The Charm

Chicago blew colder than any Florida airI’d ever shivered in, but two buckswas all I could spare at the thrift storemy first December there,so I picked the thickest wool coatI could afford. It was missing some buttonsand had a tear on a seam,but it cut the wind. It kept me warm.

One of the men chasing me yelled, Freeze!and turning, I could see his hand lifthis coat, see something glinting on his belt,so I froze. It clicked: undercover copswho had been watching me rolla cigarette they thought was a joint.Why’d you run, huh? Why’d you run?Though white, I knew what they could do,so I put on the southern rube shuffle: “Yes sir,officer, I’m real sorry. I didn’t know.I thought you were muggers. I’m newto the city. Check my pockets. Honest,it’s just tobacco.” They had a good laugh on me,hands up, pleading with my meek-mouth twang,and bundled in that too-big, crappy black coat.

Another time in the dark morning hours,like a fool I fell asleep on the El.Snug and warm in that coat, I was jarred awake by someone shoving in against me,surrounded by five silent guys staring,but as the train rolled to a jerking stopat a vacant station, the one sitting by mesaid, “He’s got no scratch. Let’s go.”

That coat’s nothing but a memoryyears after going everywhere with methrough that icy city where I’d step outside,feel the slap, bow my head, and walk right into it.