Living On The Air

I grew up laying claim to a city I've only just met. I could name you all the roads and neighborhoods, point out landmarks and tell you that Union Terminal was the basis for the Super Friends' Hall of Justice. But today was the first time I've ever done a three-point turn on Hill Road in Mt. Adams, the first time I've ever flipped through the used rock vinyl at Shake It Records, talking Drive By Truckers with the guy behind the register. The first time I've been greeted by a friendly sheepdog and a warm cup of coffee in Wyoming, or played a couple rounds of pool in Northside Tavern.

When we got home from our day out, I looked at a map and realized that the Cincinnati I'd been laying claim to all these years was a tiny strip of Vine Street just east of the university, a neighborhood called Corryville where we’d go to see bands and buy Doc Martens and Manic Panic. A party at a friend's house in Walnut Hills where I first tried peach Schnapp's. A piano lesson in Norwood. Just a handful of nights, each one bookended by a trip up or down the safe circumference of distance that was I-275. I've been dipping my toes in the rushing water of this city all these years, kidding myself that proximity was enough. Regional pride through osmosis.

This is what I have to say: Cincinnati, it's a pleasure to meet you.

You make a good first impression. We watched a car sit in the middle of the road for a good thirty seconds, waiting for a particular parking space to clear in the shadow of a particularly bright set of painted brick buildings, cars stacking up behind him, and no one gave so much as a toot. The man with the long gray hair under a fedora made coffee at the same pace as stalactites form, reminding us that we had all day. We really did have all day. And the hills. You don't know what you have done to us with your hills.

You remind us of possibilities. We spotted a storefront in an up-and-coming section of Over-the-Rhine selling for $80,000. We related this to another nearby shop owner, who said "If the streetcar goes ahead, those places will go fast." In my head I drew up plans for a bookstore. We came out the other side of Eden Park, high above the city, and were instantly wooed by For Rent and For Sale signs dotting the streets of Mt. Adams, the San Franciscan-like hills suddenly exciting and accessible.

So we started writing stories for ourselves, fictions of what life might be like if we lived here, exercising the stiff little bits of our imaginations that have so long been tied to the convenience of the subway, rent-stabilization, job security, and 24-hour delis. We began to exercise our "what if"s.

Cincinnati, it feels good to stretch.

© Zan McQuade. All rights reserved.