South Chicago (novel) by Rodrigo Haro

 I have published my fifth book (and third novel) titled South Chicago 

https://www.amazon.com/South-Chicago-Rodrigo-Haro/dp/B0CHLC9R49?ref_=ast_author_dp 

The Theory of Everything

 Theory of Everything by Rodrigo Haro 

© 2023 by Rodrigo Haro 

Only the dead can reach Light. The special theory of relativity is in essence that. Mass at zero mass can enter light, or the speed of Light (C). This means that we must have no Mass (dead) to be in the Light (C) to enter the speed of Light. The theory of everything is impossible until Mass is obliterated.  Space and place might be the same. If a heater is on the ground and the heat rises up (the force of the air or heater makes the air go up) the heat will only go up to the ceiling (a colder surface). This is made possible by the fan in the heater (the force reversing the course of heat). But if my ceiling is made of fire then the heat coming from the heater will go sideways since the ceiling is no longer colder than the heat (but at the same temperature). This is the second law of thermodynamics. Time might be third or Mass. Third os Mass (like in Genesis). Time is second. First is Light. M=C (squared). THe absence of Mass is Light. You don’t have Light with Mass. You won’t meet Light (C) (the Theory) unless you get rid of Mass (Body). The Theory of Everything is God. You can’t meet God unless you get rid of Mass. Mass are our bodies.  The absence of Mass is Light. One space/place at the beginning. Space is One. Universe is One. There seems to be two times as put forward by Stephen Hawking (Eternal Rest Grant Unto Him and Let the Perpetual Light Shine Upon Him) in his book A Brief History of Everything as summarized by the website Wikipedia. Time and time. Time = Big Bang Theory or is it small t? time is Big Bang Theory. Time (with big T) is 5:16pm (a couple of hours ago) on August 5, 2023. My place is Chaleston a small central Illinois city South of Chicago. My space is the Universe. Chicago is my fifth dimension. 5th dimension (location). Accurately, my fifth dimension is Charleston. One Time is Light (Big Bang Theory) and of the time is not measure of time (clock, date, year). Our psychological view of time (according to Hawking). The praise for the faithful departed emcompasses all. Both Albert Einstein (Eternal Rest Grant Unto Him and Let the Perpetual Light Shine Upon HIm) and Stephen Hawking (Eternal Rest Grant Unto Him and Let the Perpetual Light Shine Upon Him) achieved the Theory of Everything. Mass has to be at Rest (Eternal Rest) or zero mass. Light is achieved only after the absence of Mass and the Light is Perpetual (Time, endless time, time in one direction). The best plot according to Aristotle in Poetics is one plot, one Grand Unified theory, one space/place. One. 

C=M(0)

The speed of Light is Mass at zero. Time (speed of Light) can only be reached with Mass at zero. Time is measured by the speed of Light (C), but we cannot achieve that Light unless we get rid of Mass. 

Speed of Light = zero Mass 

We measure time without mass. Or bodies are Mass so we cannot achieve Light (or the speed of Light). Speed of Light is Time. THe speed of Time is the measure of the Speed of Light. We can walk with our Energy (E) but without Mass (M) we can achieve the Speed of Light (Time). The time of light. We can walk with our Mass (M) and with energy (E) but will never achieve or catch up to Light (C).

The absence of Mass is Light. Or, Mass at zero is equal to the speed of Light (186,000 m/s or so). Since there is no Mass there is no energy. But, is Light energy? Does Light have energy? 

Mass at Rest (Eternal Rest) has no energy (Grant Unto Him). MAss at Rest. Eternal means time in one direction without stopping. Eternal Rest means time goes on with a body of Mass at Rest. A body in a coffin. If we measure time through the measure of Light (C)then MAss at Eternal Rest (Eternal meaning never changing) then the Perpetual Light (perpetual meaning occurring constantly) will be achieved, attained, or Shine Upon. Mass at Eternal Rest is Light. 

Teh speed of Light will be achieved once MAss is gone. 

C=M(0)

Our (M) bodies are thrown into a walk (steps) through energy (E), btu we cannot catch up to Light, or time which is measured by the speed of Light. Let’s take this at aace value. We will measure time by the speed of Light. Therefore (if we take number into account which we do not have to, again 186,00 m/s) then we will never achieve to cath up to Light or time. Unless, we get rid of Mass. MAss at Rest is no (zero) energy. 

M(0)=E(0)

How doe we achieve Light? Take the MAss out (whcih weill take energy out). Eternal Rest (means no energy, never changing) unot HIm (Mass). Energy at rest equal the deteritoion of MAss. MAss without energy will stay at rest> 

M(0)=E(0)

How do we ge to the Light, the speed of Light? We have to wait for time to get rid of MAss. MAss at rest will gather no energy an eventually turn to nothing. A body laying down dead in a coffin has no energy, no Mass. Futher more, they have achieved the Light. Time will take MAss away (including Earth, the moon, the stars, and evrythignin between). There will be no Mass. Again let’s measure time by the speed of Light. Speed is time. Everything will go away and only the Light (the BIg Bang wil be left). Light will be the only thingleft,a nd Light will replenish (Perptual) Let the Perpetual Light Shine (Time) Shen Upon Him (MAss). Perpetual emas recurring. Another Big Bang will happen, perpatually, once Mass is gone. Another Big Bang fater that. Once time (which is mesure byt he speed of lIght) takes away Mass (Him) and Energy (Eternal Rest), eternally naver changing, then Perpatual Light will Shien Upon Us (the Universie)

C=M(0)E(0)

Again and again until eternity. 

Or, M(0)E(0)=C. 

E(0)M(0)=C

Eternal Rest (E(0) Grant Unto Him (M) and Let the Perpetual Light (C)Upon HIm

√C²=C therefore C=M

IF the hypothesis C=MC² (the theory of special relativity) is held to be true then

C=M(0)E(0) 

√C²=M(0)E(0)

The Light is out of the Mass at Rest

C≠ME(0), int his instance the body, Mass, is stil lying and a piece of Mass but with no energy. 

The Light might be there, but not in the mAss liek a piece of Rock, or a planet not alive. Our planet (M) is alive and it had nergy therefore it had light, or according to Albert Einstein (Eternal Rest Grant Unto HIm and Let the Perpetual Light Shine Upon HIm)

St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen. 

Does a zero-energy universe apply to this problem? 

