Lana and Lucy

"Dear Lana,

I don't know if I miss the idea of u or the perception of the reality that was u, or just u. But I just do. And as uncertain as I am about everything around me, I'm sure that I didnt do my damndes to t fight for u and should we end up apart forever, itll be my fault. I was a  coward and not strong enough to assuage ur fears and vouchsafe our bond. And now, when Im all alone, I recognize what I knew then. I failed u and us and me. I miss u."

Ty was mildly disgusted by the text he sent. He always got extra sentimental at weddings and this was no exception. Mark had taken his phone away from him once he had started pounding the rum at the open bar, but somehow (he couldn't remember) he'd gotten it back. He texted without abandon, the courage of the liquid fire coursing through his veins.

Lucy was the first girl he had ever loved. The only girl he had ever loved. She was hot, full in figure, half Puerto Rican, half black and young...She had only been a junior at BMCC, and he, a 2nd year Law student. They had a been a 95% match on OKcupid.

He knew she had been somewhat unhappy, but hadn't really known the depth of her dissatisfaction until the very end when she had silently packed up all the things she kept at his apartment and left, declaring that he was "the most selfish lover ever."

He still wasn't sure how he had earned that moniker, and had been afraid to broach the question in texts and calls. In fact since then, he had only sent her a meek Facebook message asking if she would be so kind as to return her set of keys to him as a new roommate would soon be coming to occupy the living room in the center of the apartment he shared with Mark. He was cheap and lazy and didn't want to make another copy. Plus, he wanted to see if she was still mad.

Her subsequent de-friending him had been more than enough to solve that conundrum. Now he texted her because he was more curious than ever about their abrupt split.

It was only after he had had several more rum cocktails, made out with a friend of Mark's girlfriend (fat-chick-from-the-bar), snacked on several pounds of birthday cake, and was safely in his cab home, that he stared at his phone and realized his egregious error.

He had meant to say "Dear Lucy," not "Dear Lana."

His subconscious had totally screwed him over and he knew, beyond a doubt now, that he would never ever see or hear from Lucy ever again. As he dozed off in the cab,  his mind wandered:

"Lucy," he thought, "Lucy....Lucy...Lancy...Lana...Lana....Lana."

He stumbled out of the cab in Harlem, made it up the stairs, and got into his bed in full clothing. He was too drunk to know that his phone was ringing.