It began with a sound.
A voice, then thousands of voices. Angry, a choir of discontent. Shouts. “Street Fighting Man” by the Rolling Stones playing.
A picture came into focus. Grant Park near the Conrad Hilton Hotel. Protest leader Tom Hayden addressing the crowd. Members of the Youth International Party and the National Mobilization Committee to End the War in Vietnam.
Anxious police officers patrolling the crowd. The National Guard sent in by Chicago Mayor Richard Daley. 15, 000 protestors held back by Guardsman from reaching the International Amphitheatre. The police arresting a teenage boy who had climbed a flagpole to lower the American flag. Protestors throwing rocks at law enforcement. Police begin to beat the protestors. A city under siege.
She woke up in her bed, breathing heavily. It had been another nightmare. She sat up, pulled off her blanket and tried to get the awful images out of her head. She looked around at the darkness surrounding her. The ten women she shared the room with were fast asleep. Light from a full moon seeped in through the room’s only window.
It had been two months since Nicolette Dupree had joined the Chicago chapter of the Secular Franciscans. By coincidence, the day she had arrived at the old brick building near Grant Park that was occupied by the followers of St. Francis had been Wednesday, August 28th, the same day a riot had broken out between protestors and members of the Chicago P.D. and National Guard. She had seen young people throwing rocks at police officers and officers beating the protestors. The protestors had gathered to voice their feelings to those attending the Chicago Democratic Convention, but it had dissolved into chaos.
The violence that she had witnessed on the streets of Chicago and the mounting death toll of troops in Vietnam had been one of the primary reasons she had become a follower of St. Francis and joined the community after her high school graduation, instead of going straight to college. This all had to mean something. She needed answers.
“I had the dream again, John.”
John looked up from the tomato plant he had been picking. “About the protest?”
“Yeah, the protest. Except it wasn’t a protest, it was a riot.”
John nodded sadly. “So much violence.”
“I’ve tried reflecting on it during morning prayer and meditation, but my mind keeps wandering. I start thinking about my sister, my parents, friends. My friend Alexandra.”
John was the member of the community who had approached her last spring with information about the Franciscan Order and had officially recruited her a week later. He had also been her closest friend and confidant since joining. He was only a few years older than her and came from a middle-class Midwestern upbringing, so she found him very easy to relate to. And to talk with.
“That’s not at all unusual,” said John. “Meditation and prayer are an art onto themselves. “Before you joined us, when you said your evening payer, you probably asked the Lord to Bless your family and friends, maybe a few other things, and then went to bed.”
“Yeah, basically,” Nicolette laughed, pulling back some strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. “And to ask God to make the cute boy who sat next to me in algebra like me.”
John let out a hearty laugh.
Nicolette smiled. “I probably should have asked him to help me get a better grade as well. Algebra was my hardest subject.”
“It sounds like maybe you had your mind on something else,” John said jokingly.
“Probably,” Nicolette giggled.
“Nicolette,” said John more seriously. “It’s going to take time to get comfortable with the prayer and meditation. We dedicate two hours to it each morning. For someone like yourself who has only been doing it for two months, that can seem like an eternity. That your mind wanders after a while, is not at all surprising. Prayer and meditation are a discipline. One that can take a while to master.
“It’s like learning to play a musical instrument,” John continued. “A few years ago, before I joined the Order, I decided to learn guitar. As you can guess, at first, I wasn’t very good. With practice, and discipline, I got better. Though Eric Clapton has nothing to fear from me.”
Nicolette shifted her weight from her left leg to her right. “And the dreams?”
“Coming to terms with the dreams, or more specifically, what you witnessed that have caused these dreams, will take time. It all comes back to discipline. Your mind will become more disciplined and the prayer and meditation will become second nature.”
Nicolette nodded; a bit disappointed.
“I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to provide you with a little more comfort.” John put his hand on Nicolette’s shoulder. “You will be okay. Just give it some time.”
John looked down at the basket of tomatoes that he and Nicolette had picked from the community’s greenhouse. “I think we are done with today’s harvest.”
