Thunder and lightning

It has thundered and lightning-ed two out of the three nights I've been in Chicago. After being away for years, the old nightmares started again last night: a tornado is coming. I am looking for shelter. Last night, I ran into a Safeway and headed to the back of the store away from the windows. But then I realized I forgot my brother. He was in the highrise across the street on the 40th floor. I needed to tell him to get out of the building.

Maybe the dream is telling me I'm worried I've left my family behind. Maybe I have. When I talk to my mother, she never asks me about myself. She doesn't know who I am. I might tell her about a movie I've seen recently, but that's it. She doesn't know me otherwise. We spend our time talking about her life. S. is easier. We have more in common. But still I feel so far away sometimes. If I just chose to live closer...in the same city even...where we could shop together, or eat in the same restaurants, or drive on the same roads, would we be closer? Why should I expect my mother to be any different than an old friend who I awkwardly begin a conversation with after 10 years apart?

I do like art. And so does S. We went to see Kelan Phil Cohran play at an almost non-descript Ethiopian restaurant. The chartreuse walls made it stand out. Phil was playing the thumb piano when we walked in, and from where we were standing, it didn't look like he was doing anything. Just rocking back and forth. But then he moved on to the trumpet and later the harp. He played for an hour, collected his tips like any street musician, and walked out the door without attracting the attention of anyone there. And maybe you don't know who he is, but jazz fans will, and you'd think they would applaud, or call out. Gather for autographs. But nope. Practically anonymous.

And then a day of walking from gallery to gallery in the early spring sun, before dropping me off at Northwestern for a business workshop. I get out of the car, and say goodbye, and I'm thinking as I stand in line to check in and see him drive away, "who am I?" and "who are we?" and "why do we know so little about one another?"