It was two days after Christmas, 2AM and I was knocked out horizontal across my bed in New York. The heat wasn’t working and I’d cocooned myself like a transforming catipillar inside my leopard print comforter. I was warm, snug, and likely snoring (you ever snore so loud, you wake yourself up? *crickets* Okay, maybe it’s just me.) Then the phone buzzed waking me from my deep sleep. I can’t not check my phone when I hear it buzz. God help me, but I am a Blackberry addict. So half-sleep, I rock left, then take a hard right, rolling myself free of my shelter to get to the phone on the dresser.
I can see the light on the screen. It’s a call. I don’t know what time it is, but it must be late. At this hour, it must be some sort of an emergency, or an emergency update (some information is too good to wait till morning to share.)
“Hello?” I croak without looking at the screen.
“Hey! What’s up?” It’s Queens. He is chipper as f*ck. I used to adore this dude. Then he hit me with ‘let’s be friends.’ We were friends before I had a crush on him, so after about six weeks or so, I got over it and it wasn’t that difficult for me. Oddly, he took my fal-back a little rough. I think he thought we could walk some fine line between friends and more, but I don’t do grey too well. Either we is, or we isn’t.
Every now and again, he has too much too taste and calls with professions of a great love affair that will come when he gets his ish together.
“What’s up? Where are you?”
“On my way to you!”
Hmmm. This isn’t an emergency. “Have you been drinking?”
“DeeDee. Deee Deeeeee Deeeee!”
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