East 64th Street

"419 E. 64th street please?"

The taxi driver turned his body 180 degrees and looked me in the eye.

"You sure?"

His concern was more annoying than endearing.

"Yes, that's what I said."

He shrugged, "If you say so."

I was asleep before the cab exited the airport drive. The 7am flight from Boston was a little too early for my liking. I never sleep the night before National Conference and the screaming baby on the flight didn't allow for a nap.

"Here we are."

My eyes fluttered open.

"No, this can't be it."

"Ma'am, this is 419 E. 64th street.”

The taxi was parked in front of an empty field. A boarded up brownstone sat across the street and just ahead, a rundown convenience store’s entrance was crowded by a swarm of teenagers.

“No! This is wrong!”

“The meter's ticking so we can argue as long as you want lady."

I frantically pulled the conference papers I'd printed out of my brief case. I scanned for the hotel address.

"419 64th street Willowbrook, Il?"

Laughter leapt through the air and landed on my ears like alarm bells. I started to panic.

"No.”, more laughter, "419 East 64th street Chicago, IL."

"That's not what I said!"

"Yes, it is."

He was right.

"That’s not what I meant!"

"Look lady, there's a Sox game today and I've got money to make. We can sit here and argue or you can spend your money figuring it out some other way. The meter's still running."

"I'm calling your company!"

"Go for it."

I watched the meter tick as I fished for my phone in my pocket. It wasn't there. I swept the floor with my hand. Nothing. It wasn't in my brief case or the suitcase I'd over packed for the 3 day trip.

"Can I use your phone?"

"Against company policy. Sorry."

The driver had settled into his seat. He was playing a matching game on his phone. Pride kicked in as the meter ticked away. I opened the door and stepped out. I straightened my pencil skirt and grabbed my bags, embarrassed by my struggle with the larger one. I stood, put my shoulders back and walked toward the corner store. I approached the crowd of teens.

"Um excuse me gentleman....."

No one looked up from their phones. I walked into the store and up to the Plexiglas window that separated the cashier from the rows of chips, candy, soda and beer.

"Excuse me, do you..."

The cashier pointed to his ear and mouthed something as if he couldn't hear me. Yelling seemed ridiculous. I exited the store and continued down the street, my kitten heels clicking on the pavement with each step. Most of the buildings I passed were abandoned. It was a shame, because they were beautiful. It was before 9am but people lined the street corners. I was asked for money at least three times in 2 blocks. Luckily I'd gotten cash for the trip. It'd be ridiculous for a white woman in a business suit to say I didn't have money in my Tumi bag. At about the third block of abandoned buildings and shops with barred windows an apartment complex sat at the corner. Iron rod fences enclosed the 3 story high buildings. Young men sat in foggy huddles engulfed in smoke. A group of ladies in head wraps played a card game as their kids ran about. Two cars with large golden wheels and shiny paint sat adjacent to each other, seemingly in a contest of which could play it's music louder. Litter swept across the grass with each breeze like a small dust storm in the Old West. A train screeched by on a high rail in the center of the street ahead. Men in tattered clothing leaned against the metal scaffolding supporting the rail. It felt like I'd entered a different country. I'd only seen anything like it on TV. My heart would've been broken but fear held it together. I'd been walking at a swift pace but my pulse resembled more of a fast jog. I had to come up with a plan. Just as I gathered myself again, a boy who was no more than 8 emerged from a group of still young but older boys. Every muscle in my body stiffened. I didn't have time to reflect on the absurdity of my level of fear of someone who was barely 4 ft. tall.

"Yo, you 5-0?"

"Um... No?"

"Who are you then?"

"Um..." I had no idea what the right answer was.

"Leave her alone man. She look scared. She can't be 5-0." A prepubescent voice called from the group. They all laughed.

