The Kids at Blackstone

There are three components to this program, Emily said. Three ways to learn. One is the seminar—in which we are introduced to ideas and venues all across Chicago. The second is, of course, our internship. And the third is living in Chicago—that includes who we are living with.

The crowd at Blackstone could not have been better chosen by a casting director for the Real World. As we came together on the first day, my jaw dropped with the diversity amongst us.

Lauren is my roommate, quiet and elegant. We met on the first day when it was only the two of us and passed a companionable day in mostly silence; reading, checking our e-mail and occasionally taking little walks together. Since that first day, we have become closer—having many chats about life, the boys we live with and the people we meet. I watched her dream come true—she is working a PR internship in the John Hancock building. She dresses up each day for work, looking immaculate in stilettos and silk skirts, and has her own, lakefront office on Michigan Avenue.

Danny is the baby of the family, only eighteen. He is a business major from Wilbeforce University, an all-black college in Ohio. My suspicion is that his friends and family in the city drew him more than anything else—his boys come over nightly to hang out. He offers sudden and unexpectedly perceptive reflections on life ad the rest of the time baffles me with his diet of oatmeal, mcdonalds and ego waffles and yet-- immaculate physique.

Bryan escapes easy description. He is majoring in Criminal Justice and Japanese. He’s got wings tattooed on his ankles and a lip ring, likes anime and is in a frat.

Philipp is twenty-four, a tall German exchange student who plays Mexican acoustic guitar and heavy metal—a leftover from the days when he had long haired and lived for the heavy metal scene. He is working in the most dangerous neighborhood in the city and in him, I find sound advice, intellectual conversation and a penchant for obscure European foods. 

None of us judge each other, except for minor infractions like leaving unwashed dishes or buying the wrong kind of hot dogs. Instead, I live in a remarkable environment where we occasionally eat dinner together and embark on conversations on the people we meet and our relationships of the past and where we go grocery shopping and laugh the whole way about our broken shopping cart. Even after two weeks together, I have concluded only two universal truths amongst us. We all like bananas. A lot. We all like T-Pain’s On a Boat. A lot.