Text: Drummer…is this you?
I almost can’t fucking believe it…but to be honest I find myself to be very well versed in the art of The Secret and the universe and attracting all things I want and need in a given instant…!
Oh yeah, I went there.
I mean it makes sense…I’d been ruminating over our breakup all day and further embellishing in his memory all night.
Of COURSE I’d fucking hear from him at the end of it all!
I attempted to carry on a hapless conversation prior to this discovery with absolutely no clue as to who was on the receiving end of my texts…
But, lo and behold…
It is in fact Drummer.
He asks why the hell I would even ask who it was.
“Like you don’t know?” he demands.
I tell him I didn’t actually know who I was texting back because I deleted his number right after we got off the phone that night, all of which I had so eloquently explained in the FACEBOOK MESSAGE he NEVER responded to MONTHS AGO!!!!!!!!!!
*insert cries of agony, dramatic hand flailing, and hair pulling here*
Text: …WHAT FACEBOOK MESSAGE?!
Oh you’ve got to be FUCKING kidding me, man!
Drummer goes on to protest about having never received any Facebook message from me, but that he had always thought we should have remained in each other’s lives. He says it was the most mature and honest breakup he’d ever gone through so much so that he initially thought of calling me back immediately after we hung up to demand that it not end…
And yet…he never did.
For four months he never did.
GOD DAMMIT DRUMMER! I said all this in my AMAZINGLY EPIC Facebook message that you apparently never got!!!!
And then it hits me…
The OTHER folder.
Now for those of you who aren’t as up-to-date with all the latest nonsensical nuances Facebook has to offer, there’s a folder marked “OTHER” in your messages section.
Due to the fact that I’m more private and unable to find than real baby-daddies on Maury, my outgoing messages usually end up in the OTHER folder when I’m not friends with that person.
Go ahead…check that folder right now.
I’m willing to bet you have at least ONE message in there from either an interested admirer from afar or former flame/fuck.
Drummer eventually finds my message.
HE NEVER GOT MY MESSAGE!
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry in this instant. Frankly I wanna take a knife to Mark Zuckerberg’s FACE and viciously question, “WHY MOTHER FUCKER DID YOU FEEL THE NEED TO CREATE A FOLDER THAT IS COMPLETELY HIDDEN AND NEVER TO BE FOUND!!?!?!??!!?!! WAY TO RUIN MY LIFE!!!!! I BLAME YOU FOR ALL THE COOKIES I ATE AND GOT SICK FROM AFTER THIS BREAKUP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Yeah…something along those lines.
Drummer agrees with everything I have to say and validates feeling the exact same way. He then goes on to further state that he hasn’t stopped thinking about me since the last time we spoke…
Somehow it’s only in this instant I finally realize for damn sure myself…that I OBVIOUSLY haven’t stopped thinking about him either.
I feel the tears well up in my eyes and my chest get tight as I choke back that lump in my throat from rereading his text.
“I never stopped thinking about you”
I allowed myself maybe four minutes in total to cry over Drummer four months ago…and that was that. It wasn’t fair that he heard my side while refusing insight into his, it wasn’t fair that I opened my arms to him and he crossed his to me, and God dammit it wasn’t fucking fair that I POURED my heart out while he closed up HIS!
I shake my head furiously as a means to shake away how hurt I once was.
I’m ashamed to say that I’m ashamed to cry. I cry when I miss my chihuahua, I cry when I fight with my sister, l cry when I hear stories of puppies going through terrible abuse, I cry when I can’t find my favorite stilettos, I cry at the end of a movie when the couple HAD A LOVE THAT SURPASSED ALL TRIALS ERRORS AND HARDSHIPS only for one of them to mother fucking DIE in the end (!), and I cry when the Cowboys lose to the Giants.
Regardless of the reason, I rarely cry over MEN and I even MORE SO rarely cry in FRONT of anyone. I pretty much hold it in and then let it go.
But not happening again, dammit!
Still via texts:
Drummer: Oh my God this is so crazy! Can you please come over right now I need to see you…
Me: (YESS!!!!! I’m getting dressed RIGHT NOW!!!! Wait it’s mother fucking 1:27 in the morning…) …is this a booty call? =(
Drummer: No! This is a let’s get together and catch up call! I really wanna see you and talk some more in person…
Me: (OK YAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!!) …ok fine.