Since the members lived here year long and planting outdoors was only possible for a short while in Chicago between June and August, the building the Order used was equipped with a greenhouse. Nicolette found this amusing as the original followers of St. Francis would not have had such a technical luxury.
John stood up, straitening his robe. “I think we can call it a day.”
Nicolette stood up as well. The robe was the one part of being a member of a Franciscan Order that she could have done without. She knew it was probably disrespectful to think so, but wearing the Franciscan robe was like wearing a heavy bathrobe all day. Not particularly comfortable, especially during Chicago’s hot summer months. She had never mentioned this to anyone, though she suspected John knew of her discomfort with the Order’s attire. Truthfully, she would have felt ungrateful in saying anything, as the members of the community had been very kind to her over the last several months. She had made many friends, who had provided her with much comfort, both emotionally and spiritually, after a difficult year that saw her best friend Ally’s brother killed in Vietnam and Ally lose herself in a whirlpool of drugs and mental deterioration.
“Are you still going to St. Peter’s with me tomorrow?”
“Sure,” said Nicolette picking up the basket.
The community grew food not only to feed its members, but also to donate to local churches to be given to those in need. Tomorrow afternoon, she and John were taking some assorted vegetables to St. Peter’s United Church of Christ, about a 20-minute walk through Grant Park. St. Peter’s was not a Catholic church, but the Order did not discriminate when it came to donating food.
“Doing anything special with your free time?”
After dinner was Bible study and reflection and then members had an hour to themselves before bed.
“I’m writing a letter to my sister, Fahlin. She’s a brat, but she’s my sister,” Nicolette laughed. “I love her and miss her.”
“She started high school this fall, right?”
“She sure did. From what I’ve heard, she is doing quite well. Fahlin is a bright kid.”
“That’s good.”
It was a cool October afternoon when Nicolette and John set out across Grant Park from their community building to St. Peter’s United Church of Christ. They walked through the field behind the community building down to Lakefront Trail in the direction of Navy Pier, Soldier Field and the Field Museum of Natural History behind them, Lake Shore Drive and Lake Michigan on their right. Nicolette stopped and looked out at the lake. Boats were scattered on the lakefront, the vast lake beyond.
“It’s beautiful and so serene,” said Nicolette. “Just looking at it makes all the terrible things going on in the world, seem somehow so far away.”
“There is still much beauty in the world. We all tend to forget that sometimes.”
“I know I have.”
They continued walking down Lakefront Trail, until they reached Jackson Drive and turned left. After about six minutes, they were officially in the Loop. A bus stop was located at the midway point between Lake Shore Drive and South Columbus Drive. There was a bench at the bus stop, as well as a small newsstand. A short middle-aged man wearing a cabbie’s cap was running the newsstand. When he saw John and Nicolette, he gave them a friendly wave.
Since joining the community, Nicolette had been this way several times, and the newsie always had a friendly wave for her and whoever she was with. Unlike other people, who frequently gave them strange looks. Two weeks earlier, a young man had walked up to her and asked why she was in a commune when she could be out having sex and getting high. He had said something like, you’re young, live it up. He had sadly reminded her of Ally.
“Wait one sec,” said Nicolette to John as she walked over to the newsstand.
“Hello, young lady,” said the newsie.
“Hi,” smiled Nicolette. “I just wanted to see the headlines.”
“You bet.”
The headline across the front of the October 15, 1968 edition of Chicago News Today was: “28,000 Out of Schools.” A picture further down the page was of a smiling teenager, over it: “18 – Year Old Girl Found Dead of Drug Overdose”.
Nicolette felt like her legs were about to give out, her heart beating fast. The photo was Ally’s senior picture. “Oh, my God!”
“Are you okay,” asked the newsie with concern.
John caught her before she hit the ground. “Nicolette, what’s wrong?”
“Ally… she’s, she’s dead. There’s a story in the newspaper. It’s her. They used her senior picture from last fall.”
John slowly walked Nicolette over to the bench and sat her down. He sat next to her.
“Do you know what happened?” John said. “Maybe the man at the newsstand will be kind and give us a copy of the paper.”
“She died of a drug overdose. That’s all it said on the front page. Is there really anything else to know?”
“Stay, here. I’ll be right back.”
