Wells Street at least to me was the strangest street in the neighborhood known as Old Town. On that street you could find a restaurant for every continent in the world. North of North Avenue was the famed Second City. South of North Avenue they would hold art festivals in the summer. Christine forced me to go many times. Lately she had to force me to go everywhere. I had hoped we could have talked about that when we were to meet at the library. I wondered if we would ever get to have that conversation.
The world within a block was engulfed in flames. I sat on my bike at the beginning of the block I could not do anything but stare ahead. The western center of the block was on fire and it was quickly spreading to the buildings next to and behind them. The scene made sense. No attendants to see to their kitchens could result in fire, it only reinforced the idea that everyone left in a hurry or disappeared. I wondered if another great Chicago fire would occur, I thought too small, my thought should have been would the whole world burn.
It was so quiet, with no surrounding noises I could hear the fire devouring everything it touched. Glass shattering, wood cracking and metal bending and there was no sign of the fire department or the military. I didn’t understand why, but I was drawn toward the center of the block, the heart of the fire.
The building was unrecognizable and yet I could feel a connection. The closer I walked to the building the more my mind began to think back. Hypnotizing, the heat so intense against my body it was hard to breath, but I didn’t stop. Slowly I continued to move forward toward the sidewalk just before the building front.
If this is how a moth feels when before a flame then I could understand why it would willfully dance into its own oblivion. There was no longer a conscious thought to continue, but something else almost controlling me.
My body was defeated and drained of life the blazing heat overwhelmed me. My knees bulked then slammed against the asphalt, my waking consciousness faded. Just as I was ready to surrender myself pain brought me back, but not to the reality, to something else.
Social Adjustments
“Bro, seriously, are you still having trouble jumping curbs?”
The heat was gone, my thought’s cleared and the voice registered in my mind. It was Jonathan, my best friend since childhood. I looked up at him and remembered this place, this time. He was fifteen, the same age I was. Dressed in worn jeans and a t-shirt we would ride our skateboards around the neighborhood finding any way we could to escape boredom.
The pain had shifted, it was not my knees, they were padded, but my hands that scrapped against the curb when I tried to jump it from the street. The building before me that was destroyed by fire was fully restored. Fireside Ribs, it all came back to me. It was the first restaurant my father took Jonathan and I to as kids. Since then it became our hang out spot to the delight of the owners.
“So, you plan to stay there all day?” Jonathan said jokingly.
This was more than just a memory or a dream, it felt real. I could feel the summer sun against my face. I could smell the barbeque in the air. Yet another impossibility was before my eyes and no matter how much logic told me it was impossible my being itself told me it was real.
Jonathan reached out to help me up from the ground. Wells Street was how I remembered it, vibrant and full of people coming and going from its many stores and restaurants. It was warm, pleasant. The sky was bright blue with only shattered clouds of shining white. The cool air caressed my face freeing me of burden.
“I would have made the jump man. There was a rock, got stuck under the board.” I retorted without thought.
The words flowed as if rehearsed for hours or better yet spoken only moments before. The scene was definitely from the past and yet at that moment I was fully entrenched in that time. My actions and movements matched what I remembered, but there was also the relief I felt from seeing him. Watching through my own eyes was the best way I could describe it. A dreamer who knows it is a dream and accepts it, watching it unfold.
“Yeah, there is always a rock or a branch or a crack in the street. You know Timothy, maybe you should go back to riding your BMX bike, I just think it suits you better.”
Jonathan was always the better skater. It was him who first taught me to skate. He was correct that riding bikes was more my thing. He always liked to give me shit whenever I fell and I was always right there to give him a middle finger for his comment. I grabbed my skateboard and we entered the restaurant and placed our order. We sat at our seats. I stared at my skateboard more a moment then looked at Jonathan.
“You know that we’re going to have to give up skateboarding.”
Jonathan spun around looking behind him.
“What? Cops?” He asked.
“No, I mean because of high school. It’s bad enough that we are going to be freshmen, but if we show up on day one riding skateboards then we are going to be forever tagged in that group.”
I knew him well and the expression on his face told me what he was about to say before he spoke a word.
“Since when do you care what group we are in? We survived grade school and the reason we did is because we stuck together as we always do.”
Jonathan was correct. We had been together before kindergarten and since then have been part of every social group one could encounter. No matter what phase we were in the constant was that we were always together.
“Grade school is one thing. We started together with Mrs. Ladd and we had our names before we even entered first grade. This is high school and a private one at that. I doubt we will know anyone and it’s important to establish ourselves quickly.”
Jonathan smiled then laughed at me.
“Wow, you seriously sound like a chick. Did you have that speech in your head for a long time? Tell me, should we let our hair grow out and perk up our breasts so we can make it on to the cheerleading squad and become homecoming queen. Establish ourselves, let the rest of those trust fund brats worry about that.”
