Chapter Text
Charlie
True to his word, Dennis takes me on a short driving tour of the city, or more precisely, downtown and the “near west side”. He opens the door to the garage revealing a black Mini Cooper, which causes me to chuckle. As soon as he starts the engine, a thumping bass song blares from the car bluetooth. (Groove is in the Heart, I think ?)
“Geeezus, Ian!” shouts Dennis as he turns the volume down. “I’m not the same person I was after work last night.”
“You named your car Ian?” I tease.
“Well, duh! He’s a black Mini with Joy Division vanity plates. What else was I supposed to name him?” He says in mock defensiveness.
From their townhouse garage, we turn onto Lake Ave. and head “down” the street numbers. He drives slowly, pointing out some of his favorite houses and apartment buildings.
“Some of these are over one hundred years old!”, he says with mock enthusiasm. I chuckle along with him, knowing he’s being cheeky. He knows perfectly well that’s not very old to a Brit.
“Eliot Ness lived in this one for a while.”, he says, indicating a faux tutor apartment building called Hampton House from the sign in front.
“And who was that?” I ask.
“He’ll be included in your research. He was an FBI agent who took down the mafia.”
We come to a stop at a light near the park I had just explored. “I was planning on showing you the Cleveland sign and the view from upper Edgewater, but you beat me to it.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“No! I’m glad you took the run. Your introduction to Cleveland was perfect. Thanks for the follow invitation, those pictures are beautiful!” He says as we merge onto what looks like a motorway, though the speed limit says 35mph.
“On the left we have, obviously, marinas and the entrance to Whiskey Island. Part of your research will be about that as well, and we’ll take a trip there tomorrow if you’d like.” He says, continuing the narration.
The motorway takes a sharp turn right under an old stone railroad bridge then a sharp left where the skyline of the city centre appears. On the right is what looks like a residential area, and on the left looks industrial along the lakefront.
“The red brick building on the left is the water filtration plant.” he says about the old brick buildings. “Beyond that is the entrance to the salt mine, which goes two miles out under the lake bed. Those rust colored mounds are iron ore pellets.”
“Next up we have the Main Avenue Bridge, built in 1939. Below us is the Cuyahoga river and the flats. Cuyahoga is said to be a native word meaning crooked, but I’ve never seen confirmation whether or not that’s true.” I note that he pronounces it Ki-ya-HO-ga.
The bridge is high, and I’m enjoying the view of the city centre when we exit the motorway. I look around at the buildings which look to be mostly offices and old multi-storey warehouse-to-loft conversions. “We’ll take a walking tour of downtown during lunch sometime next week.” he says as we drive away from the lake, into the centre of town. We stop at what looks like a square.
“So, a little city planning infodump. This is Public Square. Right now we are on Ontario Street, O for zero. The numbered streets all run parallel to Ontario and go up in number from here.” We go around the square and turn right onto Superior and pass a light at West Third. “So here’s West Third and we’ll go up west. East Third and up if traveling east. Once you know that, it’s easier to find your way around the city.”
We are stopped at a light at W. 6th when Dennis points out a tall abandoned red brick building. “Thats the Rockefeller Building. Rockefeller made his millions in oil based in Cleveland before he fucked off to New York to live with the other robber barons.” He says bitterly. “We’ll see more of his impact when we do the East side tour next week, if you’re up for it.”
“Sore subject?” I ask with a chuckle.
“A little, yeah.” He answers with a laugh. “And this is the Veterans Memorial Bridge, opened in 1917. Underneath is another level which used to run street cars until big oil and automobile ruined it for everyone. That’s another sore subject I’ll bang on about.”
Once we’ve crossed the bridge we come to a stop in the left turn lane. “This is West 25th Street. Notice the lit sign that says ‘subway’ on the older building across the street. That was the entrance to the street car line running under the bridge. There are tours of it occasionally, if you happen to be here for the next one.” He says.
It’s then that I see “it”. On the side of a building labeled Taubman Law, is a mural depicting a man in a suit. I pull out my phone and take a quick picture of it, laughing to myself.
“Okay?” Dennis chuckles.
“It’s just… the hair on that guy looks a lot like someone from my hometown.”
“Oh.” He laughs a little more. “Anyone special?”, he prods.
“Just somebody that I used to know.” I respond, putting an early naughts song in my head for the rest of the day.
“I see.” He replies as the light changes and we drive past the building. “I know the guy who modeled for that mural. He’s a sweetheart, really. Total golden retriever energy.”
“Uh huh…” is all I can reply.
We continue south on West 25th, past a highrise housing block on one side and older three storey storefronts on the other. Dennis tells me a little about the buildings but I’m not really paying attention. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but the tone of Dennis’s comment about the Nick Nelson look-alike seemed off. I shake my head to scramble that thought in order to concentrate on the big reveal I’m about to drop.
Geoff and I had our first session the day before and we came to the conclusion that Dennis and Daniel are safe enough to tell a little more about my OCD and ED. Not too much, but just enough so that they know about the meal plan and how they can support me. Honestly, paying attention to the tour has helped me forget what I’m about to do.