C=E(0)M(0)

Energy has to be at zero, E(0), for MAss (M) to be unmovable (at Eternal Rest). Can we have MAss (M) without energy (E)? No. Or maybe yes.  A body in a coffin (M) cannot be moved by itself unless other force moved it (pallbeares carrying the coffin, or someone, a funeral director movign the body to dress it and meblemd it). THen the mass will have gravity or some sort of energy. But how does this relate to Light? Is , 

E(0)=C

The string theory, black holes, and M-Theory explain the dark matter in our universe which  hypitheically has energy. But why are we concentrating on dark matter if we have to explain the speed of light? I would suggest that dark matter is non-essential tout being, our survival, and to understand The Theory of Everythig. We have to understand the Light. The ligh is matter with energy, and matter that has Light particles. INother words, 

C=M(0)E(0)

The Light in our unvoiersver (the stars tha make up everything) will collapse and only Light will beleft. Another Big Bang will happen. Pepetual Light. 

C=M(0)E(0)

thT doe snot mean we ar nothing, in reverse we are evrtyign. 

ME=C, no 

M(0)E(0)=C 

The theory of relativity posits that we must square the speed of light and further postulates that dark matter must exist. It posits that two objects cannot travel at the same distance viewed from two different parameters. The theory of relativity posits that the light must be opposite the dark. 

The mss our bodies have to be goen through Time (time is meaured byt he speed of Light) ans zero energy. But what is left? How doe shte body decompose after Etern Rest (M). Through tiem is disappears based on its zero energy E(0). The Mass with matter M(1) will eventually be M(0) meaning zero Mass or Matter through time. 

CM=E.

 But how do we account for the passing of Time or C (our measurementof time-the speed of Light) in order for M to get to zero. Time or C has to pass without energy for M to dissipate. 

C-E=M(0)

E=MC, E

C=E(0)M(0)

Carnival (short story) by Rodrigo Haro in Cardinal Arts Journal

 I have published my latest short story in Cardinal Arts Journal (the literary arts journal at Gadsden State Community College https://cardinalartsjournal.org/telling-our-stories ) 

Carnival 

The Carnival came every year in the summer and took over 91st Street west of Commercial Ave. There was a Ferris wheel. There was also a Tilt-a-World, a ride that spinned you around the platform while rotating you in place. I looked down at the asphalt and my mind played out my skull crushing into the ground. When the ride ended I threw up next to my sister. While I was panicking she was laughing aloud while looking at me. We walked home.  

            I saw Bree, my friend from school. She is black. She sat on my lap once (more than once) when the teacher, Mrs. Collins (Eternal Rest) was away. She claimed me. She was there by herself. She was talking to a roadie, one of the workers, a white guy older than her. We were only thirteen. He must have been in his twenties. He gave her a plushed, stuffed animal. She looked down and let her bangs and long hair fall over her face.  

            I had never seen her alone. She was my crush. I thought she wasn’t in danger. She had little brothers who I saw her with. She always put out the “horses” on the street. The horses were blue, wood signs that blocked the street and had “Chicago Police Department” on them in white. The horse was a blue, wood long plank with two pairs of legs on each side end resembling a pyramid. She and other volunteers used to get out of school early to put out the wooden structures and wait until the after school crowd calmed down. She used to ask the teacher “Are we going to put out the horses?” Mrs. Collins would say “wait,” showing her manicured nails in red or brown. She used to sometimes smoke a cigarette. She at times smelled like it. After we came back from lunch. Our Math teacher who had the next door classroom was nicer and taught us in a better way than Mrs. Collins. Perhaps because we only had a limited amount of time for our Math class before we had to “switch” back to our regular classroom, Mrs. Butler gained a reputation for being warm, guided by sympathy and empathy, and a force to understand. Her Math was not hard to understand even though it was from textbooks and on grade-level. Her tests and quizzes were passable. Our understanding of Math grew with our understanding of her.  

            My mom never attended the Carnival with us that weekend. It lasted three days. I remember the Blockbuster in that corner was still open but closing down. My friend Chema used to rent video games from the store and take me.  

            The next day I walked the grounds again. The carnival was not same. There were less people and less rides. There was not much food except popcorn. The carnival eventually stopped coming. On the second day, my mom finally went with us. My sister won a stuffed animal (a giant Winnie-the-Pooh) and took it home. She won it at the water gun station shooting the gun to race the rubber duckling to the top.  

            We are born but never die. When we are created by our father and mothers we are created as a soul. A soul is born. At conception a soul is born. A soul does not die even when the body dies. The soul goes on. Our faithful departed are alive through their souls.  

            My sister never met Bree. When I was little, women that I loved were always around me. My mom and my sister are the two women I love unconditionally. I loved Bree the way I loved them, but I had to let her know. The image of me seeing her talking to a carnie (a Carnival worker) much older and me doing nothing is traumatic. She was only thirteen. She was talking to the carnie as if she was flirting. I stared and wanted to tell her to come with me. I stared and stared. I could not understand. I was by myself that Friday after school with her. She had a cup of corn with cheese crumbles and butter and chili powder. I wondered where her mom was. I remember she had a dog. 

            “The dog is fierce. The dog chased me around the block,” she told our mutual friend Chattel one day during class. Bree was my girlfriend. She was in a relationship with me, but we loved each other how we could. That day we were looking for each other. I heard her call. I saw that she was alone and she needed me by her side. She seemed to be looking for love. She needed to be safe by my side. I told my mom when I got home, “I saw her. She was by herself. She didn’t have a partner with her, or her parents or brothers or sisters,” I furthered exclaimed. I wanted to take her home. She was one of the girls I liked. I had other friends in the classroom who were girls. Vero, Lorena, and Erica. They were Hispanic like me, and two of them had a boyfriend.                                

             Lorena once passed the girlfriend note to me.  

            “Hey I found this paper. Did you write it?” I asked her.  

            “What did you say?” she asked.  

            “I said no,” I said.  

            “It does not matter who the note is from,” she said with slight anger. She took the note and crumbled it up. I saw her a couple of years later when we were in high school driving her car. She parked in front of my house. She was living with a boyfriend and had a baby. I remember she was pregnant. I was happy for her. I was happy for her. I remember another Lorena who I had a crush on.  

            She used to ditch school and hang out in the neighborhood. I saw her a couple of times walking down 88th looking to hang out. She did not want to go home. She wanted to escape from home and school. I always wanted to invite her to hang out when I saw her. She had blonde hair, wore her light blue jeans, and had blue eyes. She only spoke Spanish since she had recently arrived in the U.S. from Mexico. I liked her a lot. I had a huge crush on her. I saw her three times and waved at her the third time. She waved back and said aloud, “Hi, Rodrigo.” I was glad we were talking and looking for each other. I wondered where her mom was when she was out in the streets. I never had a real girlfriend until my junior year of high school. I was sixteen and she was fourteen. She asked me out and I said yes. We made out. Our relationship lasted a couple of days. I walked her home one day along with another friend (her ex boyfriend who was jealous and wanted to get back together with her and see us apart). She probably wanted to get away from her ex since he was dating someone else (me). I was the last and he was the first. I even took her home. She kissed me in the intersection before she went home. We were on her corner. Her home was North of mine. We had to cross 87th which was the neighborhood border. She lived in The Bush, a neighborhood along 83rd. I was in South Chicago on 88th. The kids from the neighborhood were not supposed to cross the borders because of violence. Even though I was never in a gang the kids still used to get beat up. There were always people on the news or kids (especially after the fifty schools closed in CPS in 2013 years later) of kids being shot, hurt, or killed because they were walking in a neighborhood that was not their own.  

