I Like You And You Just Liked My Facebook Status

Ping.

The little Facebook icon appears on my phone. I look over quickly and see something that looks like your name. My heart beats an extra beat and my hands are moving before I can stop them.

“Your crush and 12 other people have liked your status.”

The icon fades and joins the long list of other notifications on my phone. Text from Best Friend. Missed call from Dad. Reminder to take birth control. Co-worker is now following you on Twitter.

I look at my phone — staring at it as if it has never preformed this function before. It has a mind of its own; it is acting without any direction from me.

I like you and you just liked my Facebook status.

I slide to unlock and the application opens. Your name is first in line. “Your crush and 12 others like this.” I switch devices, opening my MacBook and quickly accessing Google Chrome. Your name is still there. Your name is still first.

I like you and you just liked my Facebook status.

I click on your profile. Nothing has changed since earlier today when I looked. I had previously scanned through your hundred or so pictures trying to figure out when exactly your last serious relationship was. I saw pictures of your band in high school. I saw pictures of a cute dog — I wondered if it was yours. I had a dog when I was in high school, but he has since passed away. I saw pictures of your family — I saw your mother, father, cousins — then I realized I was officially Facebook stalking and got back to work.

But now you’ve liked my Facebook status.

I like you and you just liked my Facebook status.

So, I sit cross-legged on my bed and pull my computer to my lap. I scan through your first 20 photos again.

No, they haven’t changed at all since this morning.

I look at my phone again. I pick it up with both hands. You see, my phone is fragile now; it carries precious cargo — your “like” and my status. Using only my thumbs, I play with the touch screen and end up at my texts from yesterday.

Your name, first name and last initial. Everyone else in my phone has first and last, but you are temporary. I was wary to put you in my phone because I would want to text you, want to call you, want to contact you. So, you got a temporary placement with first name and last initial.

I look at the sporadic texts between us.

“This is your crush.”

“Sorry, my phone was dead, this is me.”

“What was that thing you told me about?”

“It was this.”

Our texts are not the stuff of great legends. I know this as I foolishly reread all of them.

But I like you and you just liked my Facebook status.

I start to type. I listened to a new band and I think you will like them.

Honestly, I have no idea if you will like them, but I think that if I tell you about them, you will think that I am cool.

I type. I backspace. I retype.

I erase.

I like you and you just liked my Facebook status.

I want to tell you how excited I am that you liked it, or just that you showed me attention in general. I want to watch my favorite movie with you and talk about our friends. I want to show you my cracks and scars. I want to tell you about my college years and about the boy who most recently broke my heart. I want to tell you to kiss me hard and hold me close.

But, since I like you and you just liked my Facebook status, I tell you nothing. I put my phone down and open up my computer again.

Two new notifications.

“Your aunt and 14 others like this.”