Song for the Dumped

When the gays drop you, they drop you hard.

I was in a choir in college, and became very close with a guy, C____, in the all-male choir. We became borderline inseparable, and we bonded over gossiping about our respective choirs. He became one of my best friends in college.

He wasn't always an easy person to get along with. He was very blunt and would say exactly what was on his mind. He didn't believe in hiding his feelings, so if he was annoyed, everyone around him would quickly become annoyed as well. He was vicious if he felt that he was wronged, almost to the point of becoming vindictive. He had a way of cutting people out of his life that was almost clinical.

But C____ was still one of the people that I loved to be around. I had great times with him, whether we were going on adventures, throwing dinner parties at his house, or just hanging out and talking.

Until one fateful day when I commented to another friend that C____ had offended me with something he had said. Somehow this got back to him, and C____ was incensed because he felt that I was "gossiping about" him. Ohhhh shit.

It began slowly. I would call him and he wouldn't answer. "No big deal," I naively thought to myself. "He's probably just busy with work. He'll call back."

Then I would text him, to no avail. "Well, maybe his phone is broken. Or maybe his texting feature has been turned off. Or maybe his fingers are broken and he can't text!" Always the optimist.

Then came the final solution. Facebook. I sent him a message, a literary masterpiece, an epic poem about how sorry I was for whatever had offended him, extolling him, listing at least seven reasons as to why I was a horrible person.

Nothing. No response whatsoever.

I was crushed. A large part of my life had completely disappeared for absolutely no reason whatsoever. I went through a stunted version of the five stages of grief, most of which involved alcohol and french fries. It took me a long time to accept the fact that I had been dropped. Kicked to the curb. Dumped. Erased.

In the immortal words of Second City's Sassy Gay Friend, I had to write a sad poem in my journal and move on. And I did. Well, I wrote angry "WHAT AN ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" entries in my journal and moved on. C____ and I ran into each other a few times over the next year, before I moved home from college. We had the same circle of friends, being so deeply entrenched in the choral activities office. It slowly became less and less awkward. I like to think that he realized that it was his loss. Because I am damn good queer dear, and after two years he has yet to find a suitable replacement for me. So C____ can suck it.