My TV tells me that the Midwest will be colder than parts of Antarctica this week. It tells
me that homeless people in Chicago are bracing.
When I’m cold, I come inside. I make hot chocolate with marshmallows. When I’m cold, I uncurl from the weight
of my blankets, turn the thermostat up a few notches, pick something new on Netflix. What do I have
To brace against but a frozen screen? In 2017, my family took a trip to Chicago after
Christmas because why not. It was the first time
I had seen a bus freeze in the middle of the street. Outside the stores, snow filled the streets like a flood
and the ice in the wind stung my eyes while we waited our turn to get inside.
It was three degrees and we took off our coats to eat pizza in a hip restaurant and then we went back
to our hotel but not before stopping at the 7/11 for some playing cards. Inside,
There was an old woman bent over a shopping cart filled with things: too-thin
pillows, empty soda bottles, Walmart bags with holes, a pink shoe. She was sleeping
While standing, right there in the candy aisle. It was three degrees that night and the gas station was warm
and safe, but I remember the gas station clerk going up to her and tapping her awake, he said Hey
Hey ma’am? You have to leave the store if you aren’t a customer. Ma’am? And she just opened her eyes and looked
at him for a second and then looked out the window, where the ice was coming down in sheets
Outside the frozen glass screen and then she wheeled herself out into it. That night it was three degrees but we ate
pizza in the warmth of the hotel room, the sound of ice tapping against the windows lulling us to sleep.
My TV tells me it will be twenty degrees below zero
in Chicago on Tuesday. I can’t help but to wonder, from my couch, if that woman will
Be in that 7/11 again or if she’ll be in a shelter or if she’ll be dead. Outside, it starts
to snow. I put on fuzzy socks and light the fire.