Hillary Chipatiso

The cool thing about living in a hostel is that you get to meet all kinds of people from ALL over the world. You never know if the roommates you have at 9 that morning will be the same as the roommates you have at 9 that evening. Most of the time (at least in my experience) you just have passing polite conversations with your temporary roommies, and there is almost nothing in the way of long-term friendship building. You might exchange emails, but we all know how that turns out.

This had been much of my existence over the past few weeks. I'd already accepted my fate---I was stuck in the hostel for at least 6 weeks, and I figured I should at least make the best of it. A painfully shy person, it was quite a challenge for me to garner up the courage to talk to people I don't know. I've always been that way. I'm the wallflower at the party, or the friend who hangs back when everyone is on the dance floor. I do pretty well as a casual observer. And anyway, the human being fascinates me.

One morning, a few days after my disastrous meeting with Section 8, I was enjoying a late breakfast at the diner. I was put out and attitudinal---I was ass out of at least $500 for my space at the hostel, and I was pissed. I shot evil at everyone who looked my way. Even my regular waitress picked up on my foul mood.

"You okay honey?" my waitress asked me, setting down my orange juice refill. She was a nice lady who worked that weird late morning to early evening shift that MOST people would love to have---mid morning start, early evening end.
"Eh, I'm alright I guess," I said frowning down into my pancakes, "just a bit put out."
She smiled thoughtfully. "Well, if I know you, you'll find a way out of it, whatever it is," she said patting my arm. I smiled wistfully as she walked away. I wish it was that easy. Just then, the front door opened, and a young woman stepped into the diner.

Now, remember, I'm a casual observer. I usually sit back and people watch, to check out interactions, attitudes, and how they handle situations. The young woman walked in, asked a question at the diner counter, received a response, and walked out. I didn't give it much thought at that point. I figured she was lost and asking for directions.

I paid my tab, left a tip (which were getting less and less generous due to my tightening purse strings) and left, walking the half block to the train station to sit through another day of classes. I found that the only solace I had was when I was learning---which has been a theme throughout my entire life. Parents fighting? Read a book. Hungry with no food? Study art. It's become a coping mechanism that I have carried into adulthood. It was put to good use in Chicago.

I returned to my room later that evening, opened the door, and did a double take---the young woman who was in the diner was sitting on the bed across from mine thumbing through a magazine. "How odd," I thought. Now me, being so painfully shy, gave a cursory hello, and dropped my bag.
The young woman looked up and smiled, "Hi, I'm Hillary. How are you?" she asked me.
"I'm Gene, nice to meet you," I responded, returning her smile. I detected an accent, that I couldn't quite place. English, combined with something else. At this point, I'd gotten very good at detecting accents.
"Hi, Gene. I hope this isn't your bed I'm sitting on," Hillary said suddenly.
"No, no, you're good, I'm here actually," I said gesturing to my two huge suitcases, and bulging schoolbag. "I've been here, what? 2 weeks now?" I said contemplating.
"Wow, usually people don't stay that long," Hillary remarked. "So what brings you to Chicago?"
"Graduate school," I said matter-of-factly holding up my Ethics book, "I'm making an attempt to better my life, but so far, all efforts have been thwarted," I said, and we both chuckled.
For the next 3 hours, Hillary and I talked about our lives, our ambitions, and what we wanted to do to better ourselves. I learned that she was from England, but that she was originally from Zimbabwe (there was the part of the accent I wasn't able to pick up on), and that her family was still back in the UK. After laughing and talking for hours, late into the night, we both retired to sleep. Over the next few days, Hillary and I talked and laughed, sharing secrets, and stories, jokes, and riddles, and tales of all manner of subjects. One minute we were on old boyfriends (one of which I GLADLY left in Pittsburgh), the next on various musicians and bands.  I found that the dark cloud that had been pursing me had lifted, and that the part of my life that I'd left in Pittsburgh that was so important to me-----friendship----- was responsible for my change in mood.  We talked like teenagers about what celebrities we thought were hot, and about the ongoing unrest in her homeland of Zimbabwe.
"It's the president of the country," she told me on our last night together, "that's why we had to leave.  People are starving there, and getting killed.  It doesn't make any sense."  I could only sit silently and listen, as Hillary talked about the civil and human rights abuses, the people driven from their homes, and the countless murders that took place at the hands of the government.  I then assessed my own situation.  What the hell did I REALLY have to complain about?  I had somewhere to lay my head, and food to eat.  Sure, it wasn't permanent, but for the time being, it was working out.

The next morning Hillary readied herself to leave.  I was sad, but took solace in the knowledge that she would be back in the city in a few weeks, and that we would meet up again at the hostel---provided I was still there.  We exchanged information, and promised to keep in touch. 
"I'm SO glad to know you, and I'm so happy we met," I told her smiling, and giving her a huge hug.
She returned my smile, hugged me back, and hoisted her bag.  "Me too, friend."

I couldn't have possibly known as she left that Hillary would play a huge part in my life during my first year in Chicago.