OK so MAAAAAAAAAAAYBE it doesn’t take much convincing on my part.
BUT WHATEVERRR YO!!
LEAPING from my bed, I quickly throw on my strapless spandex, sea-green sundress, the one that hugs my ass perfectly and leaves me unable to wear ANY panties whatsoever and then I quickly dart to the bathroom to finish myself off:
- Deodorant: CHECK!
- Makeup: CHECK!
- Michael Kors perfume on my wrists, neck, inner elbows, and nape: CHECK!
- Shaved armpits: uhhh….fuck…ok….NOW CHECK!
- Lotion so I have super soft snuggle-able skin that isn’t ashy and flaking all over him: CHECK!
- Waxed va-jay…dare I check?: OK umm…definitely NOT CHECK! But fuck it (hehehe I just said butt fuck it!) there’s nothing I can do about it at this point *shrugs*
I frantically find my keys and grab my purse as I scurry, shuck and shoot out of my apartment.
Fuck this guy, yo! I’m going over there and asking the questions I never asked and getting the answers I never got! THAT’S IT!
Here goes nothing.
Considering I’m already Asian and a girl, I probably shouldn’t be on the road as my deteriorating sense of logic and overwhelming emotional fervor culminate in a perfect storm of a driving disaster.
For all those Asians and females offended by this comment, I will say that while it took me some time to make peace with being a bad driver, I now OWN the fact that I very well may be the sole reason those two stereotypes exist.
So, my apologies.
I race down the 10 West from Hollywood to Santa Monica as I vehemently question and berate myself out loud:
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!
WHAT ARE YOU REALLY GOING OVER THERE FOR?!
WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY GET OUT OF GOING THERE AT THIS HOUR?!
I may as well be screamingly singing along to Celine Dion’s “All By Myself” because that’s how passionately I ponder these thoughts out loud. While all posed questions prove quite plausible, I can’t say I have a single logical response to any of them.
I will say, however, that sometimes…you just can’t explain away the way you feel.
And right now, I feel overwhelmingly drawn to Drummer in such a way that he’s cosmically pulling me closer and closer and closer to him with every passing exit…and no sense of logic can keep me from turning onto his in this moment.
Pulling a right off Wilshire and passing his place, I park my car on the side of the road as I check my lipstick in my visor mirror. Closing my eyes, I take a deep, purposeful breath in as I reach for my phone to text him:
Biting my bottom lip and bracing myself for what I’m about to endure, I open the door to my car and step out. Looking down towards his house, I see Drummer RACE OUTSIDE and DOWN HIS STEPS and INTO THE STREET about 20 yards from me!
Drummer and I both stop suddenly where we stand in the middle of the street, facing each other as our eyes meet for the first time in four months.
Fuck, he lost weight and I gained weight.
I shouldn’t have eaten that last coconut, dammit!
I let out a surrendering sigh and tilt my head to the left as Drummer smiles slightly to the right. Without saying a word, he drops his arms to the side and opens up his palms, shrugging as he shakes his head back at me, his bright blue eyes still speaking the words that he won’t…
Just like I remember.
I then throw both hands over my mouth, hoping to conceal my shaking lip and undeniable facial expressions that would currently convey how excited, nervous, heartbroken, and IN NEED of him I am in this moment, as I make my way towards him, my legs shaking and shaking my head while choking back my tears that I’m too ashamed to show.
Hold it the FUCK IN, Jayla!
Half-way there, I throw my purse on the pavement and RUN as fast as I can towards Drummer (!), as I THROW my arms around him and he LIFTS me up off the ground in an embrace so tight every front surface of my skin is embedded and indented against him.
And in this moment…
I finally let go.
I let go and forget about the weight I put on since we last saw each other, all the questions I never asked, all the answers I never got, and all the reasons I can’t seem to come up with for why I’m even here, as Drummer holds onto me tightly, kissing my head and now burying his face into my hair.
No words spoken between us…no words needed.
And in the middle of a side street in Santa Monica, I desperately hold on and finally let go, as I begin to cry in a drummer’s arms.
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