30 to Midnight

The Facebook Breakup, Part 8

The Facebook Breakup, Part 8

Continued from Part 7...I responded to the Friend’s text message: “Considering the cut on my face and my swollen jaw it’s hard to disagree with that sentiment. But I am curious to know what you think happened.” I wasn’t expecting a response but I did hope the words would provide a window to what was essentially assault.

The Facebook Breakup, Part 7

The Facebook Breakup, Part 7

Continued from Part 6...I checked my voicemail at 9:46pm. In my hysteria I’d not noticed the calls.

The first one said, in relatively sober-sounding voice, “Seriously, Sara. I’m very sad about how this ended up because I actually enjoyed being friends with you but obviously we won’t be friends. I’m so fucking sad. And it’s such a shame. So, you know, live your life. And do whatever it is you do.”

The Facebook Breakup, Part 6

The Facebook Breakup, Part 6

Continued from Part 5...She’d called me from her home the day before. I remembered seeing the number.
“Hi,” I said when her husband picked up. “I can’t help her. She punched me. She’s out on her own. Tell me what you want me to do. I want to help her but I can’t.”
“She’s calling me now,” he said, “I’ll call you back.”
I cried for five minutes before calling my brother. He didn’t pick up. I called a friend, a real one. She didn’t answer. I tasted blood. My lip was bleeding, my jaw was already sore, and when I went to the bathroom mirror to check it out, I noticed the cut not far from my eye.

The Facebook Breakup, Part 5

The Facebook Breakup, Part 5

More Foul Language Here. Continued from Part 4...She didn’t come all the way in. She stood by the door in my long narrow hall, part blocked by my bike and part blocked by her lack of recognition.

I put on a coat, put my wallet in my pocket, grabbed two bottles of water and her bag.
“Here’s your bag,” I said, handing it to her. “And a water.”

The Facebook Breakup, Part 4

The Facebook Breakup, Part 4

Foul Language Alert (not kidding). Continued from Part 3...I looked at the empty chair; the sleeping bag momentarily held her imprint.
“That’s odd,” I said out loud to try to make sense of it.
I stood up.
I was unsure what to do.
I looked for my phone, remembering we’d exchanged numbers.
She’d just called me.
It was 8:35pm. At 8:01pm I’d sent my brother a text message that said “drunk happy good”. We were still in the bar at that time.

The Facebook Breakup, Part 3

The Facebook Breakup, Part 3

Continued from Part 2...“I can’t wait for you to meet my husband,” the Friend said.
“I can’t wait to see your house,” I said.
“I want to see your apartment,” she said.
“Whenever you want,” I said.
“Let’s go now,” she said, grabbing her coat and walking out to the street.
I followed. We’d paid the original bartender for our drinks. I wasn’t sure if that included the most recent ones, but my doubt wasn’t a match for her eagerness.
“You really have beach chairs for a couch?” she asked, laughing.
“It’s like college,” I said, not embarrassed, allowing her enthusiasm to overtake the misery of my living room. I really wanted legitimate furniture but it was going to take some time.
“And you definitely have alcohol?” she asked, as if we needed more.
“Beer for sure,” I said.

The Facebook Breakup, Part 2

The Facebook Breakup, Part 2

Continued from Part 1...The next and last time we saw one another was one or two years later. We were unable to determine when exactly that meeting took place but we know I came to campus. She was my escort, taking me to visit everyone I’d known, including those who were no longer part of her social life. Relationships change quickly, all the time.

What I most remembered from that weekend was a moment of not being a good friend to her. We were in a living room. A bong was passed around while whereabouts and whatabouts were determined. Since transferring, I’d become proficient in the use of the bong, though when my Friend and I had last seen one another I was not. And neither was she. It was one of the small things that united us, that we’d both smoked pot just not through a bong. It seems ridiculous now but we were surrounded by classmates whose early college years were much like our early high school years (everything a new experiment), with this one exception.

The Facebook Breakup, Part 1

Everyone has been asking why exactly it is that Sara is a Facebook hater. We've decided to share her story with you here. Slowly. Which means we'll be releasing it in installments, as a serial, like the people who kill other people in a series.

The Facebook Breakup, Part 1

On the 225th day of our relationship, I broke up with Facebook. It was something I’d been thinking of doing for a few weeks, encouraged by a Home page that was increasingly less about me and more about people I did not know, confused by relationship definitions, but it took a reunion with a Friend for me to finally let go.

Theoretically, Facebook and I should have stayed together for years. Whenever some lost person from my past found me, or I them, there were a few moments, sometimes days, of excitement. We’d Message until our whereabouts and whatabouts had been determined. We’d inquire of other lost people, sometimes there were answers, sometimes not. Usually we’d become Friends somewhere in the process. And then we’d reach the WhatNow stage, the place you land when you realize you never should have hit that “Add as Friend” link. Because if someone was actually your Friend and not an interesting memory trigger, there would be no question of WhatNow.