Sixteen and Reckless

The look on my Mom’s face was priceless. “Stephanie, I never realized you could lie to me.” Her world was all but shattered as I told her of my secret adventure to Chicago that I had taken just four months after receiving my license to visit the boyfriend I’m still not supposed to date. Coming from a girl who at nearly twenty still won’t sneak a sip of a drink at the bar for fear of being caught, this memory, even years later still feels defiant. Maybe not much to an outsider looking in, but to me it was about love and recklessness.

Performing this act of defiance at sixteen, I felt like a badass. As I’ve had time to reflect on my impulsivity, I know that I made a potentially life-threatening decision. When I say life-threatening, I mean it in more ways than one. My life would literally have been threatened if my parents had found out about my secret trip to the windy city.

Spending day after day in a town of roughly 35,000, where the most impressive attraction to a teen is the Starbucks on the edge of town (notice, the way out), doesn’t exactly properly prepare one to visit a large city. With a Starbucks on every corner, cars that don’t yield to pedestrians, and shop after shining shop to replace the oh-so-opposite-of-fabulous one corridor “Westwood Mall”, a small town girl (as you may imagine) has much to take into account upon entering a real city. The experience of this small-town-girl-gone-cosmopolitan first occurred at sixteen. 

My boyfriend, then of two years, was living and working in Chicago. A three plus hour drive from Jackson would mean crossing two state lines and driving in heavy Chicago traffic. With the experience of rush hour in downtown Jackson under my belt, I figured I could handle Chicago. Considering if my parents found out about the excursion I’d lose my life, what threat did a little downtown traffic pose?

I fibbed and said I would be shopping out of town with a girlfriend and returning home to stay the night with her. I remember waiting and waiting for my parents to call and ask why they had seen Drew driving around town when we were supposedly together. Thankfully, karma was working with me that day, Bob and Pam never so much as sent me a text.

I set out with just enough of the then popular Camel No. 9’s to get me through the long and lonely drive. Three CD’s and half a pack later, I was learning quickly that the Chicago speed limit was a myth, even as far out of the city as the skyway! Apparently, 80 was the new 55!

After being hit on in line at the toll booth (obviously cigarettes and blonde hair turn on Chicagoan boys) I finally made my way through the tight streets of the suburbs wondering why Trevor had told me he lived in Chicago. In my mind, being able to see the Sears Tower from your balcony didn’t count. Gated car lots and store fronts created a big city anxiety unknown to a girl from a family who never locks their door. Finally arriving, relief washed over me as my high school sweetheart ran out to parallel park my car.

Trevor had been living in Chicago for three months at that time and was eager to get me downtown. Also a small town boy, the lure of Michigan Avenue was undeniable. 

No longer the little girl in the Colombia jacket begging her mother to take her into the American Girl store, I felt the epitome of a grownup, strolling along the beautifully lit streets with my man on my arm. 

After a bit of  delicious window shopping at Coach, Ralph Lauren, and Tiffany’s, we settled on the Grand Luxe Cafe for our dinner.

As we fought through the Friday night dinner crowd, I was not in the least inconvenienced by the sign on the side doors asking us to please use the revolving door. This was just another welcomed step in my big city training. Inside, the dim lighting and close contact, beautiful trench coats and older couples left me feeling both silly and girly, yet grown up and in the right place.

The anticipation of the cozy booth awaiting us in the floor to ceiling glass room Trevor had requested was almost more important than the meal itself. Being one of the many, anonymous, that night is something that I have come to long for. Though the boy I loved drew me to the city, the more intense love I felt in leaving was for the city itself.

The meal at the Grand Luxe of course went above any expectation I had had. To be sitting across from my best friend, to be watching the lovely people walking with their expensive shopping bags, and to feel the magic of the city lights was the beginning of the end for Jackson and I. 

A few blocks off Michigan Ave. Trevor stopped in front of a Starbucks and ushered me in. Knowing already to order me the nonfat toffee nut latte, I had a moment of peace to reflect. I had come here for love and to go against the grain, but I left with a new direction for the rest of my life in mind.

       Walking back into the crisp November air, we stopped in front of one of the thousands of buildings to smoke a final cigarette. The taste of nicotine mixed with coffee on my tongue, the taste of young love in my heart, and the new taste of the city filling my young mind took me over. As I tossed the burning remnant to the ground I knew that I hadn’t had quite enough, this was just the beginning for me.