I was hitchhiking on I-80 in 1984 when they pulled up in a run-down Buick.
“So are we! Get in!” the guy motioned to me.
“I wanna drop out and get a job at Crafty Beaver, right near where I used to live,” he said.
She laughed. “You’re so literal.”
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They rented their first apartment together in 1987 in a run-down building on Kenmore. It was crawling with cockroaches, but rent was cheap, and they figured, how bad can Uptown be? After their neighbor shot his wife in the arm, they decided Rogers Park could be better. In a modest courtyard apartment on Farwell, Teresa and Joe built a dining room table from scratch, saved money for a trip to New Mexico, bought dishes, and framed paintings. Together we went to peace marches and looked at Victoria’s Secret catalogs, comparing the models’ bodies to Teresa’s. When a Peeping Tom climbed the tree in front of their living room window and started screaming about the end of the world, they decided to move again. Their third apartment, in Ravenswood, had an outdoor patio and they grew basil and marigolds. Joe learned to cook, and Teresa took up bike riding. On New Year’s Eve we stayed in, but we went outside to make angels in the snow. I stayed over for a slumber party and we drank hazelnut coffee in the morning.
“You’re better when you’re alone,” Teresa would say.
When Teresa was at Loyola, Joe took care of most of the living expenses because he had money and she was broke. When Teresa insisted on keeping in touch with her Italian fling and even allowed him to come to Chicago for a visit, Joe accepted it without much complaint.