            The same day I saw Bree, my mom and sister attended the Carnival (a block away) with me. Bree was gone. My mom paid for the scary Tilt-a-Whirl spinning ride where I thought I would smash my head on the pavement. We walked the one block East-to-West that the traveling 

Carnival took over. I never saw her until the next Monday in school. (The Carnival was Friday, Saturday, and Sunday). She began to miss mysterious days from school. She used to hug me and hold me for a long time. Her body felt right in mine. My mom that day spent a few dollars from babysitting to attend the carnival. We did not have any money, but we survived. We were destitute at times but had hope. We lived-off welfare. The Carnival also had a Ferris Wheel that I was scared to get into. My mom and sister got in. I waited for them at the bottom of the ride. I looked up at them and my sister waved. I waved back. When she got out she was enthused, relaxed, and determined to make the most of the event. In past years, the Carnival was bigger. It was the same Carnival, company, and family. Their business got smaller. This was in the early 2000’s. I remember being in seventh grade, thirteen, and the year was 2001. I miss her hair. She had long black soft hair. It curled slightly around her face. She had cat-like eyes. They were big, white, and black. She loved me most when I did not try to catch her. She came to me and snuggled up with me at times. I liked her.  

            My sister who was in fifth grade met Bree once. My mom picked up my sister. I could go home by myself in those days. She waved hi to me when she was by the “horses.” My mom asked me who she was, “She’s Bree, ma,” I said. She could tell we were involved, in love, or attracted to each other. Ella me quiere, I thought.  The next year I did not come back. I changed classrooms. I kept seeing her in the hallways. I kept missing her. I wanted to hug her again.  

            The Friday before the Carnival at dismissal she was by the “horses” with the Chicago Police Department sign and she rejected my plea for mercy. The thought is wrong, but she showed a lot of mercy, love, and compassion. She did not care where I came from, who I was, or how I smelled. She cared about me. There was something attracting us to each other. Something beyond the physical connected our love although the physicality offered by touch (intimacy) and provided a congruence of souls. During breaks when my teacher would be outside the classroom she would jump up and calmly walk to my desk (which was grouped together with three other desks of students for a complete four) and sit on my lap. I kept my hands still. I got close to her neck. She would stare back over her shoulder and catch my eyes. The beauty of her eyes would melt me right away. She would freeze me. I understood we were dating in our sense, or our own thirteen year old way. I knew she loved me, and I loved her. She blew a kiss over her shoulder once when she was sitting on my lap. I was flabbergasted. I was picked but happy. I wanted to figure out how to kiss her (for real). I needed her lips. I have a vague memory of her actually kissing me and me getting red in the cheeks. We did not kiss again. Another girl transferred in the middle of second semester, a Hispanic/Latina girl, who sat next to Bree in her desk group. Bree did not come to me that often. She was mad of course. I flirted with the new girl, Brenda, and she flirted with me. Everyone knew we were going to date, but I did not want to leave Bree. What if Bree and I start dating? I thought. My friend Veronica once asked me, “Who do you like?” I could not answer. She wanted to set up our Question-and-Answer (our boyfriend girlfriend asking scene) event for Brenda and me. We were supposed to ask each other out and ask each other if we wanted to be boyfriend and girlfriend. I sincerely answered, “I don’t know,” and shook my head. Did I like Brenda?  Was it because everyone assumed we liked each other? Or, was I hiding my feelings for Brenda to stay loyal to Bree? Bree showed her frustration over our deep friendship and lack of flirting by being on behavior and letting me know she was upset. We would caress each other and now we did it less. We were almost intimate. One day we were having a free period in our classroom. Music was playing. Some people had candy (sour apple gummies) to share. We were all standing on the edges of the classroom leaning against tables and walls. She was by the board. She was holding a number two pencil. I was on the opposite end. She pointed the pencil with the lead side out and launched it at me. It missed. She grabbed another one, and I started moving around. She let it go. She then grabbed another pencil when I calmed down and again I moved around. She screamed at me in a low-tone, “Rodrigo, stand still. I can’t hit a moving target!” 

            After that things were confusing. The event I mentioned when she neglected me was not major. I did not ask her out, and I did not ask her for affections although none of those things she would have rejected. I asked her to sign my yearbook. This is wrong. I remember the love and all the things she did right. She loved me and took care of me. She used her affection to let me know she had faith in us and our relationship. She had the sun in her face and said, “it’s too hot!” and handed me the yearbook back. I walked away, I was sweating as well. I walked home with Lorena, Veronica, and Erica’s signatures on my yearbook, but not the one I had a crush on. I knew I had to do something. My mind is always on her. How did she grow up? Is she still in South Chicago? Did she move out of South Chicago and come back like me (only to get kicked out again)? Did she have kids? How many? Is she married? Will she marry me? The Holy Bible states to marry your childhood friend. To marry someone without noise. To stay away from the promiscuous woman because she has bad intentions. There is a different woman for each category above in my life. She is the childhood friend. I am sure we all have our one childhood friend we thought we were going (or wish) to marry (maybe high school boyfriends/girlfriends, friends from grammar school, and people you see as adults from your childhood). They are the ones that got away. The usual love story involves two lovers (like Romeo and Juliet) that find their love while everyone in their world tries to break them apart (other suitors, parents, and jealous elders and enemies). I forgive her. That is what I want to say, and I want to love her again. 

When I used to visit my mom I felt her presence on the way to the train station. At times, I felt her scream and cry when I got on the train on 87th and State (the Red Line). These are friends that I cherish and would gladly get back together with them.  

             

            Those two days of school and Carnival were memorable. They were the two days I remember the most about Bree, and my experience with the Carnival. I spent the rest of semester with Bree and Mrs. Collins. I never had a real girlfriend in seventh grade. I waited and waited while everyone started dating. I knew I was loyal (to Bree). I remember Mrs. Butler and her voice. Her voice was gentle. We all struggled that year and we unified as a class. She was taught by the teacher. She was the one who she called when the teacher needed favors to be run. She had younger siblings. One time she wore short jean shorts and I felt comfortable and close to 

her. 

