It was a gorgeous day today, the first real spring day here in Chicago. It got up to 69 degrees and the sun shone so brightly. I had occasion to be walking a lot from one campus building to another this afternoon while trying to get Columbia administrative issues settled for my internship.
It’s always wonderful to walk downtown (or South Loop if you insist on being picky about it) on a nice day. The smokers actually seem to be glad to be forced outside for once. Folks walk from one place to the other, stopping to chat with people they know, instead of walking swiftly with their shoulders hunched up for warmth.
The eerie thing was that today reminded me of the last time I was around school walking around on a really nice day: Sept. 11. I went downtown for a Chronicle training session which, it turned out, was scheduled for the next day. It didn’t matter, since Columbia buildings were soon closed. I walked
toward a Tower Records store a couple of blocks away on Wabash; I wanted to buy the new Bob Dylan album.
I was so angry that the store was closed. I thought it was ridiculous. First the World Trade Center, then the Pentagon, then the Britney Spears display? Come on. I really wanted that album; I’d been waiting four years for a new Dylan album, and I realized that if I went without it — well, the terrorists would have won.
The contrast from then to today was striking. Then, people milled about outside Loop office buildings not really sure what to do. It was about 10:30 a.m. and the enormity of the tragedy really wasn’t apparent to most people. At least it wasn’t apparent to me, even though I had my Walkman on and was listening to NPR.
Then, people talked to each other, wondering how bad it was. They talked about getting out of downtown. They wondered if they’d be next.
Yesterday, people laughed and joked and smoked. They talked about boyfriends and girlfriends and parties and crappy classes, or whatever it is we talk about when we talk about things.
A return to normalcy? You bet. But I’m confident that on every sunny day I find myself in the South Loop, I’ll think for a moment — if only the briefest — about that day. I won’t forget. I don’t want to. I need that pain, that tragedy, to understand how precious life really is. I need to think about that moment in our past to understand what we have to look forward to in the future. I’ll take that pain and roll it into a ball to keep as a memento, stored on a sad shelf in the corner of my memory.
I bought the album later in the day, at a Coconuts. I’m glad I did. You can’t kill the love, baby.