Lessons in Letting Go Read Online Free PDF Page A

We’d met on the set of a student production of Romeo and Juliet . I was helping out on the administrative side of things (I was too shy to tell anyone I wanted to be a performer) and Adam was playing the Friar. How anyone could manage to turn a character as pious and earnest as that into a cross between Mr Humphries from Are You Being Served? and Riff Raff from The Rocky Horror Picture Show is anyone’s guess, but Adam did it. He was the loudest, brashest, bravest person I had ever met. I never had the courage to actively befriend him, I just hovered around him long enough that, by the time he noticed me, he simply assumed I was part of his entourage.
    From that time on, we wasted enormous chunks of our lives together, watching cable TV, gossiping, window shopping and fighting over the last biscuit in the packet. It was Adam who helped me to acclimatise to life in the big smoke: talking me through the etiquette of nightclubs; teaching me how to ride a tram without falling over; helping me to tell the difference between gay men and straight men. Eventually, I was even confident enough to ride on escalators on my own. With Adam’s guiding hand and hilariously acerbic wit, I slowly came out of my shell. I even managed to find myself a boyfriend, much to my own surprise.
    His name was Thomas and he was kind, compassionate and funny and he came complete with a broken-down old car he called Gertrude and an equally broken-down old cat he called Santa. I was in awe of him right from the start. He was the most competent person I had ever met and nothing ever frightened him. Any problem I had, he knew how to solve it.
    And he loved me.
    That, above all else, was the most amazing thing in the world. Here was I, this ridiculous little country bumpkin who hung off the coat-tails of her best friend like her life depended on it and this man loved me. With Thomas by my side, I finally felt like I had found a place in the world.
    When I broke up with him three years later, I lost that place again. I was stunned. After three years of watching the way Thomas approached life I was sure that it had rubbed off on me. I was wrong; it turned out I was only confident when he was around. It was Adam who held my hand through the most emotional times and when I moved out of the flat Thomas and I had shared, it was Adam who helped me find a new place to live. Or tried to help. Even Adam couldn’t help me find a place big enough to store all of my stuff.
    When Thomas and I broke up, I’d volunteered to move out. I felt it was the least I could do, considering I was the one who had ended things. I dragged Adam to countless house inspections until I finally found the only thing I could afford: a piece of crap located just the other side of where anyone would visit. A month later, I’d still not unpacked. I couldn’t unpack. There was nowhere to put everything.
    One day, as we were sitting in our favourite café and I was complaining for the hundredth time about my lack of storage, Adam finally snapped.
    ‘If you didn’t have so much shit, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Again.’ Adam tapped his coffee spoon on the table impatiently.
    ‘You’ve got just as much crap as me, probably more,’ I countered.
    ‘That’s different.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘I don’t bang on about it constantly!’ He pursed his lips, added another sugar and stirred his coffee. ‘I quietly live in my filth and keep my mouth shut.’
    The idea of Adam ever keeping his mouth shut made me laugh out loud. I had once witnessed him telling a famous Australian soap-star-turned-pop-star that he had her CD—and did she want it back?
    ‘Adam, I swear you couldn’t possibly live in my place either. There’s only one cupboard. One cupboard! You’d be in just as much trouble as me.’
    ‘There’s a wardrobe, there’s the drawers and cabinets in the kitchen, there’s under your bed.’ He put down his coffee spoon and looked at me seriously. ‘There’s plenty of