Prologue//
“It’s story time” is a phrase a close friend of mine tends to say to me whenever I’m about to share a real-life enthralling story. For this, I have accepted that I have a tendency to share (overshare) stories with close friends and revisit these over and over again for the sake of psychoanalysis. It’s like a form of talk therapy where I get to do all the talking. Many of these stories are very entertaining if I can claim so myself. A lot of these stories are about unrequited love, heartbreaks, and moments of naivety—stories we might all share in common. So I’m going to openly share my stories to open myself up a bit more and become emotionally available. As a means to come to terms with the heartbreak I’ve experienced in the past, reflect on past relationships, and not let hurt shut me down from the hope of finding love again. I also want to open up the conversation to behind-the-picture-perfect moments and what we don’t tend to share online. All in the hope of connecting with our real, raw, and most vulnerable selves. So here’s my attempt at being as raw and honest as I’m ready to be.
story time//
It was the summer of 2014. I had recently moved to Williamsburg. Every other weekend, I would hoop on the A train to Rockaway Beach with my friends. I would ride my vintage bike over the bridge to work. The FIFA World Cup was playing at every bar corner. It was the peak of the Snapchat era. My roommates and I hosted a Summer Solstice party to welcome our favorite time of year. Summer Fridays were in full swing with 2 p.m. Happy Hour. I got to see my favorite girl band, Haim, in concert twice. It was a summer to remember with a busy agenda and a failed attempt to get over Drummer Boy by dating his Tour Manager.
It all started in June with a friend request from Tour Manager. We had met last winter at the band’s Brooklyn Bowl show but we never stayed in touch. With much suspicion, I accepted his request. Then, there he was in my Messenger chat with a casual “Hi” following it up with “I hope this is not weird…” But here’s the thing it was weird. My gut was questioning “Why was he suddenly interested in being my friend?” and “Does this mean they are talking about me?” See the thing is at that moment in time, they were together touring around the country and I couldn’t help but question his intentions. But I carried on with a “no” and wondered what would come from this. I ran into the fire.
After some back-and-forth banter and his offering to cook me ‘migas’ for breakfast, I asked: “Why are you courting me all of the sudden?”
To which he responded: “I met you and thought you were cool, and attractive and lived in NYC then kinda forgot about you. My memory was jogged but then I was like ‘Oh I’ll hit this girl up, she seemed cool.”
I followed up with: “Don’t you think it’s weird given how you met me?”
He said: “No, I don’t but if you do that’s fine. I know Drummer Boy is cool with it.”
And naive insecure old me proceeded with: “Well, you shall get to know me but don’t talk about me.”
“I may hate you” (looks away, looks back)”
I should’ve put an end to it right about here. Primarily, because my heart broke when he told me Drummer Boy was cool with it. But I craved the attention. What my subconscious kept looping on was: “If I can’t have Drummer Boy then I’ll be with his Tour Manager and that will keep me close to him.” Fucked up, I know. Not at all the right reasons to pursue a new relationship nor a realistic attempt to get over someone.
(looks away, looks back)
My heartbroken ego asked: “So how do you know he’s cool with it?”
He responded: “I asked him.”
To which I replied with a stroke to my own ego: “Ok, I’m cool with it too. I’m glad you reached out. I figured you eventually would.”
I proceeded to fuse the fire. I invited them both to my Summer Solstice party. What better opportunity to receive in-person confirmation Drummer Boy was actually “cool with it.” Nothing like a little jealousy to bring out people’s true desires. But they might not be able to make it to my party. They were set to be back in the city a day after my party and I was set to fly away for my summer vacation.
“I wait for no one” (looks away, looks back)”
Meanwhile, I found myself trying hard to keep Tour Manager interested —fearing he would lose interest if we weren’t chatting every day. I often found myself initiating the conversations. He intrigued me and intimidated me, all at once. He was articulate and street-smart. He felt out of my reach and like I needed his constant validation that I was wanted since Drummer Boy no longer wanted me. Would he make it to my party?
(looks away, looks back)
Then the day before my party, he messaged me: “We may be back on time for your party. I know Drummer Boy mentioned may be coming too. Would that be weird if we both showed up?”
I responded: “I really don’t mind. He and I are just friends. I’m happy that YOU might be coming.”
But behind my chill persona, I was actually freaking the fuck out.
“I may hate you” (looks away, looks back)”
The day was finally here. Our Summer Solstice party was in full swing. As I anticipated them coming through my front door, I drank red wine to calm my nerves. Then there he was… Tour Manager in the flesh with a bottle of wine in his hands. As he skimmed through the small crowd and made his way over to me, I couldn’t help but smirk and think “damn, he’s as good-looking as I remember.” For the rest of the evening, it felt like it was just him and me at the party. Our eyes met across the room. He always found his way back to me. He charmed me with his wits and banter. Yet, every so often, my gaze kept going back to the front door. I hoped Drummer Boy would walk in through my door. But as the evening came to an end, I accepted he wasn’t coming. In between the joy of being chosen, I was also devastated by not being chosen. I mended my heart the only way I knew how.
“I wait for no one” (looks away, looks back)”
We went up to my rooftop as it’s the thing you do at Brooklyn parties. There he leaned in and kissed me. I could’ve turned him down but I didn’t. I blamed it on the alcohol, but really I blamed my broken heart. If I couldn’t be with drummer boy, might as well be with his friend.
In the end, Tour Manager and I didn’t miss each other by one day, yet he never cooked me ‘migas’ the morning after like he promised. Maybe he was “a bad boy with a heart of gold” after all.
(looks away, looks back)
…