WINTER HAD TURNED Chicago into a pencil sketch on a misty gray canvas—thin dead branches, dozens of dull buildings blending into the same outline, the occasional bird cloaked in a dull, gruff coat, the steel El cars bellowing on tracks glazed with ice, stray animals with the jutting ribs that made them appear almost see-through. On my school’s corner, I caught sight of a tiny beige cat balanced on the edge of a garbage can; she ran away with jaws locked tight around her take—a chicken wing covered in red sauce. A couple weeks ago the sight would have made me nauseous, but the bitter cold probably froze the liquids inside me before I lost feeling in the solid. Achromatic valley of sky seemed to stretch on for miles without leaves to break it. I saw only one tree shivering with stiff hard leaves hanging on for dear life, refusing to give up and blow away. Missing the lush fullness of milder seasons, the city looked like the practice of a novice who had nonchalantly flicked their wrists to simply get an idea off their mind. Transparent and undefined, playful wisps of smoke and breath were more animated than the people and cars who generated them. Cloudy billows flew out from bus and car mufflers, building smokestacks, opening business doors. Open mouths mocked chimney stacks, especially those of the hypes with no teeth. Puffs of air flew often from in between the lips of old-timers smoking and talking at the same time. These kinds of temperatures scared both the color out of the world and the get-up-and-go out of everybody. The Windy City went to work and school, then came home and shut the curtains. About the brightest vision you could catch on our cracked, rocky streets was a neon-green Newport ad on the door of a corner store.

As usual, Big Mama decorated the entrance of New Horizons, only she had added a red cap to the top of her head this time—no doubt thinking she would attract more listeners to her sermon. I had decided to come in rather than call. This situation was too urgent to accept an appointment weeks away—I needed to get it over with before I changed my mind. I strolled on past casually this time, used to her now and knowing how I would handle it.

“Good day, ma’am,” was all I said. She took me off guard by not responding, only staring down the quiet street. I noticed she was alone today, and wondered if the young boy who usually accompanied her had run off.

“Something wrong?” I then asked, spinning her around by the shoulder until we faced each other. One of her eyes—just one—had turned into an icy blue-gray. A cataract had closed over it. I waited for her rant, but she stayed silent.