Episode 7: The 3 Point Strategy (Chicago)

Being alone in Chicago always reminds me of the nights I spent on State Street, waiting for Union Station to open so I'd have a place to get out of the cold. Some nights all I did was walk back and forth over the bridges that cross the canal, carrying my whole life, at that point, on my back. Carrying, moving to stay warm, and waiting for a door to open to where, as long as I moved every few hours and didn't offend anyone, I'd be able to stay until closing time ( 1AM) or until I figured something out.

I end up going through Chicago a lot, because it's the central jumping off place for the train and bus lines I ride the most. This particular time, I was coming back from Mount Carroll and short visit with my friends in Waukegan (check out Episode 2 for more about that). The Metra from Waukegan pulls into the Ogilvie Transportation Center -- the North Western Metra Station. It's a short few blocks from there to Union Station, and I had plenty of time to catch my ride south on the now decommissioned Indiana State Hoosier. Because I thought ahead and bought a Business Class ticket, I would be able to wait for my train in the Metropolitan Lounge -- something I consider a sheer decadence, not only because of the comfortable seats, but because of the free WiFi, free coffee, tea, and munchies, and... if I still drank ... the availability of cocktails that, while they aren't free, are at least nearby. More than that, though, I like that they HAVE to let me in because I have the right kind of ticket. And did I mention there's also showers? And fresh towel service?

So... yeah. Sheer decadence.

Since I only had my rucksack to worry about (check out Episode 1 for more on that) I burst onto the street at a pretty good clip. Traversing sidewalks in Chicago, like any major city, is just another clogged traffic artery. You get in where you fit in, try and maintain your personal space and belongings, and hang onto your humanity as much as you can without letting yourself be steamrolled by commuting executive glued to his smart phone. And I was doing ok. I wasn't rushed, I wasn't even particularly lost, and I didn't have the usual sense of impending panic that I have nearly every time I'm in Chicago alone.

And then I saw her.

She was huddled down against a building, sitting on the sidewalk. She was layered for the chilly weather, long straw-colored hair popping out under her toboggan. Her eyes were bluish-green and took up most of her face, which was thin. She was propping a cardboard sign on her legs, asking for donations. There was coffee cup at her feet with a few dollars and maybe a handful of coins. She looked cold. And her eyes -- those huge eyes that swallowed her entire face -- cradled an expression I'd encountered before.

I looked around, because a girl like that -- she was 18 if she was a day older than that -- wasn't on the street alone. She had company. Probably male company. I saw him across the street pacing back and forth on a three foot space of sidewalk. He was flying a sign too. Commuters washed around him, unconcerned. He was young too. Cocky, like they are sometimes. I caught him glancing across the street at the girl in a way that told me they were working together.

I looked her in the eye and handed her a few bills instead of putting them in the cup. She looked up at me with those eyes. I call her a girl, but for all I know she could have been older... maybe 25. Maybe 26. Women on the street either get hard fast or they become victims fast... and usually the former comes after the later. She wasn't hard. And she wasn't self-medicating. Yet. She was just scared. Sure she had the cocky guy across the street. But given her state and his, it wasn't difficult to see who the heavy was in that relationship. MAYBE he kept her safe. But that safety had a cost. And it's never, ever, just money.

But what was there to do? Call the cops? In general, cops don't care about the humanity of panhandlers. If Chicago PD deigned to do anything, all they would have done was run her and her boyfriend off.  Where are the fathers for little girls like that? Because really, that expression in her eyes, was the expression of a little girl that someone, somewhere, didn't protect when she needed it.

It stabs me in the heart every time I see it.

I told her to be safe. She thanked me and I could tell that I was the first person to look her in the eyes in a while. I told her about Union Station and warned her about the 3AM ticket check at the Harrison Street Greyhound Station. In the brief conversation I had with her, I noticed the cocky kid across the street trying to frogger over. I ignored him. I stood up and kept moving. As I moved past her, I saw another kid, jogging toward me, but looking past me and at her. I swallowed my impulse to punch him and made my way to Union Station and to the Metropolitan Lounge, reminding myself that a cocktail wouldn’t make me feel any better.