Momnesia

That's Chicago, Part: Deux

So, to continue from the previous post...

We ate leftover Thanksgiving turkey with David's mom, then hit every single freakin' skate and/or music store in the Chicago suburbs. I didn't know boys shopped that much. After a few hours, David and I headed into Chicago. We hit every art museum and interesting place in town, browsing stores well-stocked with Manic Panic and leather goods and generally wasting time. I ate Thai food for the first time. We did a lot of walking. It was low-key and very fun.

That night, I stayed in a basement bedroom at his mom's house, and in the morning we headed back into Chicago to finish sightseeing. Traffic was, surprisingly, not that bad - or, at least, it was NOTHING like New York had been when I visited. People were friendly and polite, easily striking up conversations in bars and on the street. I had a pretty great time wandering the city streets with a guy I'd never met before, haven't seen since and can't really remember his name. My roommate was nowhere to be found.

I dropped David off at his dorm in Bloomington-Normal and then went to find Gibran. No one was home at Aenitia's. I killed some time, called around, but couldn't find him. It was getting late and I was tired so I took a room at a cheap motel and left news of my whereabouts.
Shortly, Aenitia and Irene showed up to inform me that Gibran's feelings were hurt.

"And... why isn't he telling me this himself?"

They looked uncomfortable: "Look, he has feelings for you. This trip... he was hoping for a chance to explore those."

"Then he might have maybe actually gone with me to Chicago, yes?" I reasoned. "This is stupid. He effectively abandoned me to my own devices, and then he whines about how he has feelings for me? I mean, we LIVE together, for Christ's sake. There are better places than a house full of strangers to explore feelings."

They invited me back to the house. I told them I'd paid good money for this room and I was going to sleep in it. Gibran was welcome to join me for a nice chat. They said to come over tomorrow and they'd see what could be accomplished. The next day, we ordered pizzas, played cards and drank. Gibran never showed.

In the morning, I found a note from Aenitia, who had left for work. Attached was a note from Gibran: "Stacey, thanks for the ride. I'll send you some gas money later. Gibran."

Shit. I had given Gibran $75 to hold for me, so I wouldn't spend all of it in Chicago. I had a quarter tank of gas and $5 and a BP card in my purse. There were no BPs that far north.
I grabbed some chips from the kitchen, eked every drop of gas out of that $5, and drove. It was 14 hours back to Atlanta, and I was determined to go until I ran out of gas.

Hours later, I was down to less than 1/8 of a tank and getting nervous. Somehow, I hadn't expected to actually run out of gas... I just wanted to make it to Paducah, Kentucky, where I knew there was a BP station. I was still two hours away. It was not going to happen.

And then, lo, in the distance... a truck stop. "WE TAKE ALL GAS CARDS!" the sign boasted. And it was true. I gassed up and stocked up on SunChips, Diet Mountain Dew and a microwave burger. I had 10 hours to go.

In Nashville, Tenn., I called my dad. "If I'm not home by 12:30 a.m., something's wrong. Call the state patrol," I joked.

He was not amused. "Where's Gibran?" he asked.

"Yeah... uh, long story. Made short, he's staying there."

"Did you know that when you went up there?" Dad asked, surprised.

"I suspected," I lied. No point in confirming what was already a well-known incompetence on my part.

"Okay, drive safe," he said. I could hear that he didn't like me driving alone from Chicago to Atlanta. I was almost home, though. What could happen?

I'll tell you what could happen: Forty-five minutes outside of Nashville, my damn crank shaft snapped in two.

To be continued...