Chasing Shadows Read Free

night person,
you dodged a bullet and you certainly just saved his sorry
ass. Disgusted, I head to the check out. Better not to get
perishables anyway, since doing so would mean I'd need to go
straight home and put them away. I prefer not to get home until
sometime after sun up. I load my items onto the conveyor: a can of
sweet potatoes, microwave mac-n-cheese, grape nuts and corned beef.
That's right, I'm shopping to fool the feds. Just to round it out I
throw a lighter and a pack of mints on the belt. The cashier says
something he is paid to say. I can't hear him over the old
Metallica song that's blaring in my ears so I say "Great, Thanks."
I deem this is probably appropriate, seeing as he doesn't stop and
stare at me.
    Outside I stoop down and load my groceries into
my messenger bag before lighting a cigarette. There's still three
or four hours before sunrise so I start a slow walk towards the
nearest residential street. After about a block I stop. I look
around to make sure there's no Meat Shopper. Now I remove my ear
buds. It's better to be able to hear at night, alone, in the
city.
    Eventually my feet take me downtown to Grant
Park and the memorial of Lincoln, or somebody larger than life,
cast in brass and sitting in that proud, dignified position
reserved for statues. Have you ever sat like that? I ask myself.
Back straight, feet hip width part, hands on knees. The brass
figure is situated on a stone courtyard thing which is shaped like
a half circle with benches and a rail lining the circumference. I
cross behind the statue and sit on the railing, with my back to
Lincoln, looking out over the rolling grass of the park. The lights
of the monument shine from below me over the lawn. They cast little
rays of the brightest green. It has always seemed to me, when I sit
just here, that the lawn is a still green ocean and I am looking
out from the deck of a petrified ship. It feels easy and peaceful,
and also like something great is about to happen. But then I am a
person who is plagued with fruitless expectation. It seems life is
forever about to begin, that something special and magical, or
scary and death defying is trying to unfold; must be the brain
chemicals.
    I sit here smoking cigarettes, looking at my
pretend ocean from my perch on my make believe ship, until my leg
starts to fall asleep. I'm just stretching it out when I hear foot
falls behind me. I look back, past Lincoln, but it's so well lit
here on the monument that the world beyond is all ink and shadows.
Suddenly, taken with a reasonable fear of discovery, I hop down
behind the railing and press my body against the wall. The
footsteps stop. I hold my breath. Were the sounds real? Do shadows
make sounds now? Silence stretches out for a tense, little eternity
then the footsteps start again. They're closer now. I take a deep
breath. I'm not sure if I'm more scared to meet a phantom or a real
person at this time of night. So, I bolt, running flat out over the
ocean lawn towards the sidewalk a block away.
    "Hey!" A female voice calls out.
    I keep running, not looking back.
    "Hey, Meegan, you moron, look
around."
    I stop and turn, feeling stupid and relieved.
"Hey what's up?" I call, walking casually back. It's a girl from
work, but I don't remember her name, and it's too late to ask.
We've been sort-of friends now for weeks. The girl has long,
straight, black hair and is supernaturally thin. At least she's
also short, which lessens the blow of her being both pretty and
nice.
    "Who'd you think I was?" She asks with a
grin.
    "Fuck if I know." I smile back.
    The girl, who I secretly refer to as Shelving
Fairy since she works with me on the night shift shelving books,
shoves her hands nervously into her pockets. "Come here often?"
Shelving Fairy is trying to joke but her tone is tense.
    I consider asking her what's wrong, but I
figure if Shelving Fairy wants me to know, Shelving Fairy will tell
me. So instead I cock and eyebrow and ask: "What's a nice girl like
you