Photo by The Youngrens
Yesterday as I pulled up to the first stop light on my way to work, I watched 18-year-olds pull luggage across the street to a smallish square plot of brick,
brick surrounded by buildings that reach up to join the rest of Chicago in the sky.
As I sat in my car waiting for the light to turn, my rearview mirror all of the sudden became prominent and I saw my own feet hit that brick plaza for the first time nine years ago.
I moved to Chicago nine years ago for college to study at Moody Bible Institute.
I have to smile at that girl and the day she brought her bags to Chicago.
I try to find her mind that day.
I have to smile at the places outside of her consciousness that surrounded her on every side.
He was there that day.
These streets, these dailies, these iconic landmarks-turned life landmarks were staring back at her, unrecognized.
The same sidewalks that would stand beneath me for the next decade as I learned to stand on my own, they were there.
I look at this photo with the buildings reaching up behind, with him, and I smile at that girl, for that girl, with that girl.
And then the light turned green.