            The lunchroom that day (the day of the Yearbook-a Friday) was weird. No one ate food. The whole class would starve for six hours plus of the school day. We all walked to the benches in the lunchroom while everyone else ate their food. We would go into the lunch line together. I don’t know why. If one person got lunch more people would enter the lunch line. But if one of the leaders (like Bree) ignored the lunch line and sat on the bench we would all follow. That day we sat in the bright orange lunch benches with black trimming and stayed in silence. Food was our alimentation. Food was how we took care of ourselves. Food brings us together. Why did we not eat? Did we not want to get along? I am sure we would have acted nicer with full stomachs. 

We should have a conversation with food while eating. She was a good writer.  

We kept growing up (here and there we met with a slight glance at each other). We kept living and believing we would see each other again soon. I always reached out to her when I was walking alone on Commercial. I would look for her. I looked her up on Facebook. I messaged her. Now, I wonder how she is. I wonder who can bring us back together besides us. I need to find grace and speak to her. God thank you for Bree. I have a thought of potato chowder. It has to have salt. Bree had a sexual body. We were young and noticing ourselves. We jumped on each other and our bodies. She sat in mine. I welcome her. I felt her body lay on mine. I felt her presence. I felt her butt on my scrotum. I felt her weight on me. I welcomed it. I ran my fingers down her spine feeling her bra strap on the way. I did it multiple times. She curved her back. I loved it. I held her hands. I leaned my head against her back. I held her close. I felt her hips. I went all the way to the (most) bottom part of her back while she was sitting on me. I did it again and again. We were thirteen. We needed to fly.   

 I miss her dearly. One time my future eighth grade professor caught us (found us) handling each other (hugging each other-I held her for a long time). We were under the stairs leading up to the old building (the old building was connected to the new building through a hallway). He came up to us and asked angrily, “What are you doing?” We let go of each other and walked on. Why did he have to do that? I thought to myself as I let her go. Mr. P went up the stairs in silence. I followed after him confused. He kept looking forward. Going up the stairs he looked upset, angry yet wanted to say something else to me. I understood my relationship with Bree. Her body always called me. I instantly leaned in to her and told her I loved her with my body.  

I did not like it when other people touched her. There was one other guy, Rae, who touched her body and she ran away from him. My friend Ruben touched her once her and she told him no. We were able to keep ourselves safe. We were able to still keep ourselves together. 

She looked at my eyes when she drove other men away. At thirteen, I felt like her man. Mrs. 

Collins never objected to our touching.  

            I need to calm down and be me.  

 I shared candy with her. She shared “Now and Laters” with me. We shared our hands. We held hands together. We also shared food when we had it. We shared love. We shared our writing. She had a best friend who was Chantel. She also had a real boyfriend. They were always together. Out of a sense of rightness, they never talked about me. I admired and loved their friendship. She was the smartest girl and student in class. She was the teacher’s pet. She was the prettiest girl in the classroom. She was the center of everyone’s attention. She behaved as if all eyes were on her (at all times). She had long, shoulder-length, straight hair. One time she curled her hair (it must have been picture day). She looked beautiful, gorgeous, and her eyes radiated a confidence (constructed by her beauty). She looked like a princess from a fairy tale Disney movie waiting to come down a glittering staircase. I saw her as a princess. She was gorgeous. She had small breasts. She had a big butt for her age. She had a skinny body. Her tummy was flat. Her arms were thin. Her face was triangular and skinny. Her eyes were the main emphasis of her face. Her face started at her eyes (two points which were the main feature of her face) and elongated down into her chin. Her lips were delicious. They were small, but her lips accentuated her face. Her lips were rosy.  

We got along fine. We dated how we dated and were friends how we were friends. We were classmates, crushes, and teammates in life. I always wanted to love her. She was the one I wanted to be with. I asked her for sex once. She told another classmate that I had asked her. I was less than ten feet away. I heard the words “sex” and it did not feel good. She lowered her head turned to the right and told the guy. I saw her lips move, her teeth together, ready to pronounce the “s” sound. I asked her one day when I was outside. I was in my white polo shirt. I was by the horses waiting for her to talk to me. I wanted her deeply (and her kisses) like a kid who wants a Popsicle and wants more once it’s gone and eaten.  

            “Do you want to have sex?“ I asked.  

 She was shy. Her face was red. She was obviously shy. It was the first time I saw her face red with anguish. She did not look in my eyes afterwards. She looked down at her shoes. The next day she told the guy who was in her desk group. The guy looked at me not out of jealousy, but out of disappointment. Why’d you have to ask her? I read his eyes. He was angry that I was slacking and not acting. The girl was mine and she came to me. I never understood why that happened.  

            I was always urging for her presence. I was always fantasizing about her. I would go home and think of her. I missed her when I was not with her. I felt lonely and alone without her at home even though I was with my mom. When I was with her at school I felt elated, happy, and 

satisfied.  

            I thought about Bree every second that I was away from her. I thought about her when I wanted to write. I thought about her when I wanted to love. I thought about her when I wanted to live. I needed to pray. Bree was my life. Bree was who I wanted to be with. I did not care. I saw the hairs in the back of her neck and wanted to kiss her neck. I loved her the way I love everyone else. While she sat on my lap I wanted to love her, kiss her back, touch her body. I wanted to touch her butt, I wanted to kiss her lips, I wanted to kiss her eyelids. l wanted to tell her that we could date. I wanted to tell her that everything was going to be alright. I wanted to live. I wanted to live with her. I wanted to love her. The seventh grade was my best grade. It was the grade I fell in love. Seventh grade with Mrs. Collins and Bree was the grade to grow up, to learn to cry, and to laugh. I wanted to let her know I was there for her. I wanted to go through school with her. She did not go to Chicago Discovery Academy (CDA) on the Bowen High School campus. She might have gone to another school, a charter school, or moved. She must have gone to main Bowen school. 

            When I was in high school I remember that I saw Kanye West in the fourth floor attic room give a surprise concert. They chased him down the hallway after the concert. I stayed still. The floor was a bright, yellow-gold, hardwood floor. The attic had a stage and he brought a sound system. This was in 2006 before he went big and the year his initial album came out.  

            I spent the seventh grade with Bree. We kept touching each other, hugging each other, and talking to each other. When we switched classrooms with Mrs. Butler (for Math and Science) she sat far away from me. I dreaded when we switched classrooms. It meant her being in another desk group not close to mine. She had a best friend, Chantel, who she got along with fine. She also, Chantel, was a classroom girlfriend. They were legit, meaning they were true, they kissed each other in the classroom, and made known to the world that they loved each other. I struggled to make my relationship known to others. Other than our special moments when we cradled each other while she was on my lap (we did not have much privacy). The days when we did not touch each other I was frustrated, sad, and down. I desperately wanted to find a way to hug her by the end of the day. I wandered around her desk group, throwing away the trash, or hanging by the door (sharpening my pencil). She looked over her shoulder while I walked behind her. She looked behind both her shoulders wondering if I would (and waiting for me to) touch her. I wanted to and that was my aim. I wanted to let her know that we were still together. I wanted to leave with my heart in one piece. Her eyes always told me “Come” and “I love you.” 

