Chicago--Part 10

Have you ever had a sudden realization about your life?  It’s hard to describe.  I could tell you that eating that food at the Four Moons Tavern was like eating beauty or some other overly ornate something.  I could tell you the music punched me in the balls or kissed the neck of my soul. But unless you’ve been confused and overwhelmed—unless you’ve been that way for a long time, and then had all the curvy lines made straight, then you won’t understand.  If you’ve won every battle or even most of the battles of your life, you don’t understand what it is to lose over and over again.  And you don’t quite understand what it does to you. After a while you stop coming to the next battle hungry and animated. After a while, every loss feels both routine and painful. Every loss trains you to move slowly, afraid that the next move will lead to more loss. You get used to the losing and you expect it, but you never really stop hating it.

            In that moment, I remembered myself before everything went wrong.  I was younger and more hopeful. I wasn’t scarred and afraid.  I wasn’t always happy, but I was moving.  I was someone I could never be now. I felt my stomach squeeze.

            “[Gumshoe]?”  I was startled to see Clarence sitting in front of me.  I had drifted away and let my mind wander in a way that I hadn’t in a long time.  “Are you alright?”

            “Yeah,” I spoke through a suddenly dry mouth.  “I hadn’t realized how much I missed music.” 

            He looked at me, showing me the same smile he shared with me for over two decades.  “I don’t think I could give music up.” 

            “Yeah.  I didn’t realize I had until now.” 

            “Alright.”  I could tell Clarence was trying to figure out what to do next.  “What do you want to do on your day out?”

            I smiled.  He had decided that he didn’t need to make his case anymore.  He had decided that I was going to decide to go with him.  He didn’t need to push me anymore.  “I don’t know.  What’s there to do in Chicago?”

            After breakfast, we walked along Roscoe until we got to came to Sheffield Avenue and made our way north to Clark Street.  As we walked through throngs of people, all dressed in blue, I realized where he was taking me. 

            “So, you’re giving me the Ferris Bueller treatment?”

            “They’re playing the Cards, you know.”  He said through.  “Matt Morris is pitching.” 

            “How are the Cardinals doing?” 

            “They’re doing well, battling for first place as usual.”

            “So your Cubs are?”

            “Be quiet.” 

            As we walked up Clark, the first thing I could see were the lights above the stadium.  Clarence had always thought putting them in was the worst thing the club had ever done.  The point of baseball wasn’t to be modern and accessible.  “The point of baseball,” I remember him saying, “was to get away from everything the world was turning into.  And there’s a price to getting away.”

            I watched as Clarence haggled for good seats, getting the price he wanted.  That was the thing about Clarence—he got what he wanted.  Always.  Sure, he lost cases and had adversities in his life, but from where I sat at his side, his trials and tribulations were always just setbacks.  He was always going to win in the end.  One way or another.  We sat down in seats about three rows from the field, just to the first base side of home plate.  I smiled at my friend.

            “These are the best seats I’ve ever had.”

            “Well, you know what they say.  When you’re trying to get your friend out of a cult…”  His smile was sly as it sat on the side of his face.  He was still measuring my reaction.  He was hoping I would tell him the good news. 

            “Clarence.  I’m staying.”  I said and watched his smile vanish.