Every love story has an ending. Some end amicably, like my ending with Alex, my Patron (sin limon) tossing, “woosah”-minded Mexican. Our “relationship” ceased to exit after I picked up my cell and gave him my bendicion to go fuck with the Myspace, teta-flashing hoochies he friended and ogled. He could also add the medical assistants he flirted with while at work to that list. And I’m not sure whether it was the intoxicating smell of tacos reminding him of the motherland or that he hadn’t grabbed a big chunk of ass since we began dating (my nargas are lumpy not chunky), but Alex often drooled over the poster of the voluptuous girl plastered on the front door of East Harlem’s Olmeca Restaurant.
The dissemination of Alex and I was effortless, which is why, unlike Johnny and I, we are still friends. My ending with Johnny, my detached yet sensitive, 6’2″ Puerto Rican-Italian ex-hombre, was quite the opposite. It was frigid, nasty, and full of the one thing I hate most: animosity towards me! After months of accepting his typed insults, sarcastic comments and nasty one-liners through the Internet waves, I finally clicked on his super macho screenname and checked “Yes” for block.
With Elijah, my Text Sex obsessed ex from South Jersey, things simply stopped. He just stopped calling and texting and I just stopped caring. It hadn’t even occurred to me that we hadn’t spoken in a week, but that may have had everything to do with our last comatose inducing phone conversation. I didn’t miss Elijah. As a matter a fact, I was becoming increasingly annoyed by his insistent pleas for a sexy MMS picture, especially when he asked right before my Sex and The City: The Movie experience.
I strolled down Broadway with my cousin Sassy when my cell beeped. I viewed the screen and was unmoved when I saw ‘Elijah’ in bold. I clicked and read his one liner:
“Hey you’ve disappeared.”
My eyes rolled so far back that I almost lost my balance. Sassy grabbed my hand and caught on to my mood shift.
“Who’s that?” She asked curiously.
“Elijah. He hasn’t contacted me in like a week and he has the audacity to say I disappeared. Because I’m the only one who has fingers and can text or dial a number,” I responded, irritated. I wasn’t feeling Elijah at all. So what the hell was I doing entertaining this fool? Right then, my cell beeped again.
“And you still haven’t send me a sexy pic of you,” it read.
My dark brown eyes bulged out of their sockets. “LOOK!” I screamed while passing the phone to Sassy.
“He’s still asking you for that? Y el?”
“I know! He doesn’t respect what I want or feel. He has this sense of entitlement. Just because I loved you and you had me once doesn’t mean it’s that easy…fucking selfish,” I huffed.
“It’s because he’s full of shit,” Sassy concluded while we walked into the theater.
“He is full of shit. Elijah wants the fantasy of me. He wants the sexy picture and text sex instead of coming to NYC to see me because he doesn’t want a relationship. He wants to jerk off to my picture, nothing more.”
Sassy raised her eyebrows disapprovingly and nodded in agreement. We handed our tickets to the usher and found two seats in the middle row. I leaned back on the cushy, reclining chair and looked at Elijah’s texts again, wondering what to do next.
The lights dimmed and the trailers began. In the mist of Diane Lane’s love in Rodanthe and Dane Cook’s stealing a best friend’s girl, I realized Elijah and I were over. There didn’t need to be a chummy all-well-it-ends-well conclusion to this affair nor any I-hate-you-mother-fucker drama. I could just express myself and walk away. And that’s what I did…after the two-hour, girl-power infused flick that was Sex and the City: The Movie.
Sassy and I walked out of the theater, hooked arm and arm, completely enlightened and filled with sisterly love. As we walked down Broadway toward the uptown 1-train station, I pulled out my cell from my purse and began typing a goodbye text message to Elijah. The message was clear, direct and empowering: I love myself too much to be with someone who is not worthy of my love, my time, and my essence. You are not the man for me. You will never add to my happiness. You are not the man for me.
And just like that, I had my ending.