            I never found her again. I never took control like I should. I never could give her the love she and I deserved. She is lost now to me. I have hope I will find her, hopefully soon. I hope she has pitbulls and still runs from them. I hope she is a mom. I hope she is happy. I want to tell her that day meant nothing to me. I saw you in danger Bree (I want to tell her). I never wanted you to be alone. I should have called you. I should have taken you away from that man. I should have forgiven you and talked to you. I want to say in this letter if you read this that I want to meet. I want to know if we can sip hot chocolate. I want to know what kind of seafood you like. I want to know what time you sleep. I want to know if you drive your kids to school. I want to know your husband. I want to know your kids. I want to know if you remember my mom. I need to know grace. I want to know if you like beer and what kind. I want to know if you like New York City. I want to know if I should go back to Chicago. I want to know if you have been to California. I want to let you know that I love my mom. I want to let you know that I love you as well. I want to tell you that I have been reading Thomas Pynchon and Gravity’s Rainbow. It is non-sensical in the way that I understand the novel is supposed to make sense only if you follow one plot. I have also started Othello by William Shakespeare. I want to tell you I understand the roles are changed. Do you remember when I read Harry Potter aloud? Do you remember the vocabulary words we had to write every morning, and the sentences, paragraphs, and stories we had to write? I liked that part of our classroom routine the most. I want to tell you that we are thirty-five years old (you are thirty-four). I want to tell you I met a girl in student-teaching and her name was Destiny. I want to tell you I write narratives. I found a girl in San Francisco from the suburbs of Chicago that I met ten years ago. I recognized her right away, I want to tell you we are not lost. I want to tell you I need to write. I want to tell you I want to learn how to write. In order for me to write I need to read more. I have to finish the novel I am reading. I want to know how to write a serious novel. I want to write what I read. When will I get to that level? I want to tell you there is a plot for our story. It has not ended but it began.  

            I want to tell you that I passed seventh-grade and went onto eight. I got transferred to Mr. P’s classroom at the request of my mom. You probably saw me and this is known information as you remember. He was the teacher of M., my eldest brother, and my mom wanted some continuance. My sister also transferred to his classroom two years later. I also made it to high school. I know we wanted to wear the purple Bowen High School shirts for the eight-grade Rising Program, but they discontinued the program in our eighth grade year. I made it to Bowen, at least to the campus. I went to Chicago Discovery Academy: CDA. I am not sure where you went to high school. Maybe you went to Bowen as well. I want to let you know that I made it to college, but I also want to tell you I skipped my freshman year at Bowen. I went to Carver 

Military Academy. It was alright. I had a job as a junior lifeguard at sports 37 with After School Matters, the after school job program at age fourteen. We had to get a work permit because we were under sixteen. I swam and swam afraid to sink in the school’s pool. I could never float without foot fins although I could swim from one end to the other login diagonally. I enjoyed my first year there although I wanted to come back home and go to our neighborhood school. I want to let you know that I applied and got into The University of Illinois at Springfield. I liked my time there. I met my first roommate and friend K. there. I also rode the train, the long Amtrak ride from Chicago to Springfield. I also wrote for the student newspaper. I met neat people there. The Black students on campus did not get a lot of support although some persevered and came back for sophomore year. I then went The Ohio State University in Columbus, Ohio. I spent a year there and then transferred happily to Northern Illinois University in Dekalb, IL. I went to school to come back home. I came back home after college at the age of twenty-three. I spent a year at home then moved to Albany Park. I moved around the city. I also visited Dekalb again a couple of times. I joined a frat. I had a girlfriend. I went to Northeastern Illinois University. I worked at Wal-Mart. I bussed tables at Gino’s East in downtown. I kept visiting my mom in South Chicago. I keep looking for you and thought I would run into you. I want to let you know that I don’t have kids. I want to tell you that I want to be a father. There is a possibility I will be living in South Chicago soon. I will probably see you soon. I want to let you know I miss you. I have been to Mireles Academy again. I once went into the Assembly Hall to see a performance of my nephew Dan for a concert. The room looked and smelled the same. There was not any noise since they could not figure out the sound system. I remember Mr. L. was trying to fix his laptop. I went with my mom at the top of the hall waiting for the concern to start. They never let us up there. Now I was up there. 

 I never doubted our ability to get along. I once doubted our ability to share a kiss. I never doubted our ability to touch. I once doubted whether we should be together, but those thoughts went away. I wonder when this obsession over the past will simmer down. Will meeting calm our enthusiasm over each other, or merely increase it? What if we do not have plans? What if I meet you on the train? What if we meet and get along without knowing each other’s names? How sweet will that be? What if I say hi and you don’t? That would be painful. What I have written before has happened? And dreams that I write down never turn true. Only the dreams that I have and do not write down turn true. Do you ever have an image and then that image turns true. You discover how wrong you are. But you can avoid these images. We have free will. Our free will comes from Above, from our Creator, from ourselves. We have the free will to sin. But what is sinning? Sinning is doing wrong and going against the image of right which is God. Will you harm someone when you know you are harming? What will become of teachers? How will they teach? What will they teach?  

            Sincerely,  

            Rodrigo Haro 

Columbus, Ohio

  Columbus, Ohio

By Rodrigo Haro 

In memoriam of my faithful departed niece Penelope Chanel Vitela (March 29, 2018 ~ November 25, 2018) Eternal Rest Grant Unto Her and Let the Perpetual Light Shine Upon Her. 

I was in Ohio when Barack Obama got elected. The people celebrating the election jumped in the campus pond. They undressed to their underwear and dove in. The campus, and Columbus Police officers were on horseback. They were doing nothing. They were watching. The students pulled off their shirts, the girls took their clothes as well, got down to their bikinis, and jumped in the almost freezing water. This was winter. Some people wore tape shoes. They wrapped upside down tape on their feet, and crawled around the yard. I walked back to my small room in an apartment that I was sharing with other people. I saw two girls walking sadly. They said something uplifting and kept walking. They were wearing John McCain shirts. They said something similar to ”They’re not with me.” They were wearing different shirts than the Obama shirts.  

I went back to my room, and thought about God. 

