Page 136 of All Twerk, No Play

I picked up my phone, composing a message in my mind … what would I even tell him? That I felt trapped in a future I hadn’t chosen? Unloading on him when there was nothing he could do to fix it?

I stared at the texts he’d sent me, scrolling our one-sided conversation. Every night, laying in bed when I couldn’t sleep, I typed replies then deleted them, convincing myself he was young and resilient, and better off without me dragging him down.

How long would he reach out? How long could I tune in daily to his perfect face, knowing that he was airing his love to the world … and receiving radio silence?

It was the right decision. He needed to get over me. He needed to move on.

Even if I never would.

As he played the final chord, he looked directly into the camera and said, “Stay strong,Cobrecita. I love you.”

My heart twisted, wishing he’d rethink his outro—“don’t forget to like and subscribe” would go a long way to growing his audience—but I couldn’t bring myself to call him with advice. Just picking up the phone and looking at our text thread was enough to tear me apart … the daily messages he’d sent that I left unanswered. Updates about his family, funny stories about the tenants in our building. His building.

A text every night, telling me he hoped I had a good day and that he loved me.

In my office’s private bathroom I tried to touch up my eye makeup, smudged through my valiant attempt to not let a single tear form. In the reflection, I couldn’t see the woman that he loved beneath the thick layer of foundation.

With a paper towel, I gently washed off the caked-on makeup, feeling lighter as my skin could breathe again, even if my lungs still felt tight. Pulling myself together, I confidently opened the door to Connor’s vestibule. “When’s my next photoshoot?”

“Next Monday forInc,” he said, consulting his calendar.

I consideredInc’s focus on innovation—and makeup advice from an unexpected source about what was unexpectedly trendy. “Tell Margot I need to make some changes to my public image.”

[This video has been removed for copyright infringement.]

Cruz

“HeyCobrecita,I’matmy mom’s house for the weekend,” I said into the camera resting on top of a stack of books in Mama’s bedroom. The microphone balanced precariously on the dresser’s edge to pick up the sound of my voice and the guitar. “She’s cooking up a storm, sending back an entire suitcase of food for my freezer.”

You’re getting too thin, mijo, she said when I arrived, poking at my ribs. I shrugged her off, explaining that I wasn’t as hungry after deciding to only teach evening bootcamps. She eyed my excuse warily, as if she could see the truth that I was having so much trouble sleeping that morning classes felt impossible, and even if I had the energy, memories of Victoria laughing between sets with that stupid morning light shining off her hair would have pulled me under.

But I didn’t say any of that on the video.

“I’ll save you some sancocho, I think you’ll like it,” I offered, picking through the chord progression. “My sister’s annoyed that I didn't bring you home. She says my hair isn’t nearly as much fun to style as yours.”

I smiled, rolling my neck to let my loose hair fall over my shoulder, then let my mind wander. “I keep thinking about the last time you were here. How we danced around the kitchen until I started coughing. You remember? It wasn’t because I’d been singing too much, like you said. It was because I was scared to tell you how I felt.”

The song had felt tentative just a few months ago. I’d held her in my arms, her breath on my neck, breathing in her floral perfume. “I knew then that I was in love with you, but it felt too soon to say it. I couldn’t sing the words to you then … but I can now.”

Now as the lyrics fell from my lips, there was nothing tentative. I barreled into the bridge that had panicked me then, admitting that the biggest surprise was that she didn’t see, didn’t trust, didn’t believe how much I love her.

I ended the video the way I always did: “Stay strong,Cobrecita. I love you.”

I turned off the recording, releasing the forced smile from my face. It had been two weeks of these daily videos, two weeks of putting my heart on the line and hearing nothing in return. Grace’s advice had seemed simple:Keep showing up consistently, show her that she can trust you.

But after two weeks of radio silence, I was stuck in the limbo of her absence, recording videos in a desperate attempt to hold on to my last connection with her. Every video felt like screaming into the void.

Was I clinging to a memory of a woman who didn’t exist anymore?

Had the woman I loved been buried under the weight of her own responsibilities?

But this felt like all I could do: keep recording to show her that I hadn’t given up on her like everyone else did.

Even if she wasn’t watching … after weeks of daily videos, the internet had noticed.

Every afternoon at 1pm when the video dropped, #CobrecitaWatch was trending on social media.TechCrunchposted my thumbnails for a feature story, ‘A Grand Gesture for a Little Cobra.’ Redditors debated her potential identity, leading to aBuzzfeedlisticle of ‘10 Women who might be Cobrecita.’ The frontrunner was Selena Gomez.

Dozens of people knew who I sang to. Anybody could make a pretty penny from the leak, but they protected her anonymity.

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