the bucktown rounds

7/29/2019 The Bucktown Rounds

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THE BUCKTOWN ROUNDS

By

Edgar Alberto Bajaña

Word Count: 2200

Written: 1/31/11

On the east edge of Western Boulevard, Laura Weatherhead’s eyes blink with every car rushing past her body, blowing a burst of evening air through her graying hair. Laura

looks westward across the street at her husband. Her mind ignites. Why doesn’t he just

cross right now? Why is he just staring at me? Instead of thinking that her husband was

admiring her from across the wide boulevard, she thinks about something else that always

simmers at the base of her soul. Laura thinks about the last decade she spent laboring

away in the mornings, days, and evenings within the yellow brick building standing

behind her. The old yellow brick building that was once a factory was the only one on

the block that was not yet developed into condominiums, thanks to her. She knew it was

only a matter of time before that would not be true. The color of the yellow bricks

tighten the muscles in her right shoulder and makes her clench the pink newspaper in her

right fist even tighter. She looks over at her husband again to distract herself. Finally,

he’s at least made it to the middle of the street. He seems to be carrying two bottles of

black wine underneath his arm, a wide silver plate of appetizers covered in plastic, and a

glass bottle of orange juice in his left hand. Laura notices his exasperated face and

smirks a little, making sure her face did not reveal itself enough for her husband to notice

what she really thought. A little hard work doesn’t hurt.

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Len steps onto the sidewalk and looks at Laura with a face of disbelief. She

replies without words and only matches his look by lifting her brow to denote his

accomplishment without any sympathetic concern. Her response of indifference to him

that once heightened his temper like a great bonfire in the night sky was now like a

lighted match blown out by the windy night. Now, he ignores the small part of himself

that cares to know what she cares for really in her world. Instead, Len looks down at hiswife’s limbs and notices a raincoat underneath her left arm and a pink newspaper tightly

gripped in her right hand. She’s tense, already. He reasons with the worst part of himself

that she’s has been through so much in the last couple months. He notices the sweat from

her palm running outside her grasp and stains the outer layer of the pink newspaper with

a darkening grayness. Len never says a word to her. Instead, he puts down everything he

lugged across the street and grabs his wife right hand. She looks at his silver hair, not

knowing what to expect. Len opens his wife’s right hand and begins to peel the wet

newspaper off her palm. Len glances at the impression of black print remaining on his

wife’s aging skin. After his gentle act, they looked into each other’s eyes and see the rest

of tonight unfold as if they were no longer the protectors of their piece of land on thisearth. Each saw into the each other’s eyes the mistake that led them to this moment on the

sidewalk.

For more than a decade, Laura has put more thought into the yellow brick

building on the Eastside of the Western Boulevard, than into her husband who lived with

her on the West. It was her building and everyone in the community understood that. For

Laura, nothing existed besides the yellow brick building, not even a child of her own. At

first, Len admired her passion and sacrifice. Because of his infatuation with what she

stood for, he had fallen into the line of great men behind great women. In the beginning,

they initiated the community project together. By the end, it was more Laura’s than his. In

the darkening street, Len saw in Laura’s eye his building gone, his woman lost, and hischild never to be.

At the same moment of Len’s realization, Laura felt close to being where she

needs to be. Tonight the local Councilman visits with her and the Committee to receive

an award. To herself, she was Jane Jacobs, an urban pioneer. In the end, the only thing

about Len she does see is a stamped out impression of a young man, she once knew. They

unlock their eyes and continue on without giving away what they knew in their hearts to

be the only thing to between them.

He loves her though and will always do so. Len unfolded the pink newspaper and

turned to the back page of the Bucktown Rounds. Underneath the orange lamp of the

street, Len points out to her what she spent the whole day looking at. As long as her

advertisement ran in the paper, Laura felt a little better that the Committee was still had a

breath in the public eye.

Stepping through the door, it crossed both their heads that it was wrong what they

were doing. But like every other pull of instinct they learn to ignore it.




Her committee was responsible for the building and responsible for diligently

securing the love of art by any means necessary. They ignored the condos encroaching

on their space in the city. The condo developments butted up against the little yellow brick building that stood alone. She would leave late at night and there would be

speculators hovering around waiting for the artist run establishment to go bankrupted.

They knew that this was a futile dream that is ready to blow. They just didn’t know how.

The Committee was housed in the last bastion of shelter of artist. Together, they

held what was left of a dying spirit in the neighborhood; they were being priced out of.

She just had to keep it together, just one more time. She just had to get through this

meeting for her own sanity.He had the keys and she waited for him to open the door without having to say a

word. While she waited, she noticed Old Man Crowley in the Dunkin Donuts across the

street. They looked dead at each other. She wasn’t one to back off. He went inside, while

she stayed to look back at the Old man. God there was a hate in his eyes that she could

feel from across the street.

Excuse me

Excuse me

He pulls at her raincoat. She sees a young man trying to get her attention.