My life was changing in Ohio. I was once drunk and walked to a hospital looking to check myself in. I walked in and asked to use the bathroom. I needed to live. I did not need to die. I kept walking and thinking. I eventually made it back to my room. I was safe in place. Life was not bothersome. I always saw the girl from across the hall. I also attended church every Sunday. I prayed. I stared at the big screen. Mass was short. After one of the Masses I went to a reception. 

I was thinking of Chicago when I was in Ohio. I used to go to the Newman Center, a church run by the Paulist fathers. There was a big screen TV in the middle of the church. I sat in the back. The sermon was telecast on the television. The priests poised questions and ideas on the screen. The church was a proscenium theater. I went every Sunday. Some days I went during the week. I saw families and friends at the church. I rarely spoke. I went to confession. I wanted to inquire about joining the Paulist fathers. There was a man who was working on his ordination. He wanted to make it big. There was a reception. I attended and ate what I ate. Sandwiches and drinks were served. I went in. I wanted to talk to him and congratulate him. I spoke to him and asked him a question. I wanted to speak to the rest of the fathers. I went to the street after praying. I wanted to make sure I was okay. I was spiritual like my mom told me. “Tienes que tener temor de Dios,” she always said. I always try to follow that guidance. I wanted to stay with them. I saw food. I saw drinks. I saw commanderie. I saw myself doing me. I wanted some guidance. I went home and prayed. I saw myself being part of them. I felt myself going in a fruitful way. I saw myself in a way completely in God’s plan. I wanted to know how to join the church. I wanted to join others. I wanted to be with them and know what I wanted to know. I wanted to belong and know where to go. I needed to be with them. I needed to stay put. I wanted to know how to join the church from upstairs. I wanted to know where to go. I wanted to know what to do. I wanted to walk. The church was big. It was huge. It had a big altar. 

I missed Chicago. My brother visited me once at Columbus. He dropped off my mail. I could not catch him and say hi. He drove off in his van with his friends. I caught my mail in the mailbox where he left it and did not catch him. I saw him drive away and get into the van. Him and I never got along. I went back to Chicago a year later at the end of the school year. I went back to my mom’s and reapplied again to Northern Illinois University. I was accepted. I packed my things at the end of the summer and moved to Dekalb, IL. I went back to Chicago and made up with my mom. I even got a summer job. I knew I had to persevere. I told my mom, “I am going back to school.” I went ahead and got an apartment, a room, in a three story house. God bless. Amen.  

My mom tried to control my sister. I tried to wait for her in grammar school to walk her home. My mom used to tell me to wait for her. I waited for her as much as I could. One time I did not walk her home because my teacher Mrs. C (Eternal Rest) from seventh grade told me to load books into her trunk. I loaded milk crates of books. I then walked back home and my mom yelled at me for not walking her home. I was with my friend Ruben as well and I ran home telling him with a high voice, “ I have to go home,” “Wait,” Ruben yelled. 

One other time my mom yelled at me for smoking. I smoked a cigar from my friend’s grandfather (Eternal Rest) and went home smelling like smoke. My mom berated me for not getting home early. “We had a doctor’s appointment,” she said. God help me. Amen. 

Idea of Liberty (Freedom)

The idea of liberty was put into place after the financial crisis of 2008 and the ensuing protest of Occupy Wall Street. People were suddenly aware that their money was gone. The Occupy Wall Street movement and protest involved people of my generation, Millennials, the generation before me (Generation X) and after Generation Z and other others occupying Wall Street St in New York City for a common cause. They marched, but mostly they blocked people from entering work. These people build camps, got tents, and chanted “We are the 99%!”. People, financial workers, were seen carrying their boxes full of desk stuff out of their offices. The CEO’s kept most of their money, and Barack Obama bailed them out with more money. He passed the Bailout Package with Congress. The banks were saved. Fred Bermanke was on TV talking to Congress and others asking for money. My friend Jim lost his money after the crash again. He told me one time while studying. “I lost it all,” he said. “I then took an opportunity to go back to school,” he said. 

The idea of freedom (the idea of life) was questioned once again. Around this time, people were dying at the hands of the police. The police in New York City killed an unarmed citizen who begged for his life, “I can’t breathe!” was the rallying cry of many protesters. We protested his death all over the country. In Chicago the Police shot and killed a young black teen, Laquan McDonald (RIP). George Floyd also passed away (RIP). The city was in a mass protest. He also said, “ I can’t breathe'' similar to Eric Garner (RIP) in 2014. Breonna Taylor passed away (RIP) in 2020. The police shot her too. A mass protest ensued because of her as well. In Mexico a group of students went missing in Iguala. The students were pursued by military police and criminal organizations, they were gunned down. It is right to fight for the right to life. It is wrong to take someone’s else’s life. The idea of ethics stems from these protests. We protested the War of Iraq as a generation as well. We marched the streets all over the world chasing no to War. We marched against sexual violence against women. The Me Too! Movement was created in 2006 by Tamara Burke, a Harvard researcher. It spread fast on Twitter, a social media platform, it also got its start on MySpace, in 2017. People, mostly young women of our generation, posted their stories of sexual abuse and survivorship followed by the the word MeToo! In 2016. These protests were ethical issues, issues of right and wrong, were put into place and front-center as a means to give response to the crisis.

In Chicago, the Chicago Public Schools CEO resigned over the right to be safe. Many children were abused by security guards in Chicago as our CEO announced her resignation. The right to an education was questioned. In 2008, the Chicago Public Schools closed more than fifty schools to transfer children to other schools and neighborhoods. The schools were closed or re-used as other schools. The idea of Art was exemplified by the creation of the Hope poster by Shepard Fairy. He created the poster for the election cycle. The poster garnered critical attention. The poster became the most famous painting of Barack Obama and his slogan “Hope”, and created many fans of Barack Obama. 

