At the red line on our way to Friday night fesivities, me and my two gal pals run into a boy one of em knows from her summer internship. Then we reconnect with old faces from high school, long unseen over our months at college. Some time after 1AM, back on the red line platform, we point out a stranger across the track from us and make up a life story for him. Two other kids sitting against a railing on the other side wave to us, and we exchange Hello’s.
“Don’t you love Chicago?” one of em shouts across the way to us.
“YEAH!” I screamed back.
Their train comes and the platform across from us empties out of its people, while our side fills up with more waiting passengers. One of them, standing ten feet to our right, looks familiar. “Katie!” my friend shouts — our old high school’s volleyball coach. The three of them reconnect and talk about life & volleyball while I stand to the side of the team (I never played any sports, though I was a four-year member of the mathletes). A screaming crowd walks up the station stairs and stands around us, obviously drunk and enjoyably belligerent — ”Oh they’re probably Irish,” Katie joked.
When our train comes and all board on, the screaming does not end, and sure enough beneath their chants of “ANDALE! ANDALE!” their Irish accents are revealed. One of my friends does a mean Irish impersonation, and she charmed the Irish lasses in front of us with her convincing accent. The Irish gang got off at the next stop and two American boys sat down beside us. “Are you really from Ireland?” they ask, and my friend “from Dublin” keeps her accent & made-up back story going strong… until she starts to say,
“My mother breast-fed me on Guinness,”
at which point we all burst into hysteric laughter. So we get to talking, where are you from and where do you go to school and how do you do and you and you too.
My other friend says she goes to school in Minnesota, and one of the guys asks where. “Macalester.” His sister goes there too. What year is she? “Just finished first year,” no kidding, what’s her name? “Annie.” Annie So-and-So? That’s my friend’s roommate next year, living together in the veggie co-op.
And on that note, our night ended in small world hilarity.