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Two eyes, one heart, one mind, and eighteen years. The piercing sound of the dilapidated
Orange Line el train decelerating into the Midway station interrupts my
thought process. Forcing my way into
the unusually crowded car, I wedge myself between the steel shell of the
train and a cluster of noticeably unhygienic commuters. The train gathers speed, and through the
murky lighting, I now perceive that the filthiness of
this group is likely due to their homelessness. I observe the grungy trash bag dangling from my tousled neighbor’s bony shoulder
and realize that this tattered sack is her unfortunate excuse for a purse. She reeks of misery, and one glance
at her despondent demeanor enlightens me that this sorrowful stench is here
to stay. Farther down the congested
aisle, I notice a chocolate
brown Louis Vuitton purse clutched tightly to its slender blonde owner. I witness this passenger applying
her MAC lipstick, and speculate if she comprehends, or even cares, that that
single purse could feed and clothe my unkempt neighbor for months. Two eyes.
The train doors open, releasing a mob
of cramped commuters into the frosty streets of downtown. The heavy white snowfall serves as a
picturesque backdrop to the kaleidoscope of city lights, and reassures my love
for the Windy
City. Never feeling intimidated by Chicago’s unkind winters,
I brave Michigan Avenue’s
snow-coated sidewalks in my favorite pair of snow-white flip-flops. I shuffle along at my signature frenetic pace,
desperately hoping that I am not too late. Gray clouds of icy breath pollute the air
as I scurry through the continual stream of slow-moving holiday shoppers. Not even the aromatic scent of Starbucks espresso
that I so desperately desire can halt me tonight; I am on a mission. Though all of my previous attempts have
been unsuccessful, I trust that this bitter evening
will hold a different fate. One
heart.
Upon soaring up endless flights of
steps, I realize that I have reached our designated rendezvous point:
a simple brown bench in the center of Millennium Park. I take a seat, along with a deep breath of
cool air, and envision the countless ways this December twilight could play
out. Anxiously awaiting my guest, I discover
that the ice-skaters are packing up their skates and detect that the evening
joggers are tracing their paths back home. The time passes on, the park grows still,
and the city retires to bed. Surrounded
by a sea of silence on my isolated isle of a park bench, I understand
now that there will be no rendezvous tonight.
Of all places, I would never imagine that the heart of Chicago could leave me
feeling so heartbroken. One
mind.
Determining that fate has some cruel
vendetta against me, I rise from my bench and begin my lengthy walk of shame
back home. As I miserably mosey past the deserted
skating rink, a blurred vision from the far corner of my eye compels me to look
back. There he stood, right behind me. Not the companion I had previously been
yearning for, but someone better.
Myself. An image of me reflects
from the glassy ice rink below, and in this reflection, I can see two
piercing eyes, which keep me focused should I ever lose sight of my
goals. I see one giant heart,
ready to spread the love no matter what life throws at me. And I see one open mind,
about to ignite and change the world. In
myself, I see all of the qualities I was hoping to find in someone else
tonight, and I cannot help but laugh at the irony of it all. I find that I am happy, but more
importantly, I find that I am Jake. It
took me eighteen years to find out just who he really was, but I determine
that it was worth the wait. Two
eyes, one heart, one mind, and eighteen years.
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