I was in Ohio alone. The idea of happiness was with me. I was not happy. I was sad. At the time, I was mad. Back in South Chicago I was happy. I was happy in Springfield as well. I drank on my back porch multiple times. I drank and got mad. There were other times when I was not happy. I wrote in Ohio. I wrote a story about the campus. I submitted it to The New Yorker. It was not accepted. I received an email back telling me it was not accepted. In Springfield, I wrote as well and submitted a story to The Alchemist. The story was not accepted. The editor of the literary journal told me, “writing takes time.” The summer before I started a story about my Theater professors. I lost it. The summer before, I started the first page of my novel Gangero. I was ready to make Art. I wrote the story in my basement on my laptop. I wrote the first pages of Gangero on loose-leaf paper. I also painted years later. I painted in my backyard. I went to therapy at Mercy Hospital. My art therapist showed me how to make Art through painting. I painted in my backyard and my neighbor Ari said to me. “I like that one”. I submitted my story to the literary arts journal SEEDS. The journal and editors accepted it. I attended a reception. My William Shakespeare professor gave me a certificate. The story, “Report Card Day” appeared in the journal. The literary arts journal was published in 2012. The paintings were painted in 2013. I wrote the theater story in 2007. I wrote for the student newspaper, The Journal. I enjoyed my art in the newspaper. I attended meetings with friends. I attended staff meetings where I did not speak. My Art was created through journalism. I published articles on education, racism, and human rights. I wrote an article about speech. I wrote an article about a student. He was tased by a police officer. He asked for the microphone to ask Mitt Romney a question. He screamed out, “Don’t tase me bro!” I also wrote an article on the environmental degradation caused by The Coca-Cola company. I attended a class for my World Literature course. My classmate recognized my writing. He congratulated me on the article. The article was on race. He mentioned that he had an argument about the content. “I told the guy you’re wrong,” he said. In high school I played the guitar. I attended a guitar workshop with Mr. S (Eternal Rest). He gave us brand new guitars. He taught us major chords. He gave us chord charts. In South Chicago I published my first collection of short stories. I pushed the “publish” button. I published it in the memory of my faithful departed niece (Eternal Rest). I sat in my room in Albany Park. I sent a copy to my mom. I went to the apartment to rent it. I walked all the way to South Chicago. I sent a message to rent the apartment. I received a response once I got to South Chicago. I went back on the train and dropped the money. I then went back to South Chicago. I went back to the empty house that my sister had emptied out. She packed her bags, and she moved in with my mom. The kids as well. My niece (Eternal Rest) passed away. I kept writing. I survived. I made Art. I choose life. 

I went into the house after her passing. I saw God. 

Truth needs to be told. There is one truth. The truth lies in faith. Before Ohio, I was a student at The University of Illinois at Springfield. I was living with my girlfriend in my off-campus apartment. She used to walk back to her dorm occasionally. She used to say hi to her roommate. Her roommate cried one time. We were trying to make love. I was lying on top of her, and looked up. We heard her crying. “What’s wrong with her?” My girlfriend asked. “I’m not sure,” I said. We hurt her. I am sorry. Ethically, it was wrong to have sex with her in the room. Before our relationship, she was a really good friend. I knew God and I knew I was wrong. The truth lies in God and He took my girlfriend away. I ran away to Ohio the next year. I  emailed her from Ohio State asking how she was. She emailed me back stating that she was okay. I had faith in her. Our faith turned to hope. Our hope turned to love. We stopped loving at the end. We still have faith. Truth lies on knowledge. The knowledge was that I was not supposed to isolate the roommate. The reality of the situation was that I was in a relationship (which was hurting the roommate). Our existence at the time was known through our love. We existed therefore we loved each other. I saw J. years later. I met her for dinner. I drove three hours to Round Lake Beach. She cried in front of me. She cried on the table. I held her.  

My sister changed after the accident. She was always on her own. She was always by my side, or at least I tried to keep her by my side. My mom carried her how she could. She had weaknesses. Her weakness was running away. In college, she dropped me off at The University of Illinois at Springfield. She told me, “You’re going to afford this?” looking at the bathroom. 

“Yeah, financial aid,” I said. A year later she was with child. Her first child, and our first nephew. By then I had come back to South Chicago for my first summer vacation. She carried her baby how she could;. My nephew, D., used to cry at night. My sister never got up to feed him. I used to knock on the door lightly. 

“Chacha get the kid,” I used to say. She never got up. The baby would simmer down. She would get up the next day and carry him. My sister ran away two years before that. I used to go to work throughout the day. I used to come home at night. I came home after working at Sears in the shoe department. I also worked as a busser. The bussing job was the best. I got hired by the restaurant owner. I wiped down the counters with a rag. I also refilled tables with cutlery. I took the bins to the dishwasher. I got paid in tips and my weekly check. I struggled to keep that job. The restaurant manager, once said, “Do me a favor, learn the menu.” 

“Okay,” I said. 

“It would be a good idea. You can apply to be a server,” he said. 

I worked the rest of that summer. I studied the menu. The restaurant served diner food. The restaurant also served jewish delicacies. The restaurant served Matzo Ball soup. We refilled the Matzo ball soup container with new balls every thirty minutes. I carried my red bucket and disinfected tables. I also filled the bus bins with dirty plates. My back hurt a lot. I got to know the servers well. I got along with one of the waitresses. She was flirty. She was Latina. She spoke Spanish to me. She introduced herself to me as Blessed. 

“You have to hit with your heel,” she said. 

I kicked the side bar under the table. I then got up and folded the table. 

“Thanks,” I said. Her eyes were beautiful. I fooled around the restaurant. I kept talking to her. She used to hug one of the other bussers. I stared. Her smile was contagious.  I kept working. I went home early one day after breakfast and lunch. I got there at around 4. I did not know where to go. I wandered around downtown. I walked out of 11th and Wabash and walked right. I crossed Roosevelt Road, and there I saw the Red Line. I did not get into the Red Line. I was walking. I started the first pages of my first novel Gangero that summer. The idea of the novel (was foreign yet familiar). I read Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison in my A.P English class. Mr. Abrams assigned it to us. “Draw a picture of the end,” he said. 

I read the instruction on the assignment sheet. I drew a fence and Milkman and Guitar leaping over the fence. I drew them facing each other. I read the whole novel. I also read The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. Year later, I read Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. My English professor also assigned other novels. Years later I read Sons and Lovers by D. H. Lawrence. The idea of the novel was familiar to me. I also read Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. My professor explained the novel as a historical fact. The novel is also a product of genre. The idea of a novel follows a plot. The idea of the novel started with Daniel Defoe and his novel Robinson Crusoe. Later in my third graduate school program, I wrote about the idea of the novel. The novel is an experiment in literature. Miguel Cervantes wrote Don Quijote. It was hailed as a masterpiece. The idea of the novel starts with Daniel Defeo. The idea of a tragedy stems from Aristotle and his narratives of tragedy, art, and narratives, and language in Poetics. He wrote about the tenets of tragedy, a reversal and a recognition. He wrote about the need to write the answer to who did what? Also, the answer to the question, what happened? Pushes plot forward together with the first question. He wrote about tragedians. He wrote that a tragedy does not have episodes or details. The plot should push the novel, he said. A writer should not rely on deus ex machina. A writer should not insert himself into his text. Further, a tragedy should instill fear and pity. The idea of the novel stems from all these things yet is an idea on its own. The idea of the novel was born before the novel was born. The idea of the novel takes the short story and elongates it. It produces a novel from itself. 

