An ode to old friends

I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12 - Jesus, did you-- Stephen King

I grew up in Chicago. Whenever I think of "home," I think of the neighborhood I lived in along with the 7-11, Dominicks, and Beggars Pizza that lined the street and defined my youth. Even though those sacred places are still there, that cliche "you can't go home again," rings in my ears everytime I get on a plane.

Chicago is still the same place, the Sears Tower hasn't fallen yet and my neighborhood still has the same A-line-framed houses it had before I left. But as I see kids happily riding bikes through the street, I know that even though my house still stands, "home," is long gone.

7-11, Dominicks, Beggars Pizza, the Dollar Store, the Mt. Greenwood Pool, and Mt. Greenwood Park hold some of my favorite memories. The places are still there but the people that shaped my most important years are all grown up. Some have jobs and homes and some even have families. Some I lost touch with and it breaks my heart.

These are the most important friends, the ones that know all your secrets and would never, ever tell. The ones you played basketball with well after dark or sometimes even at sunrise. The ones who slept over on your living room floor. These friends loved you even if you had lice or mice or problems at home. They are the ones you rode bikes with, the ones you chased boys with, the ones who braided your hair.

I don't really miss Chicago, I miss the people that made Chicago my home. The people that made going to Dominicks an adventure. How is that possible? I constantly try to recapture that excitement, the sense of "anything can happen," and my expectations are never met. Although I lead a fabulous life, that childlike thrill can never be replaced or relived.

So when did it all end?