What happened to us? You were so funny in your beekeeper costume, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so taken by a smile. Late nights at CiCi’s Pizza where we tested the limits of their “all you can eat” business model. You looked back at me and laughed as I chased you playfully through the park. But then something changed when you started to call me “Pony Boy”.
I told you I didn’t like it, ponies are small and I am a big stallion, and a man – not a boy. But you wouldn’t stop. At first it was somewhat funny, I guess – we were always ribbing each other – but it quickly became disturbing as you stopped calling me by my real name or any other nickname. It was always “Pony Boy this”, “Pony Boy that” – and in front of my friends and family. Pretty soon other people started calling me Pony Boy, too. I did not like this and again I asked you to please stop, but you wouldn’t. The relationship soured and I made efforts to cut off communication with you, and that seemed to send you over the edge.
Phone calls at all hours of the day and night saying “What’s up, Pony Boy?” Same with e-mails and text messages. Eventually these devolved into simple two-word messages in all caps: PONY BOY. I changed my number, but you found me. I changed it again, you found me again. Calls at four in the morning, screaming “PONY BOY” and laughing (or crying? I couldn’t tell). I went out to my car one morning and you had scratched PONY BOY into the paint dozens of times with a set of keys. I got to work to find that I’d been fired from my job because someone (you) managed to log into my work e-mail remotely and send “PONY BOY” emails to all of our clients. I got home to find PONY BOY written in what I hope is just red spray paint all over the walls and floors.
But then you disappeared, and I must admit now that a few months have gone by I miss you. If you’re reading this, please get in touch. You know who you are.