A Fish in Roscoe Village

    It's been the saddest and most beautiful autumn in memory. The world didn’t end today. Instead we went to the Village Tap on Roscoe, and ordered Octoberfest, which they were out of, and so settled for a pale ale, which the bartender called a lager, but we didn't correct him. He had a red beard that reached his collar bone and twice he brought us burgers we hadn't ordered and apologized, which made us apologize too, for the embarrassment we helped create. At the table were two empty stools where our wives might have been. But the stools stood alone, and the burgers went back to the kitchen. A man, not quite old but breathing hard, came in through the door, escorted by a burst of wind. He hauled a fish that filled a garbage bag, and dropped it on the boot-worn floor. He crouched with hands on knees, regained his strength, and called out to the bartender, Can I get some ice? The bartender looked, acknowledged the situation, and said, Sure. The man, who wore a dangling crucifix, hoisted the bag and moved toward the entry to the forbidden space, and the bartender said, Whoa, whoa, dude, you can't bring that behind the bar--for so many reasons! He left to get the ice, and a woman who qualified as old appeared and crouched to look at the fish. What kind is that? A king salmon, he said. Where'd you catch it, she asked. In Belmont Harbor. It was a moment you don't want to pass, a moment you need to pick up, like an agate on the shore, so I asked, Are there king salmon in the lake? Do they come in from the ocean? He said yes, all kinds of them, plus coho and sockeye. We didn't think this was possible, but we didn't look it up, because what's the point of that, and also, there was the fish. I considered asking why he walked all the way from Belmont Harbor for the ice, but kept quiet because I already held the moment in my hand. They packed the fish in ice and the man left with his bounty. After that, there was nothing left to talk about so we paid the bartender, twice what the beer cost, because he had brought us so much more. Outside the city flag shuddered in the cold wind. Along the bottom it has a bar, perfectly horizontal, a foundation so solid it could never be shaken. Above that there are stars. Only four, but that's enough to make you think of the infinite space and possibility. And above the stars, across the top, there's another bar, which balances the design, like a practical layer of midwestern clouds, conceived by our stoic ancestors, marking the limits to what we should hope for.