More synchronicity: meeting Chicago's most infamous pro-life queer vegan Catholic anarchist

I have way too many of these stories, and some might say this one would go better under "premonitions" than "synchronicities"; but then, some folks include the former as a subset of the latter. Anyway, here goes a most amusing story.

One day in February of this year: I'm in downtown Chicago on business. I do a job interview at a particular company, then go to my alma mater to crank out some more cover letters and resumes in their computer lab, and see my friend Anita, who works there. When her shift ends we go across the street to have some Thai food. After that, I plan to go to a North Side bar to catch a free showing of 24 Hour Party People and a documentary on The Clash. (Anita, unfortunately, has to go home.)

But as I count my money -- which is very low -- I'm not even sure I'll have enough for both train fare up to Wrigleyville and a beer. And it kind of ruins the fun of everything when everybody around you is enjoying themselves throwin' back brewskis and you have nothing, plus the bartender's looking at you like you're a cheapskate.

For a second, I waver about going. Then I decide to go over to the subway station and see if I still have a few bucks on my CTA card. If I do, then I'll go to the Smart Bar.

I stick my card in the machine and -- hallelujah! -- I've got $3.10 left, which nearly covers my trainfare both ways.

So I descend the steps to the subway. Down at the bottom, the first thing I see, standing to the left side of the platform, back turned to me, is a pretty, waifish, delicate-as-a-daffodil black girl wearing headband and bracelets both made of rainbow-colored beads. She's surrounded by luggage: four pieces, if my memory serves me well. One of them is a huge wheeled suitcase, festooned with rows and rows of buttons and stickers advocating just about every protest movement since the French Revolution. I mean, there was "FREE MUMIA" (I think that was one of them), there was "VEGAN," there was "ANIMAL RIGHTS," and of course, "ANARCHY." I believe there was one that said "QUEER." And--some might think, incongruently--a big white-on-black sticker that read, "PRO-LIFE."

Ah! I think. I know exactly who this is.

"Excuse me," I say to her. "Are you Maya?"

Yes. She's Maya.

The reason I know she is Maya is because I knew Maya from the Internet -- sort of. Maya has a blog, which I had been reading every now and then since last fall -- when, in fact, anyone who was paying attention to politics was checking it out. Because you see, Maya, the self-avowed "queer"/vegan/Green/animal liberationist/pacifist/anarchist/pro-life daughter of our favorite black, ultraconservative, Opus-Dei Roman Catholic, Republican Illinois senatorial contender from Maryland. You know, the one who was soundly trounced last fall by liberal Democrat Barack Obama.

During his Senate race her dad had drawn much publicity for lashing out at homosexuals as "selfish hedonists." Not long thereafter, it leaked out that his daughter had a blog in which she declared herself proudly queer. (She rarely if every used the word "lesbian," and I understand there is a subtle difference; more of a "this is who I am" statement rather than "this is the lifestyle I practice.") Photos of her allegedly making out with a girl were circulated on the Net.

So after hearing all the hubbub, I got online and found her blog. I quickly grew fascinated with this young girl, because 1) she was in many ways a slightly younger, brasher, female version of me (minus the mixed-up sexuality), and 2) she was so obviously hurting, and wearing that hurt, quite literally, on her sleeve.

Upon checking out her blog and seeing the array of links to radical causes she was involved with -- including the pro-life cause -- I said to myself: One of these days I'm going to meet this girl. I figured I'd drop her an e-mail or comment publicly on her blog. Needless to say, I wasn't interested in her in a romantic sense (which would have been futile anyway, considering). So I had no idea how or when I would meet her. But I was sure that I would.

And -- what do you know? -- here I am, a few months later, in February, standing in the subway tunnel in this city of 3 1/2 million, meeting her.

When I tell her how I know her, she's surprised. "This is like the first time I've ever had anyone say they recognized me just from my blog," she says. (Okay, I had had a little help--I'd seen a picture too -- but it was really the loud rainbow jewelry, the luggage, and the militant collection of buttons and stickers that really clued me in.)

We talk about a recent episode she related on her blog: her fending off an attacker with a karate flip (this is a 90# girl) and a butterfly knife. I tell her that for such a little bitty girl, she could sure kick some butt. Also, I tell her that she seems a lot wiser than her years. I'm sure it sounds patronizing, although that's not my intention.

The northbound train soon comes and we both board and sit together. Having been kicked out by her dad, Maya says she's going to stay with a friend who lives up around Granville. Despite her shy demeanor, she is talkative enough. I tell her I identify with a lot of the causes she espouses, appreciate her courage, and have said some prayers for her simply because of reading about her various struggles. (I do not get around to saying I don't agree with the homosexual lifestyle/ideology--but this is hardly the time or place.)

Of course, she is quite a spectacle and you can bet she's attracting a lot of attention from other riders in the pretty-full car--especially when we start talking about her being thrown out of her dad's apartment, and I mention that I had voted for her dad. But, I had sort of grown in my ideology, more towards anarchism, I told her.

We also talk about ADHD (which she has been suspected of having--no surprise to me from reading her blog) and how that can be just a label that gets stuck on those who are more creative and independent thinkers. As Addison comes up and I prepare to get off, I tell her, "I had a feeling I was going to meet you!" and then promise to write some comments to her blog in the future.

There was more to the convo, but as I didn't write it down soon thereafter, I've forgotten. But she struck me as very nice and gentle, not at all as some kind of militant, loud, defiant activist. I find myself wondering how much of her stance on the gay thing is 1) normal rebellion against her parents' very public politics and religion (especially a no doubt ultraconservative Opus Dei schooling); 2) a way to empathize with the outcasts and the downtrodden; and 3) maybe a reaction to unfortunate and ugly incidents in her past to which she alludes on her blog.

It's been quite some time since we met, and Maya has since moved on to Rhode Island, where she's a student at Brown. I would have liked to have hung out with her -- as friends, of course -- but both our lives were a bit too unstable for that (she being homeless and me, at that time, being jobless and carless in the suburbs; it was too hard to get around.) I did later meet other folks who knew her: for instance, after a punk rock show in May, I crashed overnight with an anarchist couple in their early 20s who told me that a few weeks ago, Maya had spent some nights there, in the same bed I was in. Not that shocking, considering that Chicago's anarchist community can't be that big. But it's still fascinating how people's paths cross, or in that case, almost cross.

Will we ever meet again in person? I have no way of knowing. We have exchanged a few emails, and she has seen my other blog where I make it very clear that I oppose homosexual behavior but love everyone regardless. Has that made any kind of impact upon her? I can only hope so. At least she's aware that there are some people here who can distinguish between sin and sinner; that adhering to biblical standards doesn't equate with hatred. If that's the only good that may come of our meeting, it's good enough for me.