The muted wave of the El train from behind the thick windows of the hotel sounds like the ocean.
I started coming to Chicago just after college. We were comped hotel rooms on Michigan Avenue from the magazine in which I placed ads. Of course I brought my mother. The magnificence of this mile was meant to be paired with hers. Shopping was our exercise and our entertainment. Everything was tried on — including this life where we could be anyone. I suppose that was the greatest gift of all. No past to lament. No dream left unspent.
When our three day excursions would come to an end, we would walk to Lake Michigan and release any lingering worry not left in the steps of the Magnificent Mile to the wave, return to our car and our lives, just a little lighter.
It’s hard to explain to those who don’t love it, to those who hear only the noise of the El train. But when you get past the rattle, into the wave, what a ride! And maybe it was easier for us…having survived the wrecking clatter of our lives — the noise and shake of uncertainty — this here, was beautiful. Lyrical. Musical. And oh, what a ride!
After losing my mother, I must admit that I can sometimes get caught up in the rattle of it all. But she wouldn’t want that. She was laughter and beauty and survival and grace. And so I hear it. The wave. The beautiful wave that tells me to enjoy it all.
The train keeps rolling. The waves are calling. I feel a little lighter. It’s time to ride. Magnificent!
