THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID

B. McGILLICUDDY

She had contacted me.

It was a solid two months since we split. More than enough time to revert back to friend-status, especially since we'd only dated for 3/4 of that time anyway.

I called her cell from down the block, "I'm here."
"What?"
"I'm here."
"Oh, well come on up."
"NO!" I yelled, menacingly.
"Shut the fuck up," she chuckled, "you're ridiculous!"
We both laughed and I hung up.
The door was cracked, and as I entered I looked to my left and saw her sitting on her futon, typing away at her laptop. Her hair was up in that sideways '80s ponytail that nobody, ever, pulls off right. And yet...there she was...doing it...against all the laws of physics...she was a vision of the truth, an apparition of my past that was now solid and perfect and A FRIEND. A FRIEND GODDAMNIT. WE'RE JUST FUCKING FRIENDS.

"Yo. What you doing?" I asked.
"Editing my myspace. Can you help me?"
"Nobody uses that shit anymore," I sat down next to her.
"Well, my sister does. It's the only way she'll communicate with me besides phone. I tried messaging her on facebook, and that was an epic fail. It's been a month, no reply."
"So what are you trying to do?"
"Just jazz it up a bit. Oh! Lemme add you as a friend!"
She typed in my name, and my page came up in the search window. :CYNICAL ROMANTIC: was the title. She gingerly ignored the obvious signs there, and clicked on my profile pic.

"This is completely lame! You can't help me, you don't have anything on your page!"
"That's by choice though, I used to pimp it out all the time, but I just...don't care enough right now, I guess. But I do know how to do it."
"I knew you would. So you going to help me?"
She looked up at me with those eyes, those big, sexy eyes. No, those big, friendly eyes. Those big, sexy, sexy eyes...those big...
"Buttercup?"
"Huh? What?"
"You have a boner."
"Uh...wanna have sex?"
"I'm sorry but I've got nowhere for you to put that."
Her face was stone-cold. Brutal. Haggard almost, in my sudden, fear-induced delusion. Shit. There wasn't enough blood in my brain to say anything logical, so I stood up and took out the bouquet of roses I had tucked away in my jacket, set them on the coffee table and walked out of the apartment. Luckily a good case of blushing and rushing flushes out a stiff one pretty quickly.

I was dating another girl by Tuesday. She was alright, not really my type, but definitely worth the play, if nothing else but for experience, and fucking incredible in bed. It wasn't until after I got home from a date with her though, that I checked my myspace and found one friend request, accompanied by a message: "I really like the flowers".

Double-fuck my life.

B. McGILLICUDDY