I lie here on my bed, preparing to be magically whisked away to...Indiana. Ugh. Even saying that fills me with dread. It's like reaching the crest of the first, monstrous hill on a roller coaster. I know it's going to suck, but I'm trying to remind myself that it's going to be over soon. I live in Chicago, & my impetus for going back is a haircut. I know that that sounds insane, but it really is easier to do than going here, because my mother has a car. & the staff is aware of my physical limitations, so it's an entirely painless process. Plus, I have an easy rapport with them, so an otherwise mundane task is actually quite pleasurable. Best of all, I don't have to explain, arduously, how to cut my hair. Secondly, I've curtailed my profanity, which previously was totally uncensored, & "I let fly like Mussolini from the balcony" (as Kramer would say on Seinfeld).
However, getting this done requires going to Indiana. Now, I was raised in Indiana, so I know what it means to me... I'm not being dramatic when I say that I have an adverse physiological reaction to it. Even now, anticipating going back, the prospect gives me a sinking feeling. I know that, once I cross the border, my muscles will tense, & refuse to release, only doing so when I see that highway sign that says "Welcome to Chicago" (which was shown, from the other direction, in the beginning of the sitcom Perfect Strangers).
I didn't come to this reaction through a stance of ignorance. I was born in (Crown Point,) Indiana, & raised there. I left for college, in Connecticut, in 2000, when I graduated from high school. Crossing the state line, into Ohio, I remember feeling the immense relief, knowing that I was, officially, out. Almost two decades of pent-up frustration were lifted off, as if they were an albatross. "Finally" was the implication.
I'm not trying to be cruel, but I think that denizens there, voluntarily, remain simply because of ignorance. I know that this has a negative connotation, but I mean that they simply do not know any better. If they did, they would be stupid. (They almost certainly are, but I'm not saying that.) I do not understand how someone could grow up there & think, "Well, I think I'll stay." I'm not kidding when I say that passing the "Welcome" sign on the fringe of Chicago causes me to relax, finally.
I grew up in Hobart, which directly borders Gary, where I spent the early years of my life. The new city was like the complete opposite of the old. I mean this in the most literal, boorish way possible. Think of a photographic negative. Whereas previously everything seemed black, now it was all white. (It was "urban," which is to say "black," & Hobart was more "suburban"/"white.")
The public schools were dreadful, so, thankfully, my mother set out to entrust my education to parochial schools. Hence, I was able to establish myself away from the lowered expectations that ran rampant there. &, also, restrict my wardrobe to the dictates of the dress code, which vastly limited my options. For the most part, I strictly (pardon the pun) adhered to dress shoes, a blue button-down Oxford shirt, navy blue pants, &, up to second grade, a plain navy cross over, one-button tie.
Girls, of course, got around this code by wearing intentionally short skirts & untucking their blouses, & also unbuttoning their cuffs. (&, for high school, leaving open the first few buttons of their blouses in order to entice their male schoolmates.)
(New development: in the last half hour, it became clear that we weren't going, due to scheduling conflicts. Even though this means postponing the inevitable, I can comfortably relax, at least for a few days.)
Since I won't be going for a few days, I feel I nevertheless should celebrate this brief reprieve.
R
