Oh man, this sucks. I wish someone had come for a drink with me. I hate sitting here alone. I should have gone home after work. Ah but it is Friday and I am not so pathetic that I’d go home right after work and. "Hey you, do you want another?" the bartender asked. "Uh…yeah, alright" I responded. How many have I had now? One….two…three….four… no, I had two while I was talking to that broker from Lind Waldock. So, five and this will make six. "Here you go." the bartender mumbled. I slid a five across the bar mumbled "Thank you." He was a nice enough guy. He was young and I suspected he was working his way through school. Damn, this is pathetic. What time is it? I looked up at the clock it was a few minutes after 8:00 PM. I am meeting Reina tomorrow. I don’t’ want to blow it. She seems awesome from her emails. If she is half as cute as her picture it will be nice. Shit, if I am lucky I might even get laid. Oh man that is a terrible thing to think. I don’t want to blow this. Get that out of your head, you want to make a good impression. Let’s see I need to be at the Allerton Hotel at 8:00. No, I need to be at the bar at the Allerton Hotel at 8:00. Okay, I need to leave for the hotel around 7:15. PM. Alright I’ll have one more cigarette and get outta here.
The cigarette smoke burned my throat as I inhaled. That’s what I get for chain smoking. I guzzled the beer between drags off my Marlboro Light 100. I looked down the bar. The bar was dark and reminded me of a cave. It was in the basement of the building I where I worked. There were no windows and with the exception of the solitary clock, there was no way to tell what time it was. I looked at myself in the mirror behind the bar. My eyelids look heavy. There was a layer of tobacco smoke just hanging there. Two balding old men in out of date suits were sitting at one of the few booths. They were drinking Manhattans and laughing at a joke I had heard the bartender tell numerous times that evening. Okay, I’ve had enough of this. I don’t want to show up tomorrow all hung over. I stubbed out my cigarette, slugged down the rest of my beer and stood up. Whoa! I guess I have had maybe one too many. I wobbled up the stairs and into the gray marble lobby. "G’night" the doorman said. "Night" I said as I through the revolving door.
Whoa! A wave if cool air washed over me. It’s colder than I remember. Maybe I should get a cab. Talk about luck here comes one now. "Hey" I shouted as I watched the cab drive down the street. It’s only two blocks to the bus. I’m not drunk I’ll just walk. I zipped my black leather jacket up as high as my collar would allow. I wish I had worn a scarf. As I walked down one of the many canyons of downtown Chicago, I looked up at Sears Tower in awe as I did every time I passed by. I can’t believe humans built this. It is enormous. In the dark with the many pinpoints of light from occupied offices it almost looked animated.
I walked quickly down the sidewalk trying to keep warm, following the line of streetlights. I passed by Union Station. It looked the same as pictures from World War Two. There were only a few late workers and drunks heading into the station. I crossed the street and stepped up to the bus stop. As I looked down another canyon, it was deserted. There were a few people drifting in and out of the numerous bars down the street. However, besides a couple of occupied taxis, there was only the breeze and the high pitch whine of the occasional tires on wet asphalt to keep me company.
Every few minutes beams of light from headlamps would turn onto the street. Anticipation would build until I could finally see the illuminated number above the windshield. 157…124…7…125. WHERE THE FUCK IS THE #60! Shit! Every day I wait and wait and wait and the bus never comes. Either that or I have to chase it down the street. Damn! Suddenly, the squeal of brakes broke me out of my mental rant. "Number 60 Blue Island and Cicero." Okay that is par for the course.
I hopped up the step and slid my card into the slot. As the bus took off I was propelled into a seat. Since it was after sunset, I could see myself reflected in the dark windows. Oh man do I really look that miserable. I really need a haircut. I could see a couple female Mexican hotel workers sitting in the back of the bus. They look like they had a long day. I suspect they have to go home and make dinner for their macho esposas. There was a black Vietnam Vet, or at least wearing the clothes, dozing in the middle of the bus. I suspect he is homeless.
I had gotten up at 4:00 am to jog. After a day of trading, six beers, more than a half-pack of cigarettes and nobody to party with, I was feeling tired and lonely. Every couple blocks I would start to drift out of consciousness, my head would bump into the glass as I started to nod. I’d quickly sit up with a start. And the process would start over. After about fifteen minutes of "nodding", I finally heard the digital voice of Chicago’s fourteen million-dollar CTA announcement system iterate " next stop Eighteenth and Blue Island".
The City of Chicago contains the largest "concentration" of Mexicans in the U.S. And the neighborhood of Pilsen contains that largest "concentration" of Mexicans in the City of Chicago. It is said that the Pilsen is the only place in the City of Chicago where you can wear a cowboy hat and be fashionable.