As John walked over to the newsstand, Nicolette looked out on Jackson Drive, not seeing the traffic but images of Ally through-out their 10 years of friendship. John returned with a copy of the paper.
“In case you want to read it,” John handed it to Nicolette. “You don’t have to.”
“I knew this was going to happen,” said Nicolette as tears began to roll down her cheek. “Ally dying. It was only a matter of time. Still, a small part of me wanted to believe that she would get help. I, uh…,” she broke down sobbing and John put his arms around her to provide comfort.
After Nicolette calmed down a bit, John took her back to the community’s home. He told her not to worry about the delivery to St. Peter’s, that it could be done another day. Nicolette lay down and quickly fell asleep. She dreamed of Ally. Lying dead on a city street.
After dinner, she participated in Bible study and even read a verse in the Book of Matthew. Afterwards, she went back to her bed and sat. As she sat thinking, a girl not too much older than her, walked up to her, smiling.
“Hi, Nicolette,” the girl said kindly.
“Hi, Michelle.”
“John asked me to speak with you. It can wait, of course.”
“No, it’s okay,” Nicolette said without much enthusiasm.
Michelle sat down on the edge of the bed next to Nicolette’s.
“I’m very sorry about your friend,” said Michelle sympathetically.
Nicolette appreciated John and Michelle’s kindness, but could not think of anything to say besides, “Thank you”.
“What was her name?”
“Ally. Short for Alexandra.”
“John mentioned that you and Ally knew each other for a long time.”
“10 years. We met when we were seven. We were in the same second grade class.” Nicolette closed her eyes as if remembering. “Ally was always a little different. She had definite mental issues. There were days when she had so much energy that you could not keep up with her. When she was like that, she was very friendly, funny, personable. Then other days, she was very distant, moody, in her own little world. Naturally, this made making friends for Ally very difficult.”
“You were her friend. She had you.”
“Yeah, she had me.” Nicolette opened her eyes. “Have you ever read Lisa, Bright and Dark by John Neudfeld?”
“I did,” said Michelle. “A couple of months ago, actually. It was the last book I read before I joined the community. I liked it a lot. Very sad and disturbing though.”
“Ally was totally Lisa Shilling. She made people very nervous and uncomfortable. And maybe even scared them a little.”
“Not you though.”
“A little at first,” Nicolette admitted. “As I got to know her, I just really liked her. And the good days made the bad days’ worth it.”
“What caused Ally to run away?”
“It’s a long story,” said Nicolette sadly. “The short version is that a year ago her brother was killed in Vietnam. She adored Bobby. Bobby was also the one person other than me, who really understood Ally. His death devastated her. And her parents, probably in their grief, basically forgot that Ally even existed. The death of her brother, complete indifference on the part of her mother and father, just made Ally’s mental problems much worse. She thought she could find relief in drugs and started doing acid. Then last February, she ran away to join a hippie commune, who live in a condemned building near Chicago Stadium. According to the newspaper, Ally must have been out walking near the Stadium and just collapsed. A young couple walking their dog, found her three hours later. The autopsy said that she died of a massive drug overdose.” She wiped away some tears on her cheek.
“John told me that it was what happened to Ally and her brother that played a big role in your joining our Order.”
“That was one of the main reasons.”
“I’m very sorry,” said Michelle. “See, I joined the community in April. It was a couple of months after my younger brother Steven was killed in Vietnam.”
“Your brother was killed in Vietnam too?” Nicolette said surprised.
“Yeah,” said Michelle as her eyes teared up. “He was only 18.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Michelle.”
“Thank you,” said Michelle. “I think it’s because we both suffered from a terrible loss, that John wanted me to talk with you. I grew up in a Catholic family and I joined the Order because I needed answers. The government is not really providing any satisfying ones. Why are we fighting this pointless war? I hoped that I might get some answers from a higher power than man. Like, why did my brother have to die?”
“Have you gotten your answers?”
“Not all of them. Mourning a loss of a loved one is a journey. You don’t get all the answers at once. I feel though that I am headed in the right direction. My advice to you, and this is going to sound silly, is to make the pain you’re feeling a companion on the journey. You are in a lot of pain right now. Don’t suppress it. It’s okay, not to be okay. Time and the hand of God will take care of the rest.”