While the idea of changing who I was to fit in was sickening to me what Jonathan didn’t understand was times were changing and we had to change with it. It was one thing to take a “my way or the highway” attitude in eighth grade, but it would not work in high school. His father had to work twice as hard as mine did in order for him to go to the same school. All I wanted was to make sure we would make the most of it.
“Listen, what we had at Alcott was awesome, but let’s face it, that’s over now. It’s always going to be you and me, but that isn’t going to be enough for high school, specifically this one. I’m not saying we need to sell out, but we need to make sure we do this right from day one or high school is going to suck big time.”
One thing we had done for each other since we met was rationally talk about the situations we were facing. There were many problems we had to hash out through the years and some were tougher than others, but even at a young age we were able to think things out and see where the other was coming from. I believed that was why we remained friends for so long.
“Alright, it’s not as if I want to be part of team loser in high school, but I’m not changing who I am for anybody. With that said, I understand what you’re saying. I trust you, Timothy, I know you’ve got a plan and I’ll follow your lead okay?”
I could see he did understand where I was coming from. The owner laid down our plates as I looked out the window. I could feel the heat from the plate; it was hotter than it should have been. Jonathan continued eating oblivious to my gasping for air. His mouth opened and I could see he was talking to me but I could no longer hear his words. Sweat poured from my head as the pain from before returned to my knees. I could still see the people outside the window, but my vision blurred as I felt myself being pulled away.
Lost Loved Ones
My vision cleared long enough to see that I was back outside. Drained it took all my strength to lift my head to see the spot where the sign for Fireside Ribs once was. The flames seemed to roar as I looked at it. An explosion from within the store
sent my flying backwards. M back slammed into the asphalt. Instinctively I raised my head to avoid slamming it against the pavement. I laid on my back as the wave of heat soaked into my body. I was slipping away again, not into a dream, but into darkness.
It was unclear how long I was unconscious. I was hoping I would awaken somewhere else, but any chance of that was taken long before my eyes opened. The smell of burnt materials led into the sweltering heat still surrounding my body. Through glazed vision, I could see the fire had spread to the street behind a residential area.
I was watching a part of my childhood turn to ash just as the world I knew seemed to have abandoned me. Jonathan’s voice echoed in my head, but his words were incoherent. My thoughts were scrambled. I thought about my past and the present before me as fear of the future crept ever so closer.
The fire was spreading, I focused my mind to the now realizing Wells Street was two blocks from Christine’s home. Even though the chance that she would be home was slim I couldn’t take that chance. Every muscle hurt as I pulled myself up from the ground, it was then I felt it. My cell phone, it was damaged when I fell. There was no way to call Christine or anyone else. I made my way back to my bike. I knew the only thing I could do was to go there myself.
Orleans Street at one time felt like a dirt road in the center of the city. I first visited the street when I was six. My father took me to see where the horses were kept for the buggy rides offered downtown. It was quiet; hardly any cars traversed the street. The elevated train ran down the eastern side of the street. Because of the tracks there were no homes on the western side until just before North Avenue where the tracks curved west. Originally when Christine brought me to her home I thought it was cool to live right next to the train on such a quiet street. It was not until the screech of the train ruined many quiet moments that I realized it was not as good as I thought it was.
I arrived on the block moments later. The silence did not seem so out of place there. I pulled in front of Christine’s home, but stopped and looked above me. The sight above was something I had not seen before. The brown line also called the Ravenswood stopped on the next block over from Orleans Street. Above, the train cars sat stationary, in mid turn. I looked closer and could see the doors to the cars were open. I could only assume that the train came to a stop and then opened its doors. At my feet was a black leather purse, it must have fallen when the person exited the train.
Curiosity caused me to look inside the purse. The license read Angelica Reed. I could not help, but wonder where she was at that moment. I gazed up and could see the smoke from Wells Street, the fire was spreading fast, and it snapped my attention back. I left the motorcycle in the street, climbed the concrete steps to Christine’s home, and knocked on the door.
Several moments went by with no answer. I wondered what I would want more, to have her answer and find that she was trapped in this place alone with me or receive nothing and hope that wherever she is she is safe. I also considered if only for a moment that I was the one that was safe and everyone else who may or may not be gone were in peril, I quickly dismissed that thought.
I was ready to walk away, but a thought occurred to me. If the fire continued to spread her home would be destroyed. Even if she were not home, everything she ever had would be lost. I broke down the door. I felt it was acceptable in this case. That was going to be my course of action until I turned the knob and the door opened.
“Mrs. McCormick? Christine?” I called out.
There was no expectation of an answer, but Mrs. McCormick would never leave the door unlocked. Though the home was modest and they were not wealthy, the concern was for what you could never replace. The home was cold. I remember when Christine first introduced me to her parents. The tiny living room looking out onto the street, I sat in her father’s chair. It was old and worn, but soft and comfortable, like an old pair of jeans. Christine did not notice me sitting there until her father waked in asking who I was. The wooden floors, old and worn would creak when I tried to sneak in the house to spend the night.
