i still want to know where everything i've loved is gone and why
I stole an espresso cup and a saucer from the bar. I don’t know why I did. I’ve never stolen anything before in my life. But I just felt like it. At 31 years of age, I realized - maybe now is the time to start.
It was so easy. I put it in my purse. No one was looking. It’s beautiful, really. White china with a blue pattern. It fit right in. There was a camera. My friend pointed it out. But I didn’t even care.
Sitting next to us was the 42-year old man I went out with once. I had a bad feeling about him. Not a bad feeling, but just an eye-roll feeling. I knew what type of girl he was looking for. The Toronto pilates instructor aesthetic. Who wears workout gear at all times. She drinks out of a Stanley Cup. She goes to Tulum regularly. Acai bowls are so interesting to her. So delicious, with those three types of fruit layered on top of peanut butter.
I know this because this same girl was the girl that OFM was interacting with during the course of when we were “figuring things out”. And it’s not the girl’s fault. But. It’s my neighbourhood bar and my mother died eight years ago and is it really fair that I’m reminded of all of this trauma today?
No, I don’t think so.
The bartender, the one who’s a bit more wise than the others - tells me to go upstairs where MFB is working.
“What’s the lesser of two evils?” I ask him.
“Just go upstairs, Emily. Don’t worry.”
The upstairs bar is empty, except for MFB. Cleaning the countertops.
He sighs when I walk in.
“I know I’m the last person you want to see, but I’m already emotional and can’t be downstairs anymore.”
“But he’s talking to another girl - you don’t have to worry about him.” (A reminder: this 42 year old man was the same man MFB got mad at me for talking to. Lol.)
“It’s who he’s talking to. Someone that my ex was trying to be involved with while we were trying to figure it out.”
He’s silent. “Oh. Fuck. That’s tough. Maybe just -
“I don’t want to be told what to do right now. I can’t. I’m already emotional this weekend.”
He takes a breath. “Ok. I’ll get someone to get your food for you.”
I shake my head and sit down in front of him. I left half of my pizza and my third glass of rosé at the downstairs bar.
“I stole an espresso cup. And a saucer.”
“From where?”
“Downstairs.”
He starts to laugh. “Why would you tell me that?”
“I don’t know. It was just so easy and I put it in my bag.”
“Well. Now I have to rat you out.”
“Really?”
“No. You think I care?”
“I didn’t think you would.”
“I’d go and get your food for you but I -
He motions to the line that’s forming, and the tables that are filling.
“I don’t want to bother you.” And I never want to bother him. I don’t ever want to be an inconvenience.
“I am alone in certain ways that I do not admit to strangers because why should I? Death makes people uncomfortable because there is never a thing to say to make it better.”
I think of this quote from Marlowe’s Happy Hour.
My eyes start to water. I put on my new sunglasses. I’m wearing one of my favourite Zara denim mini dresses and my cowboy boots from Rome.
“I think I’m just going to go. Can I get the bill?”
“Emily.” He sighs.
“No, seriously. I can’t be here anymore.”
It’s all too wrapped up in one. All of it is. Another reason why me and OFM didn’t work out. A reminder of why I left the city in the first place. A reminder of another date that I don’t want to re-live. Me and MFB not working out. All wrapped up in one setting. In one moment.
Ending. After ending. After ending.
You wonder what the point of it all is - don’t you? But it’s humorous. It has to be. After a while.
“I feel like I’m overreacting.” I message my friend.
“Why are you invalidating how you feel?”
“I don’t know.” I tell her. “Because everyone’s first reaction is: tune it out. Or gossip is gossip. Or - that’s what happens when you get involved with a bartender.”
It’s all coming to the surface. The frustrations. The misunderstandings.
But as I’m sitting here. On the hardwood floor of my apartment. I wonder. I wonder what she would do, or what she would say.
I read one of my favourite passages in “Grief is for People”.
“I still want to know where everything I loved has gone and why. Perhaps if I knew more about God, I would know it’s blasphemous enough to want answers, and perhaps if I knew more about philosophy, I would know it’s foolish to suggest there are answers.”