“Thanks,” Nicolette smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
“I know that you will.”
Michelle stood up and hugged Nicolette. “Get some sleep. See you tomorrow”.
“Goodnight, Michelle.”
As Michelle had said, mourning was a journey. For the next month, Nicolette cried herself to sleep many nights and the morning prayer and meditation still gave her trouble. Though she was able to meditate a little longer each week, without her mind wandering. She wrote several letters to her parents, Fahlin and a few friends, which was therapeutic.
The winter was a cold one, with a record-breaking blizzard hitting the Midwest early the following year. Nicolette had spent a week with her family at Christmas before returning to the community. In February, a year after Ally had run away, Nicolette meditated and prayed for two straight hours without losing her concentration. John and Michelle had been very pleased. The entire community had supported her, but no more so than John and Michelle.
The pain of Ally’s death never went away. Nicolette suspected that she would mourn her for the rest of her life. The pain no longer controlled her though, she controlled it. She began to think of her future. She would return home to her family in June and would begin college at the University of Illinois in Chicago that fall. Even though she would be leaving the order, she believed God had a plan for her. She planned to study child psychology. Even though she could not save the world, she could do her part. Maybe she would help a troubled young child, who would go on to lead a productive life and not suffer like Ally. That would give some meaning to Ally’s death.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I think that’s what you said last October,” John smiled.
Nicolette, John and Michelle were sitting on a bench on Lakefront Trail looking out on Lake Michigan. John and Michelle were dressed in their Franciscan robes, while Nicolette was dressed casually in jeans and a cotton t-shirt. A bag was in her lap.
“It is even more beautiful in June,” smiled Nicolette.
“It is beautiful,” agreed Michelle.
Nicolette grew serious. “Listen, I can never thank either one of you enough, for what you have done for me.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” said John. “That’s what the Order has always been here for.”
“Now, you are still going to visit, right?” said Michelle.
“Of course, and you both have my address so that you can write. Naturally, I will write too.” Nicolette looked down at her watch. She had 10 minutes.
“I had better get going,” said Nicolette standing up.
John and Michelle stood up and they shared a group hug with Nicolette.
“Be at peace, my friend,” said John.
“Say hi to all the cute boys,” Michelle smiled.
Nicolette picked up her duffle bag, smiled and waved goodbye as she walked towards the bus stop where she would board a bus that would take her back to Rogers Park.
The bus dropped her off about a block away from her house and she walked the rest of the way home. She had only seen her parents and sister once in nearly a year and that was six months ago, at Christmas. She had missed them dearly, especially her snarky sister.
Fahlin was lying in the front yard on a beach blanket, barefoot in shorts and a t-shirt. Whereas staying out under the hot summer sun would give her sunburn, Fahlin tanned beautifully. Fahlin had a transistor radio near her head. “Dear Prudence” by the Beatles was playing, one of Nicolette’s favorites off The White Album, which her sister had bought her for Christmas.
Nicolette walked up and knelt next to Fahlin, dropping her duffle bag on the grass.
Fahlin opened her eyes and looked in her sister’s direction. “Oh, you’re home.”
“Yeah, I’m home,” Nicolette laughed.
“I guess that means I’m going to have to share a room with you again,” Fahlin said in mock disdain. “You know, you are really going to cramp my style.”
“Oh, my god, you brat!” Nicolette playfully pushed Fahlin, who broke out laughing.
Fahlin’s reddish blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a smile spread across her dimpled face. Nicolette realized her sister had really blossomed over the last year. “Fahlin, you’re beautiful.”
“Yeah, I know,” Fahlin said sitting up and trying to hold back a smirk.
“Modest, as always,” Nicolette joked.
“Heh, I’m glad that your home,” said Fahlin smiling. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too. Is Mom inside?”
“No, she ran away and joined the circus. Of course, she’s inside.”
Nicolette and Fahlin both stood up. Fahlin took her sister’s duffle bag and they walked towards the front door.
Nicolette Dupree was at peace.
The End
(This story is dedicated to Pamela and Brianna.)