Our cigarettes accentuate the agony of our afternoon. It was Friday. Our last break of the day.
“We’ve been together almost 3 years. On and off.”
“And he still hasn’t left his wife?” I asked.
Cyenna reveled months of social media harrassment.
“So, half a year and he still keeps bothering you?”
“Well I wouldn’t call it-“
“You remember the first time you went in an elementary school restroom and saw toilet paper dripping from the ceiling?”
“Yeah,” her eyes furled blankly, “and?”
“Some people just wanna throw shit on the wall and see what sticks.”
We sat a moment, our perspectives organizing their talking points.
“So, let me see if I got this straight,” I attempted to talk my friend down from her cliff, “he got another woman pregnant, was trying to get you back, and was still married to a woman he has kids with?”
“Yeah,” Cyenna responded modestly.
“That sounds like a trailer park Maury Povich, baby daddy episode.”
“All Maury’s episodes are like that.”
“HE’S A RERUN!”
“I don’t get it. Please stop talking in code,” her aggrivation bit through her teeth.
“The only reason he still emails you is because ruffling your feathers gets his dick hard.”
Her eyes simmered while the ringing from my aggressive message clung to the air.
“The only way he feels valued is when he stirs up shit in order to force people to interact with him.”
“That’s not love,” I treaded carefully with my words.
“But I do love him.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t love him.”
(The video clip was taken from the movie Wonderland.)