North Side Mourning.

My next trip to Chicago’s North Side would come two months after 9/11.  The city (and the rest of the country) was understandably on edge and nervous about every move they made in the heart of the metropolis or on public transportation.  At the time I was working at the United Center and all of the events at the arena were cancelled for a month as it was assumed that people still needed time to feel comfortable gathering in large, confined spaces.  People in Chicago never stopped taking public transportation, as people still needed to get to work.  I, however, stopped going downtown to do any shopping or hanging out for that month as I just couldn’t bring myself to sit on the train, taking the Red Line down into the darkened tunnel, hoping and praying that a “problem with the tracks” was our only concern.

In November, a friend was going to the North Side to audition for a music video and, as it was a day off of school, asked if I would ride with her for moral support.  Having nothing else on the agenda, I readily agreed.

This day, November 12, 2001, couldn’t be a more wrong day for trying to alleviate my fears.

After riding the Red Line to the North/Clybourn stop, I accompanied my friend to the building where her audition was being held.  At the audition I was informed that, unless I was family or a parent, I wouldn’t be able to stay and wait for her.  I wished her good luck and headed back towards the train station.  I checked my phone and saw that my mother had called.  She left a message telling me that I needed to get home right away.  Confused, I continued to the train, not fully aware of the events unfolding in New York City that morning.  It was only when I happened to eavesdrop on a conversation taking place on the train that I felt afraid.  Why today?  I had finally worked up the courage to ride the train again.  Is this another attack?  Would they shut down services?  Would I be trapped on the train until it was safe?  I nervously listened to music on my Discman, half hearing the music, half listening for any announcement that may come over the intercom.  As the train proceeded along the route unfettered and deposited the remaining passengers at the final stop at 95th/Dan Ryan, I calmed down enough to ride the bus home and immerse myself in my music and completely forget the world- for a few minutes, at least.

Arriving home, I turned on the news and watched the coverage of the crash.  People were just starting to come around, to feel comfortable enough to fly again so close after 9/11 and then this.  Even though it was ruled an accident, we were all on edge.  So many of us were out, finally putting our lives back in order, learning how to relax and enjoy ourselves again, while the world was falling apart around us.  I remember feeling sadness & anger & frustration & a yearning to be a kid again, to be shielded from the pain of tragedy, to go to sleep and wake up and have everything back to normal again.

But it wasn’t back to normal.  So many lives were lost.  And I mourned.

My first day back at work was for a U2 concert.  To see so many people come out and say, “we’re not afraid”, to show up and gather for their mutual love of music- it helped to heal the fear and the sadness, in its own way.

I still have a little fear left in my heart, but I love to fly.  I love the Red Line.  I love going to concerts.  And I still love the North Side (and my home, the South Side).  Because I can’t predict the bad stuff; but I will surround myself with all of the good stuff (even if the “good stuff” involves a smelly train car…because I’ll take that as the smell of freedom…or something).