If we think about truth, ethics, and God we find a way to knowledge, reality, and existence. We have knowledge about our life which is our reality and our existence relies on a Higher Being. The truth is God, the knowledge we have is to do right, and God is our Father (coming full circle). The truth is that I have a sister who I adore. The ethical question stems from our knowledge of doing right and wrong by each other’s side, and God provided back to each other side. I suffered in Ohio, I was not right in Ohio, and I found back to her through God. I had not forgiven my sister or her misdeeds (for running from my mom) actions that she had committed seven years before. I turned twenty-one in Ohio. I was in high school when she ran away. I went to a bar for my twenty-first birthday. I told one of my co-workers that it was my birthday. He visited me at my second job at a restaurant. I said hi. 

“Do you have to work?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” I said. He stared at me. 

“It sucks,” he said. 

“Yes,” I said. He walked away and I saw him the next day. 

“We finished all the beer,” he said. 

“Oh, cool,” I said. I grabbed a small cup. I tasted the chicken noodle soup. 

I went to bars on my twenty-first birthday. I bought beer and shors for other people. I went to a bar. I ate a Rueben. I also had an Irish coffee. I climbed the stairs back up to the sidewalk. I went to another bar. This bar was a dance bar. I went to the second floor. I drank a couple of beers. I met a Navy veteran. He told me he was a couple of years younger than me. I drank with him. One time I saw a girl on top of the bar. He was shaking her butt. I thought about Chicago. I was angry at my sister and in pain. I once bought a girl a drink. She took it and never talk to me again. She walked away. She told her friend, “that one,” pointing to me. I went out to the sidewalk and cried. I screamed out for my sister. I kept thinking about me crying by myself in my bedroom. I thought about honor. I thought about my mom. I felt rage, pain, and sadness. I called out to her and I needed to understand. I went to my apartment and stood on the back porch and screamed out. I screamed out to the skies knowing I was wrong, knowing I was calling out God in my rage. I knew I had to exist with her not apart. I called my mom sporadically. I called her from a pay phone. “Estoy solo,” I said. I was crying. I told my mom I did not have money. “Yo se,” she said. “Cuánto necesitas?” she asked. She deposited one-hundred dollars in my account soon after. I hunged up the phone. I walked back to my room. God bless. Amen. 

St. Francis de Sales bless my writing. Amen. 

I spent the rest of the year in Ohio. I went to the Quad one of my last days on campus and wrote. I wrote a short story that I submitted to The New Yorker. I did receive a response back. They read my story. Before the junior year at Ohio State, and before my sophomore year at Springfield, I spent the summer in Chicago in my neighborhood South Chicago (on the Southeast Side) and met a girl. She was from Slag on the Southeast Side, south of South Chicago in what the city terms South Deering. Slag was familiar to me. It is where my grandparents (Eternal rest) lived together with my uncles, wife, and kids. It is also where my childhood friend lived. I met her in South Chicago three houses from my home. She was in friends garage. We were drinking. “Hi,” I said. “Hey, my name is Ashley,” she said. “I am Rodrigo,” I said. We were already pretty inebriated. We decided to go to a bar. We climbed into cars. I slipped myself into the car with her. “No, no, what are you doing?” she asked. She was giggling. I kissed her deep. I stared at her big eyes, and stared at her lower lip and kissed her. She was ecstatic. She looked with me with huge eyes craving more. After the bar where a black guy tried to sell us marijuana and I bought a dime, we went to her house. She was house sitting for her aunt. She sneaked me in. I got naked. “You’re naked!” she said. “Yeah,” I said. We made love. In our young age, we were lustful and lovable. We were in love. I smoked a joint afterwards. She told me stay. “I can hide you,” she said. “I can offer you cereal,” she said. “Okay,” I said. I did not know what to do. I left to my house. She closed the door after me. I saw her again a couple days later. She came to my mom’s home. I sneaked her into the basement. There was a mattress. I laid her on the mattress and made love. She moaned. Afterwards she said, “ I want to go home and wash.” I walked her home. She texted me later that day. “I took Plan B,’ she said in her text. I said okay. She had asked me if she should take the pill. I offered her my advice. I should have kept her. I saw her again at her campus, The University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. I took a Greyhound bus and found her. She was in her apartment. I made love to her again. She was having a party with her roommates and friends. I did not want to let her go. I went back to Springfield and my roommate picked me up. I saw him at the dorm. “I went to visit a girl,” I said. I texted her when I got back. I wanted to go back. I felt broken. I laid on my dining room floor. I texted to see her. “I want to see you,” I said through the test. “You’re gonna go to the party and get high,” she texted back. “Do you want to go to me?” I asked. “I can text you while you are partying,” She said okay. I missed her. I went to a party with my high school friends and got drunk. I called her drunkenly. I missed her. I texted again when I was in my dorm. I wanted to see her. I called. I want to see you, I said. 

The idea of news was detrimental. We relied on the news like Fox News, CNN, and MSNBC to tell us what to believe. The news got less biased. The War in Iraq created a news cycle that told us news from the War from body counts, battles, and atrocities. Soldiers swept through homes thought to belong to enemies. Whole families were killed. The body count was shown daily in the news cycle. The Guantanamo Prison was on the news. Soldiers took pictures of them torturing and piling up prisoners. We saw on television how the statue of Saddam Hussein crashed on the floor. American soldiers pulled him down. The War in Afghanistan was a far flung conclusion, second best, and the battles in that land were not calculated or shown. The news was used to captivate the audience and show the effort of war. The news also showed the mass scale protests before the War started. There is and was oil in Iraq. The War kept going. My friend Adrain and I tried to join the military. We were sitting on the porch. We said no. The War was our War, the news said. We all struggled to understand. When John Kerry was running for President I was in Springfield. I was with a new girlfriend. I wrote about the War. I missed my sister. I spent time alone writing. I wrote my articles at times with my girlfriend. I spent my sophomore year there. In Springfield, I spent my last year, my second year, writing. I did not think I would go to Ohio the next year. I arrived in Columbus and called the rooming house. I kept writing, and living there. The housekeeper smoked a lot of weed. I called and told him that I was with my bags. My bags were on High Street. The house was on 4th street. I walked with my things to the house. I made it to class everyday. I took a women’s literature class. I also took a World Religions class. I saw my co-workers at the class. “Mr. anti-social,” she called me when she saw me again at work. “You have the World Religions class, right,” she asked me. “Yes,” I said. We ate pasta with cheese. She was pretty and skinny. She wore make-up. She loved me. I was close to another co-worker, she was close and dear, she was the friend and roommate of another co-worker. She was beautiful. I talked to her around the salad bar. The bar where I was during a football game was close to my apartment. I drank a couple of beers and went home. I drank everyday while in Ohio. I wanted to go back to Chicago. I thought about Chicago everyday. I went back to Chicago late. I went back in the summer. I took a plane.