Thursday I had a wonderful time sketching at the Chicago Art institute. Then I lost my sketchbook but that’s not what I want to write about.
“Why do you think they did it this way?,” she asked
As the sun began to throw beams of light into the Institute entrance, I headed out for Union Station. By experience I knew I had plenty of time to make the last train back to Normal. The city was full of traffic and people and the sound of Metra trains echoed from buildings. I maneuvered around a couple blocks that were closed for construction and headed South. “It won’t make a difference,” I thought.
The sidewalk was cracked and broken, and some unknown artist had filled in a hole with colorful tiles. It looked so bright and happy. Positioning my phone for a picture, I wondered when the sidewalk had been new.
Click.
A woman saw me and pulled out her own phone to take a picture. In a Middle Eastern accent, she asked; “Why do you think they did it this way?”
“To make something broken into something beautiful, I guess,” I said.
She smiled and took a picture. I walked onward toward the station, lost in thought.
And overshot my intended West route street by several blocks. “All right,” I thought, “I’ll cross the river and double back towards the station.”
This plan… did not work out as hoped. Time was beginning to run short. I walked as fast as I could manage. There was no one in sight.
I found myself in a construction no-man’s land, in front of an abandoned post office the size of a shopping mall. Sidewalks and streets were blocked. I stepped over a barrier and walked the plaza to try and find an open street.
On the plaza I encountered a man trying to balance several bundles on his bicycle basket. I reached into my shoulder bag and took out a length of rope, offering it to him.
He took the rope, thanked me, and began securing his cargo. I walked the length of the plaza, stepping over more barriers. Still on deserted streets, I turned North; more construction and the way was blocked. Another detour. It was hot and muggy; I pressed on, down a path behind a building that led under a highway. Sweat ran down my neck. I took a swig from my water bottle; the last.
There on the sidewalk was a small blue sign: “Union Station ↑”
I looked at my watch, and picked up the pace. After two more blocks, I saw a sign: “Union Station Pedway↑“
There were some empty shops and an unmarked, industrial-looking door. I went through the door. There I followed a zig-zagging subterranean path, through more doors, through a small parking garage full of expensive cars, then more doors. A small sign that said; “Union Station Pedway is closed from 10 pm to 6 am.”
Construction, scaffolds, and another unmarked door. A long walkway; the sound of trains. Metra trains; I wanted Amtrak. I needed to be in the boarding area in five minutes. My only option was to keep going, and faster. But I can’t run, so I pushed the definition of walking, short of breath.
Through more scaffolding and construction, to a food court and an Amtrak area, but it wasn’t the regular boarding area. An exhausted man behind a desk was yelling at people to keep back and wait over there. It was departure time; I should be on the train.
Announcements echoed around the scaffolding and construction, sounding like Charlie Brown’s teacher. There was a screen on the wall: Amtrak 307 was delayed.
First good news I’d had. I found a drinking fountain and refilled my water bottle. I found a seat. The person next to me told me the announcements said 307 had mechanical troubles.
I thought about the colorful tile in the broken sidewalk. I thought about the unknown artist, choosing colors, grout, resin, laying bits of this and that to fill the hole. Taking something broken and making it beautiful.
After thirty minutes the call went out for 307 to board. I made my way through another labyrinth and found a seat. Another thirty minutes went by as the train executed a three-point turn and switched engines for one that didn’t have… mechanical problems.
There were more delays; near Pontiac we sidelined to wait for a freight train to pass. Darkness and lights flashed past the train as we went underway again. Families on the train kept their kids entertained with games and snacks. At length, almost everyone was asleep. I found a tea box top in my bag and sketched on it; a statue from the museum, another passenger, reflected in a window, sleeping.
Finally we pulled into Uptown Station in Normal.
I disembarked, walking away as the attendant was yelling that the station was closed, and it would be necessary to walk “all the way around the building” to get to parking. But I didn’t come in a car.
There in the bike rack, hanging against the wall, was my old blue Schwinn, waiting for me. I unlocked it and affixed the taillight. It began to blink. A cool rain began to fall. Into the quiet darkness I rode, feeling immensely happy.
POSTSCRIPT: A correspondent notes the unknown artist is probably Ememem, and he made his US debut in Bloomington, IL then went on to Chicago.
georgewiman 