Don't Worry, We're Good

I didn't expect to start tearing up at the smell of popcorn, but I guess a break up will do that to you. I stared at the tacky space-themed carpet as I made my way to the lobby. Somebody had spilled their candy and left it there. I fought the urge to go to the usher's closet and sweep it up. It was weird, realizing those days were over. I checked my phone. It's a Thursday. You usually work Thursdays. I found myself both hoping and dreading that you'd be working concessions today. 

Suddenly, that familiar pang of anxiety grabbed my stomach and twisted it into a knot. I paused. We hadn't talked since we broke up. I couldn't. I knew if I did, I'd just beg you to take me back and that wouldn't have been fair. I was going to college half way across the country and you were staying here. The idea of us slowly falling apart terrified me so much more than a quick, clean break. So I ended it.

But it wasn't a quick, clean break. I guess I should have put in my two week's notice before we broke up, but doing that without telling you felt like lying. So I spent two weeks trying to avoid you. Unfortunately, every inch of this theater reminded me of you. When I'd call for a manager, I'd remember the dumb jokes we used to make on the walkies. When I left at the end of the day, I'd remember the notes you used to leave in my locker. I couldn't escape you.

I remember our first kiss. We were cleaning theater 7. The end credits to some fantasy movie were playing in the background and the soundtrack was beautiful. Maybe a dirty theater isn't the most romantic environment, but I remember the way you held my face in your hands. You took my breath away.

I steeled myself as I walked into the lobby. I tried so hard not to look over at the counter, but I did. There you were, joking with the customers so effortlessly in a way I'd envied ever since you'd started working here. You treated everyone like they were your friend and it wasn't an act. That confidence was just one of the many things I loved about you.

You didn't notice me walking by or call out to me, which I was thankful for, but I did notice that when the customers walked away, your face fell ever so slightly. I knocked on the office door. There was no answer, so I went in. One of my managers, Shelby, was on the phone. She paused, put her hand over the speaker, and said, "Make sure you didn't leave anything in your locker. You can leave your uniform on the desk." Without so much as a, "Nice working with you for the past 4 years" she turned her back and continued arguing with someone about ticket prices on the phone. She never particularly liked me, but she got stuff done, so I respected her.

I pulled my faded neon T-Shirt and name tag out of my bag and put it on the desk. I remembered my first day of work and being so excited to wear that shirt. I made my way to my locker and opened it up. There wasn't much in there, just some old flyers our boss had handed out over the years. I was about to dump it all in the trash when I saw something. A familiar square of notebook paper, like the ones you'd given me countless times. I stared at it, almost afraid to open it up. I clutched it as I walked out of that theater for the last time and through the parking lot.

I sat in my car. My mind went wild with all the possibilities of what it could say. I remember the look in your eyes when I told you that I couldn't be with you anymore. It was the most hurt I'd ever seen in you and it broke my heart. I didn't know what I would do if this was hate mail from you. I'd already spent too much time blaming myself for what I'd done to you, I couldn't take knowing that you did too.

I unfolded the note. It was your handwriting.
It said,

"Don't worry, we're good."