Living in Chicago was so hard. As I watched people shoveling their driveways, scraping their icy windshields, and wearing seven layers of clothing I wondered whether they had ever realized there was another way to live. IN TEXAS! My ethnocentrism was born and entrenched that year. I found life to be insane up there. I didn't get it. I thought the term "howling winds" was purely literary. I was wrong. In the fall the wind ripped through my neighborhood with forlorn moans that made me think of trains headed to a graveyard of lost dreams.
Being from El Paso, Texas, I had grown up primarily with Latins. I was in a bit of culture shock. I met a lot of people from eastern Europe in Chicago. Their faces were so different from all the faces I had known and loved. They were angular and distinct, with sharp noses, jaws, and cheek bones.
I lived in a really hoity-toity village called Wilmette. Mostly old money there. I found a darling, little, old apartment building and called it home. I remember noticing the little swastikas in the tiles of the entryway. The building had been erected in 1922 by Germans. Germans still owned and operated the building. It was a really beautiful place with hard wood floors, crystal door knobs, and charming woodwork around the window panes. Lovely backdrop for a very, very traumatic year.
I taught fourth grade that year, just a couple miles from where I lived. It was wonderful that I had found a place so close to school because I hated driving in the snow and ice. During my orientation I met a girl I'll never forget. Jessica would be teaching third grade. She was friendly, approachable, and simply gorgeous. We sat on the bus together on the way to a luncheon for all the new teachers in the district. I noticed her Chicago accent and she said I didn't sound like I was from Texas at all. I always get that, even in Texas. She told me about her job history and how she had been at a school that operated more like a prison of sorts, not just for the kids but the teachers felt that way as well. We shared our hopes for the coming year and jumped into action as we prepared for our kiddos.
Jessica is a work horse. She was up at the school making it happen, day and night, for what seemed like weeks, if I'm remembering correctly. I was impressed by all her cool ideas and classroom decor. She was highly motivated and skilled. Our principal loved her from the start, and for good reason. I had a very different relationship with our principal but that's a story for another time. Suffice it to say, Jessica was something of an inspiration to me and I found great comfort in her friendship.
Jessica was the kind of girl who liked getting people together. She organized many a fun evening. I'll never forget the night at the Dueling Pianos. We danced and sang 'til our troubles were gone and our voices were, too. She got all the new teachers talking and hanging out. We went to countless restaurants, clubs, and movies. She took me to China Town, a Cub's game, and the Symphony in the park. She made it a great year.
Jessica taught me bowling etiquette: never bowl at the same time as the person in the lane next to you. She taught me a little bit about school politics: never have your kids write persuasive letters to the superintendent about the cruelties of non-air conditioned classrooms. Oops! She taught me how to navigate on the L-train. She also taught me a fair bit about how a real friend responds to tragedy.
I had kept my marital problems quiet. No one knew I was in the middle of the trauma of my young life. My husband told me, one Christmas morning, he had fallen in love with his study partner at law school. She was married, too. Interesting situation because they hadn't been having an affair at all. He explained that he loved her but he hadn't told her and would probably never tell her. It just wouldn't be right, after all, because she was happily married. He respected her happiness too much to disrupt her life with his potent love. Wow! How very loving and considerate! Never mind what the information did to
me! I don't think that ever occurred to him. We talked about what we should do. He said he wanted to try and work on our marriage and that even though he no longer loved me and probably never did in the first place perhaps he could find a way to love me, somehow. It didn't seem like the most attractive option. I moved out. After six years with him, I knew he was incapable of love. His selfishness knew no bounds and it manifested itself in countless ways. I knew it was a sinking ship.
Jessica was one of the first people I told. "I had no idea anything was wrong!" The sad thing was, I was so used to feeling invisible and nearly worthless in the presence of my husband that I didn't even realize something was especially wrong myself. I had been staying with a friend from church when Jessica asked if I would be interested in helping her house-sit for a family who was in Europe for a few weeks. I agreed. She listened to the story of years of disappointment and grief. She cried with me. She hugged me. She took me into her family and they just treated me like another daughter. We really bonded. I took enormous comfort in her companionship.
I contemplated staying in Chicago after my divorce. As fate would have it, my old Texan principal called and asked me to come back to Austin. His drawl was so comforting. After much prayer and contemplation, I knew it was the right move to go home. Jessica was sad. I was, too. In the midst of a whirlwind of tragedy and trauma I had found a true friend. She was
the silver lining that year.
I've been back to Chicago just once since that year. Of course, I stayed with Jessica. As expected, we had a lot of fun and when it was time to leave there was an agonizing pinch in my heart, knowing there is only one Jessica like mine, and she lives very, very far from me. Jess, thanks for making my darkest hour one of my finest. You are truly one of a kind. You are a miracle. I love you.
