It was common for people to look at the past with nostalgia, painting a prettier picture of it than had actually existed. Every year that moved a man away from a memory softened the emotions of that time in his life. Though I supposed people believed the struggles of their era were the worst, mainly because they had lived them, I wondered if anybody from my generation would ever look back at the 1930s and say the years weren't so bad. After all the awful things that had happened in the decade, I could not fathom how anyone would have the ability to mitigate the impact in their mind, to round out the edges.

While America continued to try to pull herself out of the Depression, the remainder of the world seemed to be bracing for war. It was impossible to ignore the palpable discord between nations, yet Roosevelt was intent on doing so, focusing on domestic issues rather than the international unrest reverberating around our shores.

Chicago was caught in a battle once more. In late May, a group of steel workers went on strike due to contract disputes. During an unarmed protest, police supposedly felt threatened and fired into the crowd. Ten people were killed and over three dozen were injured as they tried to run away from the bullets. As though the bullets weren’t enough, nearly thirty people had head injuries because of police clubbing. The discord that had pervaded the city for years was getting more dissonant by the month. Gone were the days of glistening light and jazz-filled nights. It was alarming how quickly the culture could shift, changing entirely after Prohibition policies were lifted.

While Chicago was bloody and beaten, San Francisco was building bridges. If I had believed in signs, I would have thought the opening of the Golden Gate Bridge was pointing me in that direction. It was a beautifully structured orange marvel of engineering meant to carry people from one place to another; I wanted to walk over it with Cal, follow him to the other side.

Cal had called me twice since March, once to wish me a happy birthday and the next time to tell me he missed me. I should have been angry he triggered so many memories when I heard his voice, but I couldn’t stand to feel anything but ecstatic about the interaction. I had missed every bit of him and to know he’d been thinking of me, too, had been reassuring in the most awful way. The conversations ended similarly each time, with Cal telling me he shouldn’t have called and me agreeing, though I didn’t want to. He told me he loved me, and I realized I still got high on the words, inhaling them until they fuzzied my head and lightened my heart.