ESCAPE TO THE
concrete jungle
A MEMOIR PIECE BY MAYA FIDZIUKIEWICZ Upon rising, I wake up, slip on my running shoes, and run toward Downtown. Within the first few steps, I pass the fire station, a small green park, a tall church bell tower, and the local coffee shop on the corner that smells more tempting than my workout. I run a few blocks farther, and I pass my favorite grocery store, a thrift boutique, and the “hippie” apartments I daydream about decorating someday. An abandoned storefront with big windows, a Spanish grocery store, and an electrically chatty Irish pub line the street as I fly past. As I near the bridge, the tops of skyscrapers start to peak out over the rooftops. A couple I run past are speaking Polish, my native language. One more block and I’ll see the Chicago river enclosed by the downtown skyline. The city dweller has everything they need right at their fingertips – shoe repairs, authentic cuisine, jazz music, and an array of lifestyles including the delis and boutiques of my own European culture. Ah, it’s a glorious morning in the city.
18
SOUVENIRS
That is how I spend my mornings when I visit the city that I called home for the first eight years of my life. My family moved from Chicago to a place that could not be more different. My Wisconsin town is approximately three bars, one ice cream hut and a baseball field long. I grew up calling this my hometown, because – let’s face it – there is not much you remember before the age of eight. I loved every minute of growing up in my middle-of-nowhere town, but I was always the different one. While my classmates ate PB&J and fruit cups, I enjoyed open-faced liver sandwiches and pickles. I had no idea what High School Musical was or what cosmic brownies taste like. I attended school dances and was surprised at what my American friends considered “dancing.” I longed for a sense of belonging, a community – for people who eat rosół (chicken soup) on Sundays, roast kiełbasa over a campfire, and who are not afraid to ask you to dance. It was later in life that I realized I was lucky to share the Polish culture with my family in my humble Wisconsin home. I embraced the
