Chicago

I was in Chicago for the Blues Fest a few years back. Took the train up from Urbana-Champaign. Headed out into the streets from Union Station. It's hot and you can smell the city. I’m feeling good in faded jeans, an old t-shirt and a well worn hat. Walking through the humidity, through the people. The soft blue light from Lake Michigan slips between the towers. Beckoning.

And as I'm walking, lost in the rhythm of it all, I hear this voice. "Hey!" I'm not from here, so it doesn't connect for me. I keep on striding toward the blues. Then, "Hey, Aussie!" People look around, as people do. I glance over my shoulder too. Nothing. Just a mass of strangers surging every which way. I keep moving. "Aussie! Hey, I'm talkin' to you." Ignoring it. Got somewhere to be. Then breaths, heavy from running. Right on my shoulder. "Hey, Aussie! Man, you walk fast. I was calling you, Aussie." Turning. "What? You talking to me?"

He's in my face now, blocking my path. I'm thinking, "This guy's gonna hit me up for some coin." But maybe not. Something different here. Something more. So I play along. A new person to know under odd circumstances. He's grinning like we've always known everything about each other. Like we've already been through the worst together.

"The hat, man." He's pointing to my hat like it's all so obvious. "The hat, you're an Aussie." I listen, not sure where this is going. "I was in Nam, man. You Aussies were there too. Lots of you." I process this for a few seconds. Then it clicks. "Oh no, man, I'm not an Aussie." I pause. He looks blank. "I'm from Canada."

A few more seconds. "From Canada," he repeats slowly. "Yeah, oh yeah, Canada, right." We cover another half block. "So Aussie, where you going?"

"Going to the blues fest," I say, nodding the hat in the general direction of Grant Park. "Oh yeah," as we both keep walking. "Mind if I go along." "Whatever you want, man." We share a first laugh. Mine more nervous, his more confident. We move through the crowds together. Not talking about anything in particular. A few more blocks pass.

At some point, along the way, we arrive at an unspoken understanding. He's out to panhandle, but not from me. I'm just there, outside this world, his world, looking in on it with him. He's in tour guide mode. Not to show me Chicago. Right now it's just backdrop. He starts explaining.

"See Aussie, I'm good at what I do." Walking in the heat, corners of eyes following each other's words. "Oh yeah?," trying to play the little role I have in the conversation. "Yeah man. Now I know its beggin', but look, y'know everybody gotta beg for something." I almost stop to listen. "Hell Aussie, you know every man's gotta beg his woman." Our second laugh together, this time at ourselves. Sharing a small truth in the busy street.

We cross Michigan Avenue out of the canyons into the brightness. We merge with the throng, flowing with Chicago toward its music. We can hear it now. Some delta sound here, some heavy electric there. And the smell of BBQ from the stands. As we set foot on the park grass, we notice two shadows looming together. Big shouldered cops in full uniform. The kind you imagine would be in Chicago, if Chicago were fiction. But here they are, one grin cutting across their faces.

They're leering at my friend. (When did we become friends?) He recognizes them too. They tap nightsticks into their palms. One cop takes a first step forward. "Well, Aussie, gotta go." And he's running. The cops laugh. They ignore me. They don't know me, and don't want to. I look around. He's gone. I head into the festival, where the crowds soak me up.