I have never been good at letting go of the past, of people in particular. I cling to memories, I bear grudges, I hate goodbyes…

This weekend we said goodbye to the theatre provision at the campus where I studied my degree. Since James died and the pilgrimage to Scarborough became a ‘thing’ we do sometimes the place has become weighted with new meaning and new memories.

Sitting in TS1 listening to all sorts of people share their experiences and reflect on the value of the provision we came to celebrate/mourn the passing of my heart ached as a multitude of experiences came flooding in:

Helen Iball climbing out of a hamper.
Feeling young and naive.
The naming of ‘Sexy’ Sarah.
Hard hats and Gaffa Tape.
Duncan – supportive, grumpy, practical and usually bloody right.
Andy’s turn-ups.
Struggling to listen to the incredible John Allen the morning after Toffs.
Feeling hungover.
Speak Bitterness.
The End.
Fecund ALWAYS setting off the smoke alarms.
Women Alone.
Fizzy drinks are banned.
John Keats, morning yoga, channelling Liam Gallagher, Cowgirl, research, passion, hard work, cans of Stella and the re-birth of Adam.
Feeling alive.
Reems of white paper, the Prodigy, paint, Little Fluffy Clouds, Feeling Good and contact improvisation.
Feeling creative.
Jill’s purple breasts.
Choose Life, Temple of Office, Song 2, the dance of love, the lollipop text, Magic Moments, Helen breaking my heart every time.
Feeling part of something important.
Michael’s warm smile, strong, safe arms and perfect bottom.
Feeling adored.
Adam being violently murdered.
Matt winging it and pulling it off, he was so damn talented.
But mostly…
James up a ladder.
And James directing me.
And James improvising the lights for Imartation.
And James being with someone else.
And James’ terrible trousers.
And James’ beautiful smile.
And James.
Feeling bereft.

It’s all there, in that room. That and thousands more memories that are not mine. And in that moment I realised that I would never be in that room again. I will never make any new memories in that room and will probably never see most of those people again.

And it’s OK.

I need to let it all go. Enjoy the friends I made then that are still part of my life now and forget the rest.

So, with this I blow my past one last kiss, over my shoulder, as I stride towards my future.

 

Image of a platform at Scarborough station

Leaving/arriving

 

 

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