Is this where, they’re going to have the committee meeting? Laura looks at him with a

strange face because she did not recognize the young man. For some reason she feltworse inside. She did not want him to attend. Everyone, who did attend was the same

usual suspects. All the committeemen were well read intellectual artistic types that

gathered to pay homage to their long dead brother: Nelson Algren.

He asked her again, but she did not want to respond.

Laura did not reply with a hello. She says

“Are you sure that you want to attend this meeting? The business of the

Committee is pretty boring.”

“Do not worry about me? What ever happens, I’ll be fine.

He didn’t know why he was there really. I some way he was trying to kill some

time after work. He liked to read. The posting in its simplicity and directness just impress

upon him curiosity.

“Maybe you should come back when you know a little more about us.”

He was just surprised to learn that their was a cult of people who revere the man

Nelson Algren like a God. He knew that these were some special people in the

neighborhood and that they would provide some type of entertainment this evening.




She looked suspicious of the unfolding event. Her eyes widen and tilted slightly

on an angle. She wasn’t staring she was in a trance. What she saw was Old man Crowley

crossing the street and heading directly in her direction. She was motionless.

Crowley tore between Laura and the young man. Pants splattered on his pants.

“Don’t trust this bitch! She doesn’t know shit about art. All she does is sell wall

space. She rents this space to make some cash for herself. You poverty pimp subsidizedyuppie, that what I call her. That is what the others think too.”

She steps inside the doorway of the building and brings that young man in and

closes the door behind her. He is still screaming away on the other side of the door.

“He’s had a couple to many drinks this evening.” She directs her new friend into

the gallery space where they all meet for the Committee.

It wasn’t until the young man sat down in the chair with everyone their, that Laura

noticed how awkward it was to have him their. It was to late to do anything else. They

were a fan club that just took themselves to seriously.

It wasn’t until everyone sat down in a small circle on folding chairs. Laura looked around

and saw the usual suspects, except for that young man. He stood out in a not so good

way.

He was young while everyone else was older. Almost everyone on the committee had

skin the color of the bones underneath their skin. She hoped that he listened to her advice

and just keep quiet. She looked at him and decided to not think about it anymore.

If she did, the speculation would drive her crazy. There was one thing that was true. He

did live in the neighborhood. He lived on the other side of the wide avenues. With persons that had it in with Laura. He lied to her to get into this committees business. She

stood at the mis with her husband at her heel. The treasurer, the committee man and the

young one.

First order of business.

It that time of the year again. March 18 th is upon us a day of celebration. It our brother’s

birthday.

In unison, all say “Nelson Algren peace be with him.

The young man’s eyes swivel with a quick swipe of the room. He sees Crowley walking

pass the window.

Under his breath, he says, “Old man still out there running around like a fool”

Do we have any volunteers this year to help with the 18th Anniversary edition of this

glorious celebration of our brother.

We got the fountain out by Milwaukee and Division. What about the Library that just

came up. We lost that one. What about the empty lot just behind us by the L tracks.




What about if we play the man with the golden arm out there. I’m sure we can get couple

to come out and have a good time watching old flicks. Even make some money the

process off the wine will serve. All donation money of course.

Were they only ones left on this block. We just got to make sure that the scarry people

from the other side don’t scare off our customers.

“What?”The young man gasp to himself in disgust.

Laura takes look at him and test him.

“Maybe you can help us with serving drinks.

The young man being agreeable says

“I do not see why not”

Laura felt more at easy with the stranger

Our listing comes up on the internet second.

The young man raises his hand. Laura says this isn’t high school, just ask your question.

She similes at her husband.“Have any of you actually met the man Nelson Algren while he was living here in

Chicago. Laura shuffled nervously in her stand and waited for some one to answer.

But even her husband looked at her for the answer.

Crowley bangs on the window and says something

The young knows exactly what he says. It wasn’t worth repeating.

She quickly ignored the young mans question by noting that needed to move along

quickly. She asked for volunteers for celebration.

Times have changed since poor people lived around here.

The young man knew who each of them were. He followed their careers in the

neighborhood

They were all landowners, smart enough to buy when dope was being sold on the corner.

They never let anybody really know that. It was a character flaw that diminished their

staunch liberal beliefs.

They were artist from the old Bucktown neighborhood who were for last mound of

ground before it was all wiped away clean by condo developments.

They were so proud of each other and tonight they were going to honor her. Actually thay

all were awarded that night.

They were so strong strong back then in the bucktown rounds.

They had the last building across the wide avenue.

Bloomsday.

Were getting priced out.




Gentrification in the neighborhood is at an all time high. The artist are getting their ass

kicked out there. SOHO Manhattan is what the place is turning into.

They all own property in the neighborhood and are involved in the local art market insome way.

Self made leftist that talk left but walk right

Lemming got the five hundred page file.

Subsidized yuppies.

Crowley brought in two gallons into the basement of the building while they were all

upstairs.

They talked about you and followed everything you do like if you were god. If they were

me they would not have to revere anything. They art not artist, they are con artist.Stealing genuine hopes from a place that is already dead and all the things walking the

street are replaced with wealthier strong things.


the bucktown rounds

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