The neighborhood was built in the 1840’s for the German factory workers who built Pullman railroad cars. My Victorian three flat was built in 1847. It has 12’ ceilings, narrow 8’ windows and is made out of brick and oak. It creaks. It is old. It is awesome. After the Germans, the Irish came to Pilsen and then the Polish. The Mexicans arrived in the 1950’s.
I hated the Pilsen neighborhood when I moved here. Shit! I had owned a condo on the 33rd floor of Marina Towers. That bitch, why did she have to rip my fucking heart out. WHY DID SHE HAVE TO…never mind. Unfortunately my divorce and ultimate bankruptcy forced me to move to Pilsen. My friend in real estate said "Move to Pilsen. It is the next up and coming neighborhood." Yeah right. I moved into my apartment Halloween 2001. Every time I passed two or more people on the street, I would hear them whisper something about "El gringo…El gringo". Okay! I am not stupid. You don’t have to whisper. I know you are talking about me! Shit I got to get outta here. What have I become!
"Next stop Eighteenth and Blue Island." It is a misnomer. The intersection is actually 18th, Blue Island and Loomis. Three streets intersect to make six corners. There are many three street intersections in Chicago. The corner where the bus stops is occupied by a brand new McDonalds, of course. The doors swung open and I stepped out into a crowd of about 12 male and female Latinos. The neighborhood on a Friday or Saturday night almost always seems like there is a fiesta going on. I could hear the oomp oomp oomp oomp of subwoofers and an out of tune voice singing a Mexican polka. I could see the neon lights from a nightclub and a sign that said "Los Amigos Loan Co." I stepped off the bus and turned immediately, I saw that the light was green and stepped into the crosswalk in front of the bus.
I could hear it, but it didn’t seem strange. It was a sound I had heard thousands of times in the past. It never made me nervous before. It never made me think twice. As I heard the sound of an accelerating car, I noticed a bumper and a blur of red as I looked down at my leg. Suddenly I felt as if I was floating. It happened sooooooo sloooowley. I drifted through the air. I remember seeing the red hood as I looked down and then CRACK! It didn’t hurt as my head slammed into the windshield. In fact, for the millisecond I was conscious, I was surprised how easily it yielded. And then Black.
There was no sound. It was black. It was peaceful. I felt completely at ease. I have never felt such peace. It felt right. I noticed, for lack of a better word, light. "Pearly" as corny as it sounds is the best description for a light that I can’t describe. It was getting larger as I approached it. There was no tunnel. It just felt like an ever-expanding infinite and I was traveling through. I was nearing the "light" when suddenly something I could feel, something I knew was more intelligent than me, something I knew was grander than me, communicated to me "It is not your time Les." It did not speak English. It was communication on a different level. I understood what I was being told. "It is not your time, Les."
"I don’t want to go back." I "said".
"There is something you still have to do." With that the light started to fade.
As if being hit by a ton of bricks, there was a wall of noise. My eyes opened and there was a cop standing over me. I heard a multitude of noises. Cars, horns, yelling and…noise, but my mind was completely blank. The cop was kicking me hard. "Hey you! Get out of the street! You’re blocking traffic!" I couldn’t feel my legs! I couldn’t make any sound! I couldn’t move! I was paralyzed. I heard someone say "Hey you idiot! What are you doing? He was just hit by a car." I blacked out.
I awoke in the emergency room of Cook County Hospital. I am told it is the best trauma center in the city. I don’t know if I believe what I am told. A cop was shaking my arm. "Hey, hey, buddy! Sign this." All of a sudden a doctor came around the corner and yelled "Hey, he is on his way to the OR what are you doing!" I blacked out again.
I opened my eyes. I don’t know this place. Where am I? Why does my head hurt? Why does my leg? OH SHIT! All of a sudden I remembered. I looked down and my leg was in a cast. I had bandages all over my body. I had an ace bandage around my chest. I had an I.V. in my arm and all sorts of…things taped to me. It hurt my chest to breathe. Damn, I have broken ribs. It hurt but I turned my head and looked at the guy next to me. He was a thin middle aged black guy in traction. It was a long dark ward. It was painted a hideous green color. Almost the color of army green. Most of the beds were occupied with unconscious men with limbs in casts. Some of the men were in traction. There was a TV on somewhere but I was unable to understand what was being said. In a hoarse voice that belied years of smoking, the guy in the bed next to me said, "So, you’re finally awake."
"Uh…. Yeah." I replied "Where am I?" My throat was soar as I coughed.
"You’re at the County, man," he said.
"How long have I been out?" I asked.
"I don’t know. They brought me up here last night." He said.
"What day is it?" I asked.
"Sunday" he replied.
