I'm going back to find some peace of mind in San Jose [part V - fin]

Continued from part IV.

Gordon Biersch is my new Banknote. It's not an inexpensive place to hang out, but since I don't have my car here, my regular monthly expenses have lowered, by that much at least, so in this manner I can justify the expense.

Besides, they have furniture here.

I remember the first time I sat here, on the patio at Gordon Biersch. It was February, 1995 and the Internet World trade show was being held here in San Jose. In later years, it moved to L.A., but for now, the search engine company I used to work for sent us here, and put us up at the Fairmont.

Man, those were the days.

Tonight will be my sixth night sleeping on the floor of my virtually empty apartment, on the Aerobed Jack bought for me the day I arrived. With Pinky curled up at my side.

You see, the moving truck hasn't arrived yet. It's not their fault; it's circumstance, and mine. They drove my load to Calgary right away, but then they had to await my official, legal entry into the United States as an alien before they could drive my possessions across the border. By the time I faxed them my papers their office was closed, and then another day passed without me being aware that the fax hadn't gone through, and then it was the weekend, and I'd missed the truck destined for Salt Lake City and parts south.

So I'm still waiting for my furniture to arrive.

Not that I have much, anyway. I divested myself of most of it before I left Toronto. I sold my dining room table and my hideous cheerywood bedroom set — not because I'd slept on it with X for 17 years, though that was part of the reason; but because when I'd bought it I'd been a little girl who'd read Wuthering Heights too many times, and who dreamed of a four-poster bed.

I'm not that little girl any longer.

When the movers arrive tomorrow, I'll swap the Aerobed for my futon, the one that Markus and Amy would sleep on when they came to Toronto to watch a hockey game.

"I hope you get the job," Markus told me back in April, "so we can come visit you in San Francisco."

"It's San Jose," I replied, "but close enough."

"I've always wanted to go to San Francisco!" exclaimed Amy. She's American, from North Dakota. My cousin Cinderella is married to an American, too.

Funny how life turns out.

Thus ends the story that began with Postmodern Sass telling the story of how she returned to San Jose, after accepting a job there, to find an apartment. A story which ended with her returning again. This time for good. In the next story, Sass finds her people in San Jose.