Ryan O'Connor

I am going home. As the plane descends through the cloud cover and the expanse of water below becomes visible and in the distance starts to give way to my city.  The tallest towers rise up from the smaller buildings around them to clearly define what people consider to be “downtown”. Each is unique, the newest are grand, elegant spires of steel and glass reflecting the evening sun, and the oldest are much shorter and made of concrete and brick while still being beautiful. Oldest is a relative term here; this is a new city, a city that has been ruined and rebuilt all at once. You can’t feel the centuries of evolution and history that other cities have here, but frankly, you don’t miss it. Looking down on this shining gem on the edge of the water my eyes can jump only small distances and trigger memories years and miles apart. It starts with summer on the grand beaches that line the shore and flicks to wandering through the glass and steel canyons, staring up at some of the most potent examples of mankind’s ingenuity and nobility. My eyes wander to the center of the city, a sweeping stretch of green, and remember nights spent watching the lights of the skyline and the colors of the fountain, tourists wandering among locals, men selling glow sticks and other bright amusements. Fireworks shot from the pier out over the lake and bike rides down the drive all spin together as I gaze out over my home. A city filled to bursting with life and light, a town of wonders and memories for me, things that I want to show all of the unfortunates who have never been there before. I want everyone to see and experience this city in a garden, this city of big shoulders, this city that I can never call the second city, because it will never be that for me.  It’s my kind of town, Chicago is.  

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