’s touch, though he knew chasing something so elusive was an unhealthy path to crawl.

Jean-Pierre awoke one early dawn as night began to retreat from the day’s freshest opening. He stood at the window high above the city’s famed landscape. The image was awe-inspiring. Sunlight played its rays against the reflective buildings like a harpist works her fingers against slender strings. There was nothing like seeing a million lives about to come out of their slumber in a great awakening. Jean-Pierre felt like he was part of the miracle. His eyes and heart settled into the overwhelming beauty. His hand moved to touch the glass. A connection with the moment. Jean-Pierre became tearful. He felt the intangible beauty that people blessed with this view knew each morning. The comforts of suburban life couldn’t offer such an emotionally profound, personal experience in its best efforts. Being thirty-two stories above the dawn lit streets was like floating through a deep emotion.

Lincoln held Jean-Pierre’s hand as they walked on those same streets he had hovered over just hours ago. They walked in love within the building shadows as the sun matured across the sky. A gay couple in a place where orientation was less of a conversation piece than in the overtly observant burbs. Here no one cared who you were or what you did as long as those things didn’t interrupt the flow. Back in the suburban nest, gay men walking hand in hand like the straights had privilege would be a topic of conversation deliberately within earshot. Children would ask their parents why two men were holding hands while their parents asked them not to make a scene. The possibility always floated that someone might kindly inform them that what they were doing was making Jesus cry. Throughout the downtown limits, three people holding hands with seven head piercings among them would barely be comment worthy, let alone one more same sex couple in love.

Jean-Pierre secretly enjoyed the ambiguity that came along with walking through the erected testaments to human progress. He longed for the companionship of Lincoln wherever that might be. A lover who didn’t ask him to make a second, fear inducing lifestyle change. Lincoln squeezed Jean-Pierre’s hand once in a while to let reinforce that everything was going to be okay while they walked downtown. Jean-Pierre felt the best of both worlds during the moment, though some level of apprehension of the city would always be over his neck. As much as he enjoyed those inspirational moments among the tall, glass buildings, Jean-Pierre looked forward to their return to their suburban Candyland where he would ask Lincoln to share his home. He was happy. Happy, even walking along the streets of Chicago.