Crunch.
* * *
I’m still shaking, Mary Kay. My attacker is locked up downstairs in my Whisper Room and this sort of shit isn’t supposed to happen in Cedar Fucking Cove. I moved here to be happy. I moved here to make peace, to find peace, and now my ribs are flaring, hot like McRibs.
My kittens are useless and clueless, meowing and playing like nothing ever happened—thanks, fuckers—and I pick up my phone with my trembling hand. I set up security cameras downstairs so that I have eyes on her, and she’s still asleep for now.
I didn’t ask to be tangled up in your Blues, Mary Kay. The situation is calm for now, but I can’t keep her here forever—she’s not a fucking cat—and I can’t let her go—and I don’t want to be the guy who killed your best friend. （Even though it would be self-defense if one thinks of the reputation as part of the self, which it is.）
At least I have her phone—thanks for the thumbprint access, Apple!—and I’m getting a Master’s in All Things Melanda. She’s been scheming to move to Minnesota to chase down the only decent guy she ever dated, so I informed the school that she was taking a leave to go out of town for some job interviews. They didn’t seem surprised—she fights with everyone at that school—and I had to give her an alibi, Mary Kay. We live in America and a single, relatively attractive woman can’t just “disappear,” because there’s nothing women love more than stories about missing women.
But she does have to go, Mary Kay. As it turns out, your “best friend” is a double agent. She’s always whining to you about her old friend Netty—they met on Melanda’s semester abroad—and you are supportive. But then she talks to Netty… about you. We have to end their toxic friendship—we can’t have Netty calling Interpol—so I send Netty a text from Melanda’s phone, a text meant for you.
So I’m horrible lol but once again I’m done with Netty. She’s whining about her birthday like she’s in sixth grade and it’s like Netty honey get a life you know lolol horrible I know.
Netty got the message—oops!—and she snaps right back: I think this was meant for Mary Kay. Have a nice life. Block. Mute. Bye.
Netty unfollows Melanda in all the stupid places—that’s one achievement unlocked!—and she shares a passive-aggressive meme about fake friends and maybe I could do this for a living. Take your phone, fix your life.
My ribs are cooling off and in a sick way, I’m happy that Melanda came after me. See, Mary Kay, you never told me that we have an enemy in our midst. She’s been campaigning against me for weeks—I knew it—and you always defend me, and women are on guard when it comes to men—I get it—but never mind me, Mary Kay. You should see what she says about you. I screenshot one of the worst entries in her notepad app:
MK and those skirts honestly we get it you have legs lol and MK shows up with no call bc I live alone as if I have no life HELLO I HAVE A LIFE—and I know you love her, but this woman is not your Friend. This is why I don’t try too hard to keep up with Exclamation Point Ethan, Mary Kay, and this is why Friends is a lie.
Most people wouldn’t like their friends if they got into their phones.
You would want me to have empathy for Melanda, and okay. She does try to be a better person. She bought nine meditation apps—they’re not working—and you warn her that Alice & Olivia are like her drug dealers and she sends you excerpts of her food diary—NINE SAFEWAY DONUT HOLES I HATE EVERYONE BUT HATE ME THE MOST RIGHT NOW GRRRR FUCK YOU PATRIARCHY FUCK YOU SAFEWAY—and you rightfully tell her that she isn’t fat—fuck you, United States of Body Dysmorphia—but there’s a lot you don’t know, Mary Kay.
Would you still have empathy for Melanda if you knew that she manipulated two unpaid, uncredited interns into building her feminist incubator? That’s right, Mary Kay. Just ask the interns, Eileen and DeAnn. Your best friend doesn’t support other women. She erases them.
And she wants to erase us too.
Last week, you told her not to give up on the dream of Minnesota and she LOLed.
Lol MK I’m not moving. Never seeing Harry again.
You just sounded so excited about going there. You never know… maybe you will
Right. Kind of like you and your new little boyfriend… see we DO know lol
That’s not fair. That was… that was one kiss.
LOL MK. Face it. I’m not moving to MN. BI is home. You’re not leaving Phil. He’s home. These are facts. This is why we drink our wine LOL
But she’s not honest with you, Mary Kay. After she blew you off with an LOL, she sent two follow-up emails to HR reps in Minneapolis. She’s allowed to make her moves but she discourages you from making your moves. She suffers and so she wants you to suffer and now she’s wide awake, pounding on the glass walls of my Whisper Room, screaming like a bad actress in a B movie. I crack my knuckles. I can do this. I can take on her voice. And I have to because the two of you text all fucking day. You type. Same way you do every fucking morning.
How’s life?
IT IS SEVEN A.M. WHY DON’T YOU WOMEN LEAVE EACH OTHER ALONE? I breathe. This is the upside to this mess. I get to change your life. I type.
Sweetie omg big news. Fingers crossed. I’m in a mad rush to Minneapolis for a job interview yeeee and I already talked to a couple guys on Bumble lolol who knows but yeeeeee lolol xoxo
My heart is pounding, the sun is up. Did I do a good job? Do you buy me as Melanda? Here come the dots—please, God, you owe me—and here comes your response.
Congrats!
It’s a win and I needed a win and you text again, sharing your own news—you’re getting a haircut today. I put Melanda’s phone in my pocket—she told you, Mary Kay, she’s in a mad rush—and it will be satisfying to see you growing, weaning off your “sister,” but now it’s time for the hard part.
I have to go and face my attacker.
When I get downstairs, I don’t look in the cage and my Whisper Room was never supposed to be a cage. I stand in front of my TV and Melanda’s behind me, locked up and screaming—You’re a fucking pervert—but I owe it to you to try and make her see the light. She spits at the glass and it turns out the Whisper Room isn’t actually soundproof, which means that I hear every word of her abuse. “You are a fucking pedophile and a psychopath and a fucking sociopath and you will pay for this, you sicko. Let me out. Now.”
Ha! That is not how we catch flies, Melanda, and I sigh. “Well, make up your mind. Which is it? What am I, exactly? All three or just one?”
I sit in my chair and I take out my flash cards. She is the teacher but I am the professor and I was up all night making a lesson plan. She bashes the glass wall with her fists. “PEDOPHILE!”
I sigh and shake my head. “Wrong.”
“Fuck you.”
“Come on, Melanda. You’re smarter than that.”
“I know, Joe. I know about your dirty Bukowski book.”
You must have told her I thought Nomi might like Bukowski over the phone because I didn’t see that in your texts. “For God’s sake, Melanda, you should know that reading Bukowski is a good way to learn about vile men. You’re an English teacher.”