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Gummy Worms and Pokemon Cards.
Astonishment. Fear. Betrayal. Confusion. Guilt. Denial.
I read over the words on the screen.
"...separate ways...just friends...we had a great run...not you, it's me..."
I flip my phone shut without thinking. I dare not read the end. I look at my lamp. My cork board. My feet. Anything but the end.
GAH, what was I thinking?! I must have looked so stupid next to him. So out of my league. I didn't even get something human. I got the friggin' "it's not you, it's me."
Tears well up in my eyes. Let 'em run. Let them stream down my face and drop onto my phone. Stupid camera-less, keyboard-less, 7-contact, Forrest Gump phone. Let them drop and erase its memory. Erase the text that ruined my social life, my day, my week, my mascara.
Just when I reach the climax of my self-pity wallow party, my little Forrest Gump vibrates, as if to say, "Um, hello? I'm right here."
Stupid selfish self-absorbed phone.
I stare for a minute at the pixels magnified by my gray waterfall. Dazed by sadness, laziness, and just lack of caring. I feel numbed, and it's not because it's the first December snow. I feel as if my muscles have turned to cotton. And I sit on the shelf, like a ragdoll long forgotten. That's all I am apparently, just a childish plaything he got tired of.
Forrest Gump shakes in my hand again, stirring me awake from my reverie. I sniff irritatedly at my congestion. "ABBY" it reads. I flip it open and push the ginormous buttons meant for senior citizens who can barely open their eyes.
"Hey! Meet me @ the frnt of da skool. Football games is @ 6. I got da gummi worms ;P
~Abby<3"
Abby Greensdale. First grade. Sharing gummy worms on the bus. Pokemon cards. Stuffed dinosaurs. Dress-up. Chasing prissy Kylie Thompson with a bug. She beat up Robbie Nicholson for me. He pulled my pigtails. She punched his gut.
I giggle to myself as all thoughts of my quarter-life-crisis melt away. A sit and reminisce about the days of past. The days were guys were contagious to the touch and all things pinky-sworn were set in stone. I throw Forrest Gump deep into my sheets and reach for my keys. I smile as I brace my self for a desperately-needed dose of vitamin Abby.
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Why I am here, I know not; where I shall go, it is useless to enquire. In the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, and infinity why should I be anxious of an atom?<br /> -Lord Byron