From A to B

I like to travel. I’m not even talking about traveling great distances, seeing old monuments, or finding new horizons. I just like to move. Forward. From point A to point B. To me, there are few things more satisfying than having somewhere to go and having all the time in the world to make the trip. The gratification stems from feeling my progress literally move beneath my feet and having the time to enjoy it. I am entertained by the constantly changing environment. The sights, sounds, smells, and people I encounter provoke random thoughts and questions. Sometimes point B is yet to be determined, such as an aimless walk or drive that passes the time on a free day. Or sometimes, such as in this case, point B is simply a place that I’d rather be, with Tegan in her apartment.

As I leave point A, I am greeted outside my building by a waiting yellow cab, its top light prominently lit, its engine softly humming. No need for a personal chariot tonight. I’m in no rush and short on cash anyway. But who will take him up on his offer? Where will they go? How much will they tip? I wonder if his cab smells funny. He is talking on his cell phone. Drivers are on the phone all the time. What the hell do drivers talk about? Are they talking to other cab drivers? I carry on.

It just finished raining. Night has fallen. The watery sidewalk and streets glisten with reflections of the streetlamps and headlights. The scene looks just like those paintings that glamorize this very moment. What was that artist’s name? Tegan would know. I think he’s from Chicago. I wish I could afford his work. They were so pretty in the art gallery on Michigan Avenue. The shiny sidewalk dumps into the Redline entrance at State and Polk. There is a man (at least I think it's a man) coming up the underground stairs with an opened umbrella, forcing me to twist around him. Little premature, huh buddy? Dick.

The train rolls to the crowded platform as soon as I get downstairs. This rare occurrence is utterly delightful. Almost like having a cab waiting for me when I leave my apartment. I wonder if he’s picked a fare up yet. My luck doubles when over the loudspeaker, the conductor announces that this train is late and will run express from Lake to Fullerton. Perfect. I sift through the crowded train car and find an open area near the emergency exit. I lean against the wall and start reading The Economist when an odd looking hipster in skinny jeans gestures if he can have the open seat in front of me. I nod. He sits. I sneeze. He says, “Bless you.” Was that for the open seat or the sneeze? “Thanks.” I look out the window as we screech past the Division stop. I catch a man’s impatient face that distinctly says, “what the fuck?”

It’s drizzling again by the time I get off at Belmont. My pace hurries as the city passes by me. Damn that pizza joint smells good. What is that girl studying in Starbucks? I freaking hate slow walkers. Jack’s looks pretty full tonight. Tegan and I have been meaning to eat there. That man really needs to fix his muffler. Would I have laughed if that kid fell in that giant puddle? As I turn onto Tegan’s street there are three guys having an animated conversation. “Bro, I’m tellin’ you. I’ve had parties with like 100s of people, bro, and never seen a fight break out. Seriously, dude.” I wonder if anyone was seriously injured. Does that guy know he sounds like a total douche bag?

I finally approach Tegan’s apartment building. There’s a white cab sitting outside her high-rise, his light off, waiting for his called fare. He’s talking on his cell phone. Is he talking to my friend from before? That would be awesome. I head inside and call her apartment. The line is dead. Why do I always have to do this twice? The second try goes through, and she buzzes me in. I find an elevator waiting for me.

Tegan and I have a running joke that whenever we go to a new city I look at her and say, “Tegan, look! People live here!” While my astonishment is somewhat embellished, I am truly fascinated by the common practice of visiting a place that people call home. I come into their city as they go about their daily lives and get to borrow their existence for a day or weekend or even an entire week. Then when I leave to go home, they’ll still be there, doing what they do. As if nothing ever happened. I felt a similar sensation tonight. I left my apartment and went out into my own busy city. With every person I saw along the way, I got to, at least for a moment, share in a slice of their lives. If they were paying attention, they shared in a slice of mine.

Ding! I step off the elevator and knock on the door incessantly to tease Tegan. She opens and smiles. God I love her.

“Hey babe, how was the trip?”

*Tegan did remember. Michael Cheney.