There was a sound, it was muffled, and I could hear it coming from down the hall. My heartbeat increased as I ran past the bathroom the Christine’s door. It was louder, definitely coming from inside her room. Moaning or a muffled scream I couldn’t tell. The door was locked, there was definitely someone inside.
“Christine, are you okay? Christine!” I yelled in a panic.
A scream, clear, haunting, sent me into a deeper panic. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the first thing I could, a worn steak knife. I returned to her door, I braced myself ready to kick it in. A rage was building inside me. I would kill whoever caused Christine to scream like that. Her door was less durable than Ashley’s was coming completely off the hinges when I kicked it. The door made an echoing thud when it slammed to the floor. My knife was at the ready. Prepared to strike I screamed as I entered the room. She was nowhere to be found. The room was empty, but my mind could not accept that, the noise I heard, it was real.
A painful answer that is what the second scream gave me. Identical to the first I spun around finding where it came from. The television was on. A DVD menu played repeating the screams from a horror movie. I couldn’t contain my anger. I grabbed the television and pulled it from the stand smashing it onto her floor. The shatter of the glass and smell of burning wires brought with it a satisfaction as if an object could feel my revenge.
Exhausted I slumped down onto Christine’s desk chair. Holding my head in my hands I could feel despair creeping over me. Why was I unable to jump from my balcony? Was there a reason I was left behind? It couldn’t be to have memories of Jonathan or to watch my neighborhood slowly burn to the ground. To sit in Christine’s room, alone, just felt, unnatural. I could smell her. The scent of her was still in the room, like a ghostly presence, I could almost feel her.
I opened my eyes and stared angrily at the DVD player. My attention was taken away by her fish tank. It was a gift from her best friend Lola for her sixteenth birthday. Thirty gallons, it was the pride of Christine’s room. She cared for that tank and the fish inside as if they were her children. She would inform Lola about any new fish or changes to the tank. At one time, she had over ten fish, but I could not find even one.
I had to stand and check again. I bent over and searched the tank for any signs of the fish. No matter the emergency there is no way anyone take fish with them. A vision, like a flashback appeared in my mind. A sight from earlier, there were no pigeons in the sky, any dogs or even insects. Impossible, as it was the only conclusion I could come to was that whatever caused everyone to disappear also affected animals, insects, and all living things except me. It was painful to consider that. To begin to accept the unbelievable was unacceptable.
I needed to sit down. I returned to Christine’s desk and laid my head down trying desperately to figure out what to do next. If I was willing to accept that, everyone could disappear in an instant then I had to also conclude that, as an amazing feat as that would be it should be reversible. Although there were still the question of why was I the only one left? However, that was not yet confirmed.
My hand must have brushed against Christine’s computer mouse. Her monitor turned on, its bright light causing me to lift my head and look. She had her e-mail client open. There were several unopened e-mails, none of any consequence. Under her sent items was an e-mail sent to Lola at eleven fifteen with the subject line, new fish. Christine attached a picture. I opened it and saw a picture of the tank. Inside there were clearly eleven fish. There was no denying it, the fish were moved, but the question was how.
Then I saw something else. One letter was in her drafts folder. It was addressed to me and saved at eleven twenty eight. It did not have a title. I clicked on it and thought back to our conversation and the matter of importance she mentioned. Part of me did not want to read it, but that part was outvoted.
“Timothy, I didn't want it to happen this way, not in an e-mail, but I’m afraid I would
n’t be able to do this face to face and for that I am sorry. After everything you've been through, we've been through; I'm ashamed I couldn't do this. With what I've done I should have been stronger than this, but after taking a hard look inward I learned that I wasn't. Please believe me when I tell you that I never intended to make your life any harder than it already was. Honestly, I hoped that I could have made it better.
After the incident with Jonathan I knew things would be harder, but I also knew that I was partly responsible. Taking a page from you I was willing to adapt and accept your changes even your new friends, but after what happened with your father I knew nothing would ever be the same.
To be caught between coming to grips with what happened and trying to rebuild your life, I knew it would be a long road back. I know you don't like to talk about the past, but even though you said you have adapted I could see that a piece of you was lost. All I wanted was to be there for you and help you during that time. It killed me being away from you for so long, but when we began seeing each other again I prayed things would return to some normality.
Perhaps that was too much to wish for. You parent's and mine told me I should stay away, that there was nothing I could do. I didn't want to believe that. While I knew there was nothing that could fill that void inside you, I did hope I could make life easier for you. I just wish I knew what happened that day. You seemed to be better then you were gone. Your mom wouldn't tell me what happened until later when I asked…
Please understand that I still love you, but I'm not strong enough to keep it together. I can't hide it away and I can't keep secrets, not like that. I knew that if I stayed around I would shatter your world and even though in my heart I felt it would be the best thing I couldn't do that to you or your family. I can't say I believe that what happened to you can be dealt with. It's not something you just adapt to. Even with what I saw firsthand I know the wound will never close, it will never heal, no matter what your family does. Maybe I should end this and just tell you…”
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