Reading Between the Texts: Why Do You Still Have My Number

The Text
Him: “What’s up”

The Analysis
K: I don’t think it’s that much of an exaggeration to say that people who only text “what’s up” all the time should be banished to an island that is slowly sinking.
B: He sends this text to me every couple of weeks, on Friday nights.
K: Once a fortnight?!?
B: Yes. Once a fortnight.
K: He’s basically providing you with opportunities to reply “not much, wanna do it?”
B: I mean, yeah, he’s just politely reminding me that he and his penis are still in the world.
K: Aren’t he and his penis still dating a 19-year-old?
B: Yes, but he and his penis are nothing if not inclusive.
K: You should just start replying with literally everything you did that day.
B: Yes! Like, “Hey, not much! I had some crazy-good cereal this morning and walked my dog. She…shit…everywhere. Lol, gross. So I took her to the vet and the vet was like ‘omg cute dog’ and I was like ‘omg I know right’ and she was like ‘haha but really your dog needs some heartworm medicine’ and I was like ‘fiiiiiine.’ Then basically I was just at work all day! At lunch I painted my nails this really great coral pink color. Or really it’s like, nectarine-y. It’s hard to describe via text, want a pic?!?”

The Text
Him: “Just drove by a park, reminded me of the time we went to that one by your house together. Good times”

The Analysis
K: That’s…sweet.
R: No, it isn’t. We went to that park together two YEARS ago.
K: And he didn’t even drive by that park. Just like, a park. He was basically reminded of you because he saw some grass and trees together.
R: Probably next week he’ll be like, “I saw a movie tonight, it reminded me of that one time you said you liked a different movie. Good times.”
K: “I was breathing today and it reminded me of that one time when you were asleep and I counted your heart rate. 72. Good times.”
R: “Just looked in the mirror at my hair and remembered that I have a piece of your hair taped to my refrigerator. I touch it for good luck. Good times.”
K: Well at least you know you have a lasting impact on people. You’re unforgettable.
R: Only with people I want to forget me! You never see James McAvoy knocking on my door being all ‘I cannot forget you, you’ve stolen my heart!”
K: You’ve met James McAvoy?
R: No, ugh. But I feel like I know him.

The Texts
Him: “every rose has its thorn”

… [20 minutes later]…

Him: “thinkin bout you. sweet dreams”

The Analysis
E: Well, Poison.
E: Yep.
K: I don’t know what the problem is, it sounds like he has really great taste.
E: There isn’t “a” problem. There are millions of them. For instance, still?? Also, he dated my roommate? Also, he texted lyrics at me?
K: I thought you knew that texting lyrics at someone is pretty much guaranteed to seal the deal. Like how do you even still have pants on?
E: Maybe because I’m trying to figure out what relevance these lyrics have here. Like yes, I’m the rose. Obviously. But what is the thorn, in this situation?
K: I guess maybe it’s that you find him gross? Or that you guys live hundreds of miles apart? Or that he kind of looks like a Beanie Baby, in human form?
E: He should have texted me “every rose has so many thorns that it’s kind of like, not really that practical or worth the injuries, if you really think about it.”

The Text
Him: “I’m just down the street at a party! You should come!”

The Analysis
K: What is this bullshit? He’s trying to be friendly with me now?
R: He’s just trying to extend an olive branch. Like, “here, I murdered your feelings with a machete and my actions led you to listen to ‘Heroe’ by Enrique Iglesias 25 times in a row. But let’s be friends still.”
K: I did not listen to it 25 times in a row. But have you even HEARD the anguish in that song? Seriously.
R: Yes, I’ve heard it. Coming out of your room a lot, in the past four days.
K: Well whatever. I’m not going to that party. I hope that party goes and fucks itself.
R: Are you at least going to respond?
K: Yeah, I’ll say ‘”sorry I can’t come because I’m making out with like a HUNDRED different guys right now.”
R: I feel like that’s not a super believable alibi.
K: Ugh. I wish I had a phone that, when you got a stupid message, you could just like, boomerang it out and it would go smack the person in the head? And then come back to you, laughing. And you’d high-five it.
R: Wouldn’t it be easier to just have, like, a person who did that for you?
K: I don’t know. I guess. I just feel like this phone owes me something positive for once in its life.

Previously: “It’s like that Bob Dylan song…you should listen to it.”

Katie Heaney lives in Minneapolis and writes the most beautiful goddamn text messages that the world has ever not responded to.