Dennis and Daniel have been wonderful so far. I felt completely comfortable with them immediately and Dennis particularly seems to have some mental health issues that Daniel supports beautifully. Dennis stims a little when he’s nervous or happy, especially before hugging his husband, which he does a lot. He looks so child-like when he does, and I could swear I heard him call Daniel “snuggle bear” or something when he thought I was out of earshot.
I reach down into my backpack and pull out my binder as Dennis parks the car in a parking lot behind the old storefront buildings. I look up and notice there’s a perfectly framed skyline view from there and decide I’ll take some photos of that on the way back.
“Oh! You’re very organized.” He says when he sees me open the clamp and pull out the first page containing the shopping list.
“Yeah, about that…” I tell him nervously. Okay, Charlie. It’s going to be okay. Dennis is sweet and seems open minded. “I have an eating disorder. This is my meal plan.” I blurt out quickly before I lose my nerve.
I look over to gauge his expression. He doesn’t look surprised by what I just said, only startled a bit by how I said it.
“Oh, Okay.” he says matter of factly. “And are those recipes on the other pages?”
“Yes?” I respond.
“Perfect! Are they easy to follow? Daniel has a hard time coming up with dinner most nights but he has to eat so early that he does all the cooking before I get home.” oh, he’s rambling. I don’t know what to make of all that. “Let’s get this shopping done and we can go over it when Danny gets home from work. I have about a dozen vendors to introduce you to!”
Before I can say anything further, Dennis is reaching to the back seat for shopping bags, steps out of the car, and heads toward the entrance to the market.
Once inside, I stop in my tracks as we enter a low, long hall with vegetable stands on either side. Hundreds of people mill about, chatting with vendors and each other, plus tourists taking pictures. It’s… a lot.
“I hate crowds too.” Dennis whispers in my ear. “Maybe next week Danny can take you on Monday when he’s off and it’s less touristy.”
Less touristy? It doesn’t look touristy at all. It looks like an actual working market. Half of the women have head scarfs on, some in hijab and others babushkas. Sure, there are a lot of people obviously there for the novelty, but for the most part, it’s just people shopping for groceries.
“The market you see today opened in 1912, but there has been a market at this spot going back before Europeans arrived here.” Dennis says enthusiastically. “My great grandparents shopped here and some of the vendors you’ll meet today are the descendants of the vendors they bought from.” He stops talking long enough to gauge my reaction, which is just me looking like a fish with a hook in its mouth.
“If it’s too overwhelming, we can leave and Danny can take you on Monday. Totally your call.” he says quietly.
I take a deep breath. “No. This is really cool. Really, I’m fine. Just…” I say, straightening my posture a little. “Where do we start?”
It takes us almost two hours to get everything on my list, which Dennis has now, ruling out what they already have at home. He introduces me to each vendor we stop at, starting with Mr. Decaro, his favorite vegetable vendor who asks after Dennis’ mother.
Once vegetables have been obtained and placed in the cloth shopping bags Dennis brought in, we enter a massive building. If I didn’t know what it was, I would’ve thought it was an old train terminal or something. There’s a barrel ceiling ornamented with cow, pig and chicken heads in place of gargoyles. Vendor stalls are organized in neat rows in a grid going every direction.
It looks exactly like the pictures on the website. Each stall is surrounded by glass refrigerated cases for easy viewing of what’s on offer. And what’s on offer is everything food related.
“Let’s start with Urban Herbs, then we’ll finish with meats so they’re still cool when we leave.” says Dennis as we make our way further into the building.
“Hi Nydia.” Dennis says as we approach what looks like a stall selling spices. “This is Charlie. He’s here from the UK. Charlie, this is Nydia, purveyor of all things herbs.” I chuckle at him for exaggerating the ‘h’ in “herbs” to placate me.
“Nice to meet you, Charlie. What can I get you?” she asks.
“Just a small ‘herbs de provance’” he says, over-pronouncing the french ironically, I hope.
“That’s it?” she asks curtly. I don’t know what that’s about, but I do detect a little ice between them.
“Yep.” he answers, “I stocked up a couple weeks ago.”
Nydia puts the herbs in a plastic container, weighs them and hands them over as Dennis taps the till.
“Xavier was just here a minute ago. With his foster grandmother, apparently.” she says in place of a goodbye. “Have you run into Idmary at all?”
Dennis’ face darkens immediately. “You know better than to ask me that. Tell Dion I said hello.” he says, turning around to the Ohio City Pasta stall behind us. I don’t know what that was all about, but I do know it’s none of my business.
“So, I’ve one last place I’d like to visit.” I say to Dennis once the last thing on the list is procured. “I’d love to meet Mr. or Ms. Pierogi at Pierogi Palace.” I pronounce the name pie-rogie.
Dennis laughs heartily, leaning against a glass case to steady himself. “Pierogi (per-ogie) isn’t a person!” he says after composing himself.
“Wot?”
“Pierogis are ravioli like dumplings with mashed potato filling.” He answers. “Follow me. We are adding them to the meal plan because you absolutely have to try them.”
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Nick
My name’s Nick and I’m an Insta-holic. I’ve redownloaded Instagram a mere one hour after deleting it. What’s the first thing I see, along with a dozen pictures of the market my Mum is currently at? This:
@charlie___spr1: Why is @nick___nzzz on the side of a building in Cleveland?! Literally LOL!!
Liked by @imogen_hearts and 37 others
FUUUUUUUUU…