I wasn't sure if asking to use one of their phones would end or intensify my misery so I held my brief case closer and kept walking. There was a building that looked like a library ahead. I followed the trail of odd looks to the front door where the sign said it opened at 10. I wasn't sure if it was safest to wait on the steps or hide in the back until I could go in. My gut told me that the answer was neither. I decided on a nearby bench. Before I could sit I instinctively huddled into a semi-fetal position as sirens and lights whizzed by with 3 other cars in tow. No one around even seemed to notice. I righted myself and took a seat to collect my thoughts. I mulled over who I would call back in Boston to tell I was stuck somewhere is Chicago with no phone. My sister would be most likely not to panic and navigate sending me an Uber. I thought of my parents, my sister and my nephew and worried that I may never see them again. Terrible thoughts raced to and fro until a nearby light pole caught my attention. It's base was decorated with signs, flowers and stuffed bears. A picture of a smiling boy who was probably about my nephew’s age was taped to the pole with the words "R.I.P. King" written above in black letters. I couldn't hold back tears any longer. The trepidation about my own fate and sadness that people actually live this way was overwhelming. I knew I had to pull it together. Demonstrating this level if vulnerability was certainly dangerous. I fixed my face to look as tough as a sheltered girl from Brookline could. An old phone booth covered in graffiti sat caddy corner across the street. There was a glimmer of hope. Maybe they still used them in this foreign world. I stood and moved to a position where I could see inside. There was nothing but trash and an empty ledge. Only 15 minutes remained before the library would open and this nightmare would end. I'd call my sister and asked her to send an Uber, which would take me to a Verizon near the hotel. I'd get a new phone and move on with life. In the moment, as I judged the others around me, I didn't recognize my plan as privilege. A teenager with a hat, black jacket and black pants eyed me as he walked by across the street. He walked in my direction and didn't take his eyes off me. I felt the adrenaline flood my body. I decided quickly that I'd give him whatever he wanted without a fight. My breath deepened as he got closer. He was about 10 steps away when I threw my arms up in an X over my face, leaned back and yelled.

"Stop! You can have whatever you want!"

"Excuse me ma'am are you ok?"

I heard him but it didn't register.

"Yes, take it!"

I held out the brief case and opened my eyes. Confusion radiated from the boys face.

"It's ok. I don't want to hurt you."

I was embarrassed.

"Oh. Sorry."

"You don't look like you're from around here. Are you ok?"

I was still skeptical.

"Yes. I'm fine."

The boys brown eyes looked gentle and his face sincere.

"Ok. I'm happy to help if you need anything."

"Well...", I wasn't sure how to explain it. "I guess I am kind of lost".

The boy sat down beside me and I told him the whole story.

"Wow. Sounds like a bad day. Come with me."

He lead me across the street to a small mom and pop's shop. He held the door open and I walked in.

"My name is Damien by the way. Dame for short."

"Hi Damien. I'm Lindsey."

"This is my parent's restaurant. One of the only food spots left in the hood. Everybody else got scared and moved away but my moms and pops won't let it go. Here, use my phone.”

“Thank you.”

“You hungry?"

"Yes, I guess I am."

I called my sister and I was wrong, she panicked. As I attempted to assure her I was safe, a tall grey haired African American man, carried a tray of food and sat it on the table. He must've overheard my conversation.

"Good luck getting an Uber to come over here." He chuckled and took a seat across the table. It seemed he'd be more helpful than my sister at that point. I hung up the phone.

"I'm Mr. Jones. I own the place. Pleasure to meet you."

I nodded and hummed an approximation of "you too". My mouth was full. The barbecue ribs, collard greens, Mac and cheese and sweet potatoes in front of me were the best things I'd seen all day. The food was delicious. Mr. Jones got up and allowed me to enjoy the meal. I stared out between the bars covering the windows at a mural painted on a brick wall on the side of the library. The painting of a woman with deep brown skin and thick hair with flowers growing from it stared back at me through mahogany brown eyes. It was beautiful. I finished my food and Mr. Jones returned.

"Thank you." I said reluctantly wiping the sauce off of my face. " How much do I owe?"

"Don't worry about it. It's on me."

"Oh... Thanks."

"Hey, why don't you let my boy get you to where you need to go?"

I realized that I didn't even think about the fact that he might've had a car. Somehow, I felt safe with this family and I agreed. Mr. Jones called Damien from the back and he replied that he was on the way. A question burned in my heart and mind. I wasn't sure how it'd go over, but I had to ask.

"Mr. Jones, why do you choose to keep your restaurant in this neighborhood?"

With no hesitation he responded, "It's home."

I nodded. Damien came from the back and carried my bags to the car. I thanked Mr. Jones again. As we drove through the neighborhood I recognized something I hadn't before. Everyone on the streets looked happy. I thought back to the card playing women and the group of young boys. They all seemed happy. I was the only one who felt pity and was afraid. Damien told me about how he'd been accepted to college in Georgia on a full scholarship. He told me about his friends who were headed off to college as well and those he'd lost to gun violence. As we sat in the Chicago traffic he turned his body 180 degrees and looked me in the eye.

"We aren't all the same Ms. Lindsey. Most of us are good."

A tear escaped from my eye.

"Thank you Damien. I see that now."