I could hear the footsteps of a woman. I started to turn my head to the left but my brain felt like it was loose. It was the nurse. "So, you’re awake." She was a tall thick middle aged black woman. She spoke with authority. "Don’t you move you’re gonna open up those stitches."
"Um…how long have I been here?" I asked as she sterilized my arm with a cotton ball and started to give me a shot. "You relax. The doctor will answer your questions later." A wave of warm washed over me and I was asleep instantly.
My eyes opened but my mind was blank. The ceiling must have been 14’ high and painted that hideous institutional green. It was dark. I looked down the ward. Everyone appeared to be sleeping. I got to get out of here. I can’t stay here. My insurance ran out last summer and I sure as hell can’t afford to pay for this. I gotta get outta here. My head hurt badly. My whole body hurt badly but I sat up anyway. I tried to get out of bed but I hurt too much. I must have pulled something loose. Through the ugly green doors and down the hall I could see a nurse come out from behind a desk and start walking this way quickly.
She came through the doors and yelled "What choo doin! You’re gonna tear up your stitches! You disconnected your monitor! You lay down there now!" I hurt. I laid down. She turned around and marched out the door. A minute later she was back with a syringe.
"I gotta go," I said.
"Man, Where do you think you’re goin!" she barked as she was sterilizing my arm. "You were hit by a car! You ain’t goin nowhere!"
"I demand…to… be… re…leased." I said as a wave of warm washed over me and I was… out.
I opened my eyes. I was still in the institutional green room. Man it was hideous. There were two different middle aged black men with casts on either side of me. Both of them were unconscious. There was a talk show playing in the background, but it hurt too much to pay attention. The nurse came in.
"They told me you tried to leave last night. You stay put. I’ll be back with the doctor."
As I laid there I tried to remember what happened. The last thing I remember was getting off the bus. I must have been hit by a car when I got off the bus! Damn! I remember being someplace. It was someplace else. I felt wonderful. What was that? Where was I? I remember! I remember someone, something told me it wasn’t my time yet? I have something to do? What? Man I didn’t want to come back.
"Good morning, I am Doctor Singh" he said as he shined a light in my eyes. He moved the light around and followed my eyes. He stopped and filled out a paper on his clipboard. He put his pen in his pocket and asked, "What is your name?"
"Umm…My name is Les…Les Jones. Uh….Doctor, I would like to be released." I said.
"Mr. Jones, you were run over by a car. When the EMT’s found you your heart had stopped. The EMT’s restarted it in the ambulance. You have a broken femur. All of the ligaments in your knee were torn loose. You have eight broken ribs. You have a hairline fracture in your skull and you have a concussion. We cannot allow you to leave."
"Doctor Singh, I would like to be released." I said.
"I’m sorry we cannot allow you to leave. Now please rest, Mr. Jones and we will talk tomorrow."
The middle aged black nurse grabbed my right arm, sterilized my arm with a cotton ball and then a wave of warm washed over me and I was…..going…going…gone.
My eyes opened, I could hear a talk show in the background. A middle aged Hispanic fellow with a broken arm was arguing with the middle aged black nurse. I think he wanted to leave for a smoke and she wouldn’t let him. I don’t know what day it was. I don’t know how long I had been there. I do know that my whole body hurt ached stung, you name it and it hurt. I do know the ward was a hideous shade of green.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the Where I had been. It was awesome. That …for lack of a better term…"voice". What did it mean "it is not my time"? What do I still have to do?
I sat up, taking care not to upset the cord and tubes. Oh man did I hurt. My hip hurt where that asshole cop was kicking me. How could he kick an unconscious person in the street?
The nurse saw me and said "Good morning. Are you hungry this morning?"
"Oh man! I am starving!" I said. It suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t eaten since Friday morning!
"Breakfast is in a little while. We’ll see if we can get you something." She smiled and walked out the doors and down the hall.
A little while later Dr. Singh walked in the ward. "Good morning Mr. Jones. How do you feel?" he said as he shined his penlight in my eyes.
"My whole body hurts doctor. How do you think I feel?"
"I know, I know, I’m sorry." He said as he took my pulse and listened to my chest.
"Doctor, I would like to be released." I said
"I’m sorry Mr. Jones but you know we can’t allow you to leave."
"Damn it Doctor, I demand to be released!"
He looked me in the eye carefully and said "Okay, we’ll take a look at you this afternoon and see if you are well enough to leave."
Damn! He wasn’t supposed to say that. Who is going to take care of me at home? Oh well at least I’m gonna get out of here.
The time was passing slowly; mid-morning a woman in a business suit came in and had me fill out reams of paperwork. My body hurt. They were giving me giant vicodins, but they didn’t seem to be doing any good. I hurt.
