North, South, East and West----Never Eat Shredded Wheat/Library State of Mind

crunch, crunch, crunch....

*boom*

crunch crunch....

*rumble*

crunch....

CRASH...

"Aw shit." I groaned under my breath while munching on a bagel. Just what I needed, an early morning thunderstorm to walk through to get to the train. And my umbrella sittin' pretty in Pittsburgh.

I sighed, drank the rest of my orange juice, and flipped the bookmark into my place in "Wicked". Just then the waitress came over.

"All finished now?" the lady asked me. She was an Asian woman in her 50's, very prim, proper, and to the point. Since finding this cozy little diner around the corner from the hostel, I'd been in for 6 meals over the last 2 days. I had my usual booth---in the front, right next to a window----where I could see out onto the street while enjoying my meal.

"Yes ma'am I am. Thank you so much for everything," she smiled at me, and wished me a good day. I paid my $6 bill, and left a tip for her. Grabbing my schoolbag, I took a breath and stepped out into the pouring rain.

I'd been at the hostel at this point for about 2 days, and while I wasn't super familiar with the area, I knew where to get food, and where the train platform was---thankfully these two places were within a half block of each other. I raced into the train station, dropped in my fare card, went through the turnstyle, and up the stairs to catch the train to class.

Funny thing about Chicago. The trains are basically set up going north to south, with various buses going east to west. Theoretically, you can ride a train as far north or as far south as you needed to, get off, and catch a bus home. The trains all run on color---red, blue, orange, yellow, brown, green, and the (elusive) purple line---and each has specific stops. With the exception of the purple and yellow lines, all run through downtown Chicago. When you learn how the trains run, you can get anywhere in Chicago--that is, if you know your cardinal directions. The first time I asked how to get somewhere this was the conversation:

Me: "Excuse me sir. I'm trying to get to the section 8 office on Halstead. Do you think you can help me?"

Older black man: "Yeah, swee'haaart. You jes' go two block east, turn souf, take tha orange line souf to the Halstead stop. Get off, turn North, walk two block west and youse there...."

Me (giving him a blank stare): "Okay. Thank you."

The problem? I grew up in PITTSBURGH. If you tell someone to go two blocks north, then four blocks west one of two things will happen: 1. They will come to a dead end street. 2. They will walk into a river.

Needless to say, it took me quite a bit to get used to the landscape, and to be honest, even after three weeks of being in the city, I had little experience to go on. The key is to remember that no matter where you are in Chicago, Lake Michigan is always EAST. If you can keep that in mind, you're good to go. Figure out where you are in relation to the lake, and you can get anywhere.

So as I stood on the platform, dabbing the toe of my black K Swiss in a puddle, I contemplated a trip. I was told coming into the hostel that on Saturdays and Sundays, everyone had to leave for a period of about 3 hours so cleaning could be done. Well, that's all fine and good for someone who is passing through Chicago to visit and sightsee, but seeing as how I was LIVING at the hostel, it made things a bit more diffcult. I decided on the train ride into school that I would ride the trains on the weekends to see where I ended up.

That evening, after eating at my favorite haunt (the diner of course), I found myself back at the hostel with little to do. My roommates were out, and with good reason, it was only about 7:30. This was kind of what sucked about this period in Chicago---the lonliness. I didn't know anybody, and because of my lack of knowledge in how to get around, I had nowhere to go. By this time, my schoolbooks had been delivered (one of my professors was nice enough to allow me to have them delivered to his office since I had no permanent address) and I spent a good deal of my time studying. I invested in one of those little book lights, so that even after my roommates were fast asleep, I was able to read into the wee hours of the morning.

The next day was a Saturday, and I was up early. I showered (wearing some $1 shower shoes I'd purchased at a dollar store-type deal down the street) grabbed my stuff and left. I rode the red line into downtown Chicago, and began to walk down South State street. I stopped dead in my tracks, and glanced up at the most magnificent site I'd ever seen.

Now anyone who knows me knows I love two things: Libraries and books. Period. I personally feel that there is no greater art than the written word. I'm from Pittsburgh damn it, Andrew Carnegie left us great libraries. But even Mr. Carnegie himself would have to bow and scrape in front of the Harold Washington Public Library in downtown Chicago. I walked inside in a daze, as if I was entering the gates of paradise. I walked down a black marble hallway adorned with caricatures of Kurt Vonnegant, Toni Morrison, and Maya Angelou which ended in an atrium with a high ceiling, and a a beautiful crystal fountain that merrily spouted water. Taking the escalator up to the main floor, I tried to drink in all of the gloroiusness.

It was eight floors stacked floor to ceiling with books, magazines, newspapers, microfiche, CDs, albums, computers, tapes and every other bell, whistle, dog and cat you can imagine.

"Wow," was all I could whisper. Why was I just now finding out about this place? What the hell? I walked over to the main desk, and politely asked what the hours were, and how I could go about procuring a library card.

"We are open Monday to Thursday 9 AM to 9 PM, Fridays 9 AM to 5 PM, Saturdays 9 AM to 5 PM, and Sundays 1 PM to 5 PM," she answered politely, giving me a pamphlet about upcoming events.

"And where can I sign up for a card?" I asked just as politely. I was ready to get my meaty hands on some of those books. My mouth was watering just thinking of all of the literary goodness I was about to have access to.

"Right here! We only ask for a permanent address, and a bill with said address on it." My heart fell. I mumbled a quick, "Thank you" and walked away.

And here we come to one of the most DEPRESSING aspects of this story, and really of this entire blog. Not having an address SUCKS. I mean, not just because you don't have somewhere to really lay your head and call home, but because things that people take for granted---like library cards, which have always been a HUGE part of my life----are out of your reach. Something that basic, that would bring me that much joy and happiness in this whole crazy move, was unattainable to me.

At least I could come in and study, I wasn't confined to my room at the hostel, or the tiny cramped computer lab at school. I actually had somewhere to BE. I spent the entire day in that library, browsing, and carousing, looking at brand new books with unbroken spines, and books that were 75+ years old. On the third floor, there was a restricted section---yeah, you read that right---restricted. But not in the dime store ponographic magazine kind of way. Behind those doors were books that had no business ever being published---books like Mein Kampf, Helter Skelter (with original pictures), books detailing child abuse cases, and even a copy of the Anarchrist Cookbook. How could I NOT love this place???

So every Saturday, I made a beeline to the library as soon as it opened. And on Sundays, when it didn't open until 1, and I had to be out of the hostel by 10, I rode the trains and read the Sunday paper until 1. I actually enjoyed it---no one bothered me, it was quiet, and the trains were very soothing. But as we will see as the story progresses, the trains in Chicago became a source of fear, terror, and eventually----mental anguish.