Somebody to Hold (Tyler Jamison #2) - April Wilson Page 0,8
strapped to their chests. Their energy is infectious as they march in a well-choreographed formation. The audience is captivated. We watch for a while, and then I drop some cash in their collection bucket before we continue on our way.
“So, where to?” Miguel asks.
“Millennium Park, if that’s okay. There’s a spot not far from there that I love to photograph. And later, I’ll take you to my favorite Mexican restaurant. Their tacos are to die for.”
“Tacos? You won’t get any argument from me.”
We arrive at the park and spend a few minutes observing the tourists who mill around the massive stainless-steel statue known as The Bean. I offer to take pics for a few groups posing in front of the iconic tourist attraction with its famous mirror-like finish. Then we move on, heading into some more rundown areas of the city.
There’s something about urban decay that I find artistically fascinating. Chipped paint, rusted metal, crumbling bricks—for some reason it speaks to me. To me, there’s an intrinsic beauty to be found in damage. I love photographing forsaken buildings and vintage signs that have seen better days.
Miguel claps his hand on my shoulder. “So, what’s a rich guy like you doing photographing crappy old buildings that look like they should be demolished?”
I shrug as I stop to change the lens on my camera. “I spent my early childhood living in a distressed area just like this one. I guess I’m drawn to it because I can’t help wondering where I’d be today—who I’d be—if I still lived there.”
As we walk a few more blocks, I come across a number of familiar panhandlers I see on a regular basis. I greet them all by name and drop cash into their collection cups. At least I know they’ll be able to eat well for a few days or get a room for the night if that’s what they want.
Around noon, we head to one of my favorite restaurants, a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant that makes the best tacos I’ve ever eaten.
“Have you ever been here?” I ask Miguel.
He glances up at the sign hanging over the restaurant’s entrance and shakes his head. “Nope, and I can’t wait to try it. But I warn you—I’m a tough judge of Mexican food. No one makes better tacos than mi Abuelita.”
Seated on the sidewalk right outside the restaurant is another familiar face. Jerry is dressed as always in filthy Army fatigues, with his green rucksack resting beside him and a plastic cup out in front. He’s a regular fixture here.
I stick several bills into his cup. “Come inside, Jerry. I’ll buy you some lunch.”
Slowly, the old guy heaves himself to his feet, muttering, “Damned arthritis.” Then his steely blue eyes meet my gaze. “Hello, Ian. That’s mighty kind of you.” He nods to Miguel.
We follow Jerry up to the ordering counter. Jerry orders his usual—ten tacos and a large Coke—and then Miguel and I each order.
“Lunch is on me,” I say to Miguel as I pay the bill.
Miguel and I grab the only available booth as Jerry takes his food outside. The small dining room is packed, mostly with guys working on local construction sites. It’s rare for tourists to venture this far from the shopping district.
Miguel nods toward Jerry, who we can through the front window. “Who’s he?”
“I only know his first name—Jerry—and that he’s a retired vet. I’ve offered repeatedly to get him into a shelter, but he refuses. I offered to pay his rent so he could get a room somewhere, but he won’t let me. He says he prefers to be on his own. He’s so stubborn.”
Miguel smiles. “He’s got his pride.”
After a young guy brings us our orders, Miguel reaches for a taco and takes a bite.
“What do you think?” I ask him.
He swallows and smiles at me. “Don’t ever tell mi abuelita I said this because I’ll deny it, but this is the best damn taco I’ve ever had.”
I laugh. “My lips are sealed.”
“You should come over sometime and meet mi familia. They’d love you. Especially mi abuelita.”
“I’d love to. Just say when. Maybe your grandma will give me a cooking lesson. I’ve always wanted to learn how to make authentic tamales.”
Miguel takes another bite of his taco. “She’d love to teach you. Hers are out of this world.”
Just as we’re about done eating, I receive a text from Tyler.