News and Books - Part One

There is a place where we all would gather on the corner of Palm and Main. We're all addicts, but no matter our vice: we went because we needed to be. Personally, I've probably wasted several hundred dollars there just in the past few months - others even exceed that.

Whoever arrived first had the task to wrangle up "our table." If it wasn't available, we would curse silently to ourselves but construct something similar to it in the blistering sun, all the while praying that whoever was occupying our space would soon leave. It was the best table because it was right by the front window, in the shade, in a hollow space between two vine-covered walls. It was usually just the four of us in the beginning, but almost always other friends or even complete strangers would join us during the course of our seating. Someone would gather chairs, another would wipe the table, empty the ash treys - all mundane tasks that made our experience at this little cafe all the more pleasant. Just thinking about it now makes my stomach feel hollow and my eyes water.

Sitting down for the first sip and cigarette for the day we would discuss whatever was on our minds and exhaust the topic of conversation until we ended up fighting about it or forgetting what even started us on the topic in the first place. Someone was always singing, someone was always fighting for the lime light while he and I would talk about common place ideas and the problems in our lives. We truly listened to what the other had to say, even if we hated what they were --

Being interrupted in mid-conversation was not uncommon.

"Can I get a cigarette?"

You have to remember to not set this pack on the table top or else by the time it's time to leave you won't have any left. But you never say no. You can't. If anything, you'll just lie.

"Sure," you say as you take one out of the pack and pass it over to the hand that asks for it. And as you do this, you will be thinking, trying to remember how much change you have in the bottom of your bag and wondering if you'll be able to make the rest of this pack last you through the day. Holding in a sigh, you take one out for yourself, as well, then place the pack inside your bag preparing to tell the next vagabond that the one you're smoking is your last. You can't say no and it is this fault that leads to the eventual crumbling of the coffee crowd.

Things got the most intimate when it was just us four. We would say things to each other that we wouldn't dare discuss in front of a larger group. We had secrets, still do. There was a strong bond that was formed and that could possibly only be the result of spending so much time together in a span of a few weeks. Whatever the reason for our closeness, it was there, and because of that, we could talk about our fears and our resentments and the problems that we had with the nature of ourselves as humans - our downfalls. We often asked each other for advice and through gritted teeth we took it because we knew that whoever was offering us the harsh truth to our reality was probably right, as much as it hurt to hear it.

"Just say no if you don't want to do something!" was the answer one of the three told me when I came to him with a problem. The other two fervently agreed and felt that without achieving this ability, the ability to refuse someone something despite how it might make them feel, I would not grow.

"You are the most important person in your life. If you don't do what's best for you, you will never be happy."

So this is what I did. I began to stop giving everyone what they wanted and started giving myself the things I needed. That's when everything went to shit.