Towards noon a Chicago Cop wandered into the room. He was a middle aged balding white man. He was overweight and his suit didn’t quite fit "Hello Mr. Jones. I’m Detective O’Malley with the Chicago Police Department. I have a few questions for you."
"Hello, Detective. Go ahead. Shoot."
"Very funny…. Mr. Jones, did you see who hit you?"
"No, I was hit from behind."
"So, you didn’t get a license plate number."
"No. Like I said I was hit from behind. Detective, what about all the people who were standing there? Didn’t any of them see who hit me?"
"I’m sorry sir, there were only two witnesses. The bus driver who didn’t see the car hit you. And an old woman who was sitting on the bench at the bus stop. The bus driver had his back to you. He said he saw you step into the street. He confirmed that you had a green light. The old woman said a drunk Mexican in a red car ran the light and hit you. She said the car struck you from behind. You flew over the hood and hit your head on the windshield. The driver slammed on the brakes and you rolled several times over the hood and then flew out into the street. The driver then took off north on Blue Island. We asked her how she knew he was drunk and she said ‘he was driving like it’. We asked her how she knew he was Mexican and she replied ‘isn’t everyone in Pilsen’. She said when the car hit you, all the people standing on the corner and waiting for the bus ‘ran’. She said one man ran into the street and took your wallet."
"What! Ow. You mean someone took my wallet?"
"Yes, that is why they didn’t know your identity until you woke up."
"Well, um, did you catch him."
"The old woman described him as a Mexican with black hair and medium height. I wouldn’t get my hopes up."
"Well, what about the guy that hit me? Did you catch him?"
"What are we supposed to look for? The old woman said it was a ‘drunk Mexican in a red car’. She described every Mexican in Chicago! Heh heh heh I’m sorry but don’t get your hopes up."
"Detective O’Malley, I want to complain about the cop that first arrived on the scene. He kicked me several times and told me to get out of the street as I waited for the ambulance."
Detective O’Malley fumbled through some papers and looked intently at one. He looked at me and said "Mr. Jones, it says here that when the first officers arrived on the scene, you were unconscious in a pool of blood in the middle of the street. The EMT’s said your heart was not beating and they restarted your heart in the ambulance. I suspect you dreamed it."
"Detective O’Malley, I’ve got bruises on my hip to prove it."
"Mr. Jones, you were hit by a car." Detective O’Malley stood up and set his card on the table. "Call me if you remember anything else." And he walked out of the room.
Oh man if that doesn’t fucking suck! That son of a bitch runs me down in front of a crowd of people and gets away with it! Damn it to hell!
Dr. Singh walked into the ward around mid afternoon. He walked over to my bed. "Good afternoon Mr. Jones. He waved his penlight around my eyes. He asked me my name, my address, the date who was president etc. He gave me a quick once over and then walked towards the hall.
"Doctor! Doctor! Can I go?" I yelled. But he kept walking.
He returned with business suit lady who held a ream of paperwork and the nurse who had a pair of crutches. "Mr. Jones we are letting you leave. It is against my advice. You will need to sign this waiver."
The woman in the business suit handed me a clipboard with a form to sign. "You will need to see your doctor tomorrow" said Dr. Singh. Business suit woman handed me a bag with my bloody clothes in it. I slowly got dressed. I could not believe how much I hurt, however, I was leaving! I was out of there! And most importantly…I am alive.
I took the stack of papers Business suit woman handed me, I took the prescriptions Dr. Singh handed me and I bid them thank you and farewell. I crutched my way out of the hideous institutional green ward. I made my way down the hall to the elevator. I rode the elevator down and slowly made my way out of the building. As I left front door of the hospital I could not believe what a beautiful sunny day it was. I leaned on my crutches, I reached into my black leather jacket and grabbed my Marlboros. As I shook one out of the pack, it occurred to me that I hadn’t had a cigarette in, let me see. This is Tuesday. Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday, four days! I haven’t smoked in four days! This is a great start and I will not get another chance like this. I looked over my shoulder. There was a heavy set black guy without any legs sitting in his wheelchair near the front door. He had a pot full of change in his lap. I took the pack of cigarettes and through them in his pot. He said "thanks man." I haven’t smoked since. I started crutching my way to the bus stop. Although itI hurt badly, it was a sunny beautiful day and I am alive!
The Stone Container Building aka The Smurfit-Stone Building, is a well known icon of Chicago's lakefront skyline. Fans of Monday Night Football would recognize the diamond shaped light in a second. But from the back alley it has an alltogether different shape. Almost phallic.
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Sunshine, a gentle breeze, a hot dog, a beer and a ride on the ferris wheel make for a near perfect afternoon.
Here is a view of the City of Big Shoulders they don't show you on Television. It is looking north from the el, just outside of Chinatown. I wouldn't be surprised to run into Jake and Elwood.
