"Hanging Out"

I had a pretty good today. Great, if I just focus on events and less on unwelcome emotions.
Although I've been rejected when asking for letters of recommendation (ouch), and I've realized it is embarrassing even thinking about asking others (I don't really talk in class), I got responses from two professors and two employers today agreeing to write me a letter. Having people who are willing to talk me up are great, therefore I feel pretty great...however...this is not the topic today.

Instead I can't stop thinking about that damn chair in that cafe I love so much.

I pigged out today. It was fun, and my taste buds loved every second of it. Locally grown food, healthily prepared. Awesome. I went and got a dessert (not so healthy), and rejoined my friend at our table...only for some reason I switched chairs. After a few bites, I realized why my stomach wasn't quite liking the food I had just swallowed, why my heart was getting heavier.

That damn chair, facing the window, those damn people walking beside me, that goddamn counter situated on my right.

That memory.

I had been in that exact spot when I made the biggest and easiest mistake that I will regret for the rest of my life.
Not so long ago, I sat chatting with three other friends when I received a text. "What are you up to?" was the gist. Of course I answered "Just hanging out," or something as bland and open-ended. I didn't invite her because there were four chairs and four of us, and sometimes planning takes energy (like scooting a chair is difficult)...and I was just "hanging out." A little smalltalk, and in the end--that was the end. That was our last conversation because that friend killed herself the next day.
Today I sat there, and looked at my dead friend's best friend. I couldn't share with her my internal freak out status. I just looked into her eyes, and imagined an alternate ending, one where we had another "hanging out" with us. She would brush her short brown hair out of her eyes and flash her easy smile, but, instead I just kept blinking and thinking, "I must be a good friend to you."

A little later, as if the my horrible aura of emotion was leaking, talk of unrelated suicide resurfaced. My butt could barely stay in that chair. I had to get up. I had to get out of that place. Its been a few hours and I still feel like I might throw up.

Its a shame, but my favorite restaurant now holds a negative connotation. Its a shame, because I wasn't willing to share my favorite restaurant with someone who probably would have loved it.