Jemo and my Heartbroken Text Message

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Something very bizarre happened: I looked at my cell phone. And behold! Jemo, my ex-boyfriend, was going to call me that day at 9 p.m.!

It was unbelievable. He had broken up with me at our favorite café. The next day we spoke on the phone. I cried so much that I couldn’t even remember what we talked about during our two-hour conversation. This blackout led to me not knowing whether he would call me after he had made up his mind about us or whether our relationship was truly over. That was why I incessantly wrote him text messages for eight weeks. I called him every other day, but he did not answer the phone. My text messages remained unanswered, too. I whined to my friends that I didn’t know what was going on. I text messaged him whining that he should just tell me what was wrong. Katha, wiser and older friend of mine who was happily married, told me that I should let it go. And Ronja said she was quite furious over the idiot. “He drives me crazy! He doesn’t know what he wants. He is indecisive and immature. You can do something like that as a teenager, but not as an adult. He could at least send you a text.” My feelings were like a roller coaster: one minute deeply saddened, the next minute cheerful and hopeful. I had never before experienced such emotional chaos.

Anyway. Jemo, whom it concerned, did not hear it. Too bad. He should have thought about it quite a lot. I could not remember when I had ever been so angry like that with someone before. However, he pushed me over the edge. I did not consider it a compliment that he was able to drive me up the wall. My messages to him were very clear about it. Friendly and witty at first but then increasingly nasty. The first message sounded like this, “Hello, Jemo, unfortunately I can’t remember anything that we discussed on the phone. Because of all the crying, I had a complete blackout. Would you please tell me what we talked about and your thoughts? You may also simply write END, and then I’ll know that our relationship has really ended. Greetings, Marie.”

The second message was still humorous: “Hi, Jemo, the most elegant way to get rid of me is for you to emigrate to an Islamic country and convert to Islam. Being a Catholic, I would not go with you. Religion is the melody to which we dance in life. I’d rather stick to the Bible. However, in some countries, if you were to become a Muslim you may even be able to have a harem. I would even send you some burkas. They are available online. What professions do the women in your harem practice? Is one perhaps a professor in oriental sexual ethics and another has a doctorate in intercultural exchange? Is it like that or are they qualified masseuses and reflexologists? In case you do not want to emigrate, but would rather stay here, I will enquire about a mosque in Nuremberg. I think the community members would be happy to take you in. A few days ago, the Frankish County Newspaper stated that Arabic newspapers reported about a man who had illegally given his lessons. She hit him with the car. I recommend this count