Chicago: A Lonesome Town

Welcome to Chicago, the sign read. My body drained and near collapse, I gave a long, weary sigh. The unexpected turn of events evidently had worn me down. I sought refuge in a Motel 6. Thirty-one fifty per person, the display read. I reluctantly retrieved my wallet, as I limped toward the front desk. “Room for one,” I said. A pang of loneliness ran through me. I had not felt more alone than in that moment.

The man behind the desk ignored my request. Instead, he continued to maneuver his mouse and repeatedly click, click, click. A minute passed. Had he registered my presence before him? I was far too tired to repeat myself.

His chair swiveled, as he reached into a wooden cabinet to retrieve a rusted key. He placed it on the counter and said, “Room 202.” I found myself thanking him despite his clear lack of effort. He was quick to resume staring at his computer. I glanced back as I walked down the hall to find that he was playing solitaire. I let out a fatigued chuckle.

I needed to collect myself and think through a plan. It suddenly dawned on me that my family had not received word as I had not called. I remembered seeing a telephone booth a quarter-mile back. So, I set out to find it.

As I walked, I reflected on the series of misfortunes I had encountered. When deep in thought as to how far I had come, a furry, black creature brushed against my leg. I jumped backward in disbelief. My frazzled mind had fooled me. Upon second glance, I observed a recently groomed dog sitting straight and nobly, its tail wagging. We gazed at each other as if we had met long ago. A man called out, “Charlie! Charlie!”. Charlie returned to his owner before I could pat his head.  

I will remember Chicago as a lonesome town. One that broke the continuity of my disastrous, yet transformative journey.