Facebook Friends

            The Paralegal accepted my friend request tonight on Facebook. A few weeks back in clairvoyant training, we had been playing with manifesting things, flexing our ability to make a request of the universe and then receive it.  It’s a powerful tool, we were warned, and before we asked for something big, like a new job or a new relationship, it was recommended we play around with smaller things.  Like flowers.

            “Something frivolous.  It doesn’t matter.  Anything,” our instructor said.

            “Love notes?” I blurted out.

            “Love notes?  You want more than one?”

            “Why not?”

            “Okay, love notes, then.”

            So I made my request of the Universe, to receive within two weeks a love note from the Lawyer and from the Paralegal.  And then I forgot about it.

            Later that week, while dancing the night away on a bench at Big Chicks, one of the songs of last summer came on.  One of the songs from when the Lawyer and I were spending our weekend nights tearing up the dance floor.  I Shazamed the song, and fired off an e-mail with a message about the song.

            “Dancing on a bench at Big Chicks. How much fun are you having?”

            The next day, I got a reply from the Lawyer.

            “I miss Big Chicks.”

            Later that day, I was flipping through photos on Flickr, when I found an image that made me think of the Paralegal instantly.  I fired off a message with a link, simply saying that I thought he would enjoy the picture.

            He, too, replied that day.

            “Beautiful picture. I’m well. I hope you are, too.”

            I replied with a picture of his watch on my wrist.

* * *

            A few days later, while running during lunch, it occurred to me that those were my love notes.  They were the most love either of these men could ever express toward me.  And that I was asking the Universe for something neither of these men could provide.  The Lawyer, in his brevity, said as much with words as he did without.  He’d never been to Big Chicks before, and I was the one to introduce him to its charm.  By declaring this he missed Big Chicks, he was really saying that he missed us, and the time we spent together there.  Our nights on the town, flirting.  And the Paralegal, it was the most he could do to acknowledge the message.

            But it didn’t end there.

            About a week later, I got a random message from the Paralegal. It was an image of the skyline of Chicago. There was no text in the message, just a subject line.

            “My walk.”

            A few days later, I sent him a simple message recalling our relaxing adventures together.

            “I miss Sundays.”

            He replied the same evening.

            “Ditto.”

            It seems a simple dialogue with the Paralegal had begun again.

            So when I exchanged some credit card points for movie vouchers, I fanned them across my desk, snapped a picture, and emailed them off to the Paralegal. A nod to our shared fondness of walking across town and going to the movies.

            I was completely surprised when the Paralegal, after weeks, maybe even months, accepted my Facebook Friend request tonight, the same night I sent him a photo of movie coupons.

            I looked over his page, and his wall post updates.  His spirits seemed to be high, he still had the quirky view on the world that I have fallen in love with.  He’d reported through Wall posts that he is running more and more. I was happy for him.

            But then I noticed he was posting messages from parties.  He was still going to dance the night away at Visions Nightclub.  Curious for a boy who had just been in rehab. And then, Memorial Day weekend, when he was in rehab, he posted that he was headed to the beach, only later to have a sunburn.

            My internal stalker kicked in, and I kept clicking “Older Posts.”  For two hours, I sat there combing through his Wall posts, pulling out my journal and comparing dates and time stamps. The day he went to rehab, he went for a run. The night he was supposed to be at a fundraiser with me, he was at home in bed, watching a movie.  My birthday, which he had agreed to take off to spend with me, he spent four hours at the gym.

            I was heart broken. Wrecked. Furious. The tears I shed for him. The pain I felt for him believing he was going through rehab. The confusion of whether or not I should let him go or keep him close to my heart, sending him light and love.

            When I was there, with him, I just felt his love was real.

            But then, there, on his wall it was.  On the Saturday I was at my friends’ lake house and I was receiving text after text from him of adoring love, he posted, “I’m missing someone.”

            After our walk to the zoo, dinner on the town, and watching a movie, he posted, “The most BEAUTIFUL day.”

            There were others, too. The nine pictures he uploaded all snapped in the Art Institute on our afternoon there.

            All evidence that what was there was real.  For the moment that we shared. For the moment our spirits tickled each other with laughter.  For the moment we held each other’s hands.  For the moment we looked into each other’s eyes and stopped breathing.

            I am certain it was true love we had.

            And I am certain it was true love that had been broken.