15 February 2001 ~ Letting go...

"Hold on... Hold on to yourself, for this is gonna hurt like hell..." --Sarah McLachlan

They told me I had to stop living in the past; everybody said, "this is not the same place it used to be." I knew they were right, but I knew things they didn't know, too.

I knew that every time I stepped through the doors, I could feel your presence, could almost hear your voice. I knew that every time I stepped behind the counter, I could feel you with me; I could close my eyes and see you, could smell hazelnut lattés steaming in your hands... I knew that as long as I worked there, you were a part of my life, no matter what. I knew that, standing in front of the espresso machine, I was in a place you were once in. I knew that your hands have touched these plates, have offered these same coffee cups to these same people. I knew that six years ago, you were following the same recipes I'm following now.

I knew that you'd be proud of me. I knew that, as long as I could keep a little part of you here, with me, in my town, I would always have somebody who loved me unconditionally. I knew that if I figured out how you made that hazelnut white chocolate thingy, you'd still be alive somewhere inside me. I knew that you were too far away and that I fucking miss you, but that I had the strength and the means to hold a small part of you inside me.

When they cut my hours down to six per week, when I couldn't pay my rent and nobody really cared if I was starving, I didn't bother looking for another job. I didn't bother arguing back when they put me on the defensive, told me I wasn't doing a good job, told me I was upsetting co-workers and losing business. I did what I had to do: I kept my job and I kept your ever-present smile. It isn't what you would have done; I can't imagine you putting up with bullshit and "Java Negativity" for the sake of somebody you once (or twice... or many times...) thought was the love of your life. Well... Maybe you would. It doesn't matter. I needed you. I just needed you. It was beneath my dignity to put forth so much unappreciated effort for the sake of six hours a week and a reminder of you. So I let go of my dignity and I did it anyway.

I worked there because I loved you, and I needed you. And I lied about it, said none of it had anything to do with you, but only because I suspected nobody would understand. Maybe you would.

I don't have much more dignity to spare. My hours are hovering slightly below the fifteen-hour mark, and I haven't got much fight left in me. My bosses couldn't give a shit about my loyalties; would rather put a couple of kids with no sense of workplace pride in positions of authority, while the girl who keeps a collection of photos of the shop all over her apartment is dealt thirteen hours a week and constant warnings to work harder. There's no fight left in me.

I've decided to look for another job. The warnings, the unexplained punishments, the blame, the suppositions that I'm responsible for money loss and angry customers... I just can't take it anymore.

...But it just seems this is all I have left of you...

("...And there's nothing left of you to remind me, just the memory of your face..." --Genesis, Against All Odds)

This is all I have left of you; this is all I have to keep my dearest and closest friend dear and close to me. I know you're not here, I know I'm just pretending, I know there's very little left of your soul left in the shop you worked in for five years or so, but you're not here, you're a thousand miles away (eight hundred and twenty-four...), and we never have time to talk to each other, and we're hardly even friends in any traditional way... But there's a part of you here, there's a part of you in me, there's a small part of you left behind that I took for myself and locked away in my heart, and I don't HAVE anything else... The few pictures, and the one Valentine's Day card from a few years back, and that's it, that's all I have left. And a small memory of kissing you in the bathroom once, and months' worth of talking to you over the counter, listening to your gahd-awful Neil Diamond CD's and watching you bus tables...

(I'm just not sure anybody else ever knew me the way you did, the way I suppose you still do... I just don't think anybody ever understood me well enough to love me as you have... I just don't think anybody else GETS all my stupid jokes. I've just never had another friend like you, and I don't suppose I ever will.)

(You said to me that people come and go, and places come and go, and you promised me, three years ago today, that in two years, everything would have changed and none of what was important then would make any difference to me. Except Peter, you said. And maybe yourself. You said Java Joe's was just another coffeeshop. I let go of so much. I let friends go, I let lovers go, I let Peter go, and I didn't look back. I even tried to let you go, but I really couldn't. Three years later, you still matter. And Java's still matters because it was yours. I have a life, don't get me wrong. I have places I go, and things I do that are mine alone; I have a boyfriend I'm quite in love with, and a handful of wonderful friends. But you still matter and I don't suppose that will ever change. I suppose I'll always need you in small ways: to be inside me and to help me laugh at myself when I don't really feel like laughing. To remind me that I am loved, and to let me know that there's at least one person in the world who has known me almost completely and has still cared for me.)

I will embark on a job search beginning tomorrow. By next week, I'll be working elsewhere, maybe.

I've done okay for myself. It's not that I need your reassurance all of the time.

I sent you a package today. I finally remembered to send your Christmas present. I think it will amuse you. Stepping out of the post office, I could swear I smelled hazelnuts and your shampoo.

Right now, there's almost nothing I need more than a hug from you. Lacking that, I think I'll go to Lost Dog for a peach tea with lemon.

~Helena*

"There's nothing in your way now... Letting go..." --some song my dad used to play a lot.