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1 PM Thursday

Along with the paint-your-own-pottery place, I learned about a second closure last week: My college coffeehouse. On one hand, it feels really far away—the last time I was there was about 19 years ago—and on the other, it is the setting of some of my favourite college memories. I loved this coffeehouse so much that I chose apartments near it so I could be close all four years.

I called it my home away from home because back in the days before cell phones, if someone wanted to find you, they needed to know where you hung out. I was either at home, in the literary magazine office, in the etching lab, at Hillel (the Jewish student union), or—more often than not—studying at Espresso Royale. I found it on the first week of school. In warm months, I got an iced decaf raspberry mocha. In the cold months, I got a hot almond milk.

So I have a lot of happy memories of studying with friends at this coffeehouse in the evening, but one of my favourite memories is meeting my conversation partner there weekly. In my first month at college, I saw an advertisement on a kiosk looking for native English speakers to serve as conversation partners. I filled out a form, asking to be placed with a woman, preferably one who spoke French or Spanish. My match was with a man who spoke Indonesian.

Okay.

But I gave it a try, and we met for years at the coffeehouse to talk. He would bring photo albums and use the pictures to practice descriptions. Or I would ask him questions about Indonesia. And we’d just talk… over coffee… or doodle objects when we couldn’t use circumlocution to get around an unknown word.

In the very beginning, he would leave me an answering machine message on Wednesdays to make sure I remembered that we were meeting the next day, and the messages always began: “1. PM. Thuuuuuuuuursday. Espresso Royale.” To this day, I cannot take down my Espresso Royale mug without hearing his voice in my head, reminding me of our upcoming meeting.

That’s what I thought about when I heard that Espresso Royale had not survived coronavirus, another business succumbing to the economic downturn and long term closure. My conversation partner and studying with friends and iced decaf raspberry mochas. (And also the people who would have sex in the single-room bathrooms at the back of the store. I gave them a few seconds of nostalgia time.)

It’s not just a business. It’s someone else’s receptacle for their memories. And it makes me so sad every time I hear about another placed closed forever.

2 comments

1 Sharon { 08.11.20 at 1:44 pm }

I totally get this. When my father was still living, I used to visit him once or twice a year, and he lived in the city where I attended college. I would often enjoy visiting my old haunts and feel sad when I saw that some place that held good memories had closed.

I’m sorry that you’ve lost a place that was a precious memory for you.

2 Mali { 08.14.20 at 1:15 am }

I love the stories of this place, and I’m a little sad it is closing too. But a lot sad for you. Though now you’ve written down those memories, and have honoured it, and the relationships you had there, nicely as a result.

(c) 2006 Melissa S. Ford
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