There’s something about a city that doesn’t change, he thought to himself. One would think that in five years, you would find some new additions to the skyline but not in Chicago. No, in Chicago, old is gold and tradition is the mission.

The smell of beer and popcorn distracted Chris from his destination. Wrigley Field, home of the Cubs, and also to the belligerent fans that never stopped believing. He was one of them for a while. Bandwagon fan, but a fan nonetheless. He never understood baseball till he came to the US. He still didn’t but at least he was a Cubs fan now.

Ayy, he’d say, you know the story of the Cubs? If they can win the World Series after more than a 100 years, what’s stopping you from getting your ass into a career?

Those were good days. The city was a giant playground and Chris never stopped playing. He and his chaps would find themselves in some divey bar at some point of the night, drilling through two to three pitchers at a time. Sometimes they’d run into another group of friends and it would become a giant party. There was no escape from the raucous created but why would you want to run? You’d want to become part of the celebration.

Today wasn’t a big celebration day, however. Chris was on his way to a bar, yes, but for very different reasons. She was a bartender there, and that’s where she had told him to meet her.

I can’t make time for you, but if you really find it so important to chat you’ll have to catch me at work. You’ll have to wait in line though, the regulars at the bar won’t give me a second to breathe, she made it clear to him. Chris almost decided to forget about it, but he wanted to do this and he knew this was less about her and more about him.

He was here now, standing in front of the wooden door that separated him and her. Gracie’s, the neon light sign said. It flickered every other second and the buzzing noise emanating from it was nauseating. The place looked small, with what looked like oak wood window frames and polished stone walls. Classy, Chris thought, just like her. He took a deep breath and walked in.

____

There’s not really anyone here, he said, now looking straight at her.

You’re just too early… I guess that’s good for you, she replied. She was wiping the glasses in front of her, getting ready for the crowd that would come in an hour.

Chris paused. He took another sip out of the IPA sitting in front of him. It was a good pour, and the beer was her recommendation. You’d like this one, she said.

You look great, he said. There has to be a way to make this natural, he thought.

Thanks… You’re not too bad yourself. How’s Amsterdam? That’s where you’re studying now right?

Rotterdam actually. It’s not too far from Amsterdam, he corrected her. This was an interesting sensation. Chris didn’t feel the rush he expected to feel chatting with her again. No feelings, no missed emotions, nothing.

So what brings you here? I’m sure you have other people waiting to hang out with you, she started.

Chris looked around at the bar before answering. It was larger on the inside, filled with old road signs and baseball memorabilia. Very divey, just the way I like it. He turned back towards her and saw that she was waiting for an answer. I just needed to know how the story ends, Chris said to her, I just needed to know how to write this chapter closed.

She put down the glass she was wiping and then placed her two hands on the bar in front of her, leaning on them. There wasn’t anything to end Chris. There wasn’t anything….., she replied.

I know that now, Chris said. There was another pause.

We had fun, that was it. It was a series of fun events and then you were off, she said, trying to fill the silence. Anyways, don’t you think you built it up too much? All of this was in your head, don’t you think?

Chris looked down at his IPA. The foam was still sitting healthily. A good beer was a beautiful thing. It was balanced, strong and intimate all at once. He looked up at her and felt the same.

You know, I watch a lot of Netflix, he said. Something I never understood was why people always answered questions thrown at them with a story. It seemed long and draggy, and yes I understood it made for great plot development, but do people ever actually talk like that? Do people ever actually tell a story to convey a point? If you ask me, I think they know they can land the point in a simpler way, but the story connects the point to something greater. The story makes whatever is happening right at that moment universal. Yea, Ginnie could have fucked Thomas’s best friend, and all Thomas would have had to have said was “Fuck you, Ginnie, you’re a whore”. He would have made his point. But when Thomas tells the story of the man who betrayed the trust of his platoon just to earn his own freedom, Ginnie knows that while she’s never comparable to a man in a uniform, that she’s complicit with the darker forces of deception. Thomas has just done something that humans have struggled to accomplish for a long time. He has connected the dots.

She stared at him and then picked up another glass to start wiping. Are you Thomas in this story?, she asked him.

No, I’m Chris. And you’re not Ginnie, far from it. It was just a story, he said.

Pretty meta, don’t you think? Even you could do better, she chuckled.

Chris laughed with her. I probably could, he said. His beer was almost over.

Remember that first night we went out? The city was beautiful, she said.

So were you, he sneaked the comment in.

She smiled.

Something you told me then still hasn’t left my mind. You said that you felt alone in this world, that no one could ever understand you, her voice had become softer now. Have you found someone who can?

I thought you did, he said.

Silence, once again.

I wrote a story about us, he spoke. What happened between us was magical, regardless of how wrongly I misinterpreted it. I wrote it down and took some creative freedoms with it, but it’s there. I just didn’t know how to end it. Now I do.

And how’s that, she asked.

With this, he said and slowly leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek. He sat back down and looked at her as she smiled. Goodnight, he continued, and remember that I always wished you well.

He finished his beer and got off the stool. She was still smiling now as he walked away from her, towards the door.

 That’s it, he thought to himself, here’s another part of Chicago that will always stay in the past.