Little Debbie and Elijah

I usually receive what I want when I am no longer looking for it. Just recently I wanted to treat myself to my favorite treat, a Brownie Obsession, when I opened mami’s freezer and spotted a pint of Vanilla Häagen Dazs ice cream. There was only one ingredient missing - a Little Debbie chocolate and macadamia covered brownie – so I decided to venture to the bodega to find the missing half of the Obsession. When I entered the bodega on 190th and Audubon, I walked straight to the snack cart located in the main isle and spotted Hostess cakes, Twinkies, the crackers with the cheddar cheese on the side, and packs of chocolate chip cookies. I lifted a box, saw some Nutty Bars, but did not find my Little Debbie. I rummaged through a few more cardboard boxes, was relieved they still made Chocodiles, but did not find my Little Debbie. I looked through the potato chip bin, grabbed a bag of BBQ chips, but did not find my Little Debbie.

My short trip soon transformed into a twenty-minute scavenger hunt. I visited four bodegas, searching for my brownie underneath cartons and in between metal crates, muttering vulgarities under my breath, and lecturing the owners who sat behind their registers about the importance of restocking. I finally decided to go home empty handed after having walked a three block radius. I was forced to forget my obsession and abandon my quest.

Two days later, I arrived at my apartment in South Jersey. I opened up the refrigerator and spotted a brown paper bag on the last shelf. I picked up the bag, peeked inside, and found half of a Little Debbie. It was just enough for a single serving of a Brownie Obsession, even though I had forgotten my initial craving.

The same scenario occurred with Elijah. After a month of unreturned calls, I had given up on my obsession and wanted to begin dating again. Then I received an email from him. It read: Call me. I don't have your number. I stared at the screen, moved the arrow over the Reply button but closed the message instead.

Two days after receiving the email I caved and decided to call Elijah. I muted my television set, picked up my cell, and thumbed through my cell phone’s directory. I scrolled passed the letter E three times but did not find his name and number. Then it hit me. I had deleted his phone number as the final step in my “moving on” process. In an attempt to visualize the ten digits that comprised his number, I closed my eyes. But I could only remember 609 - the area code. I stretched out on my sofa, wondering if I should abandon this quest, but decided to brainstorm instead. I’ll call Verizon. Or better yet, look through last month’s cell phone bill. I’m sure it’ll be there somewhere. And then I remembered the torn piece of notebook paper I kept in my shoe box of memories. Elijah had written his number on that scrap of paper when we first met and I still had it. I walked over to my closet, brought down the box and there it was. His name and number written in his messy handwriting. I grabbed my cell and made the call.

“Babe, you won’t believe what I was doing right now!”

The excitement in his voice surprised me. He spoke to me as if we were still a couple.

“What?” I asked.

“I was looking for the sheet of paper with your number right when you called.”

My eyes watered and I said:

“You know what they say, when you’re thinking of someone their thinking of you.”

“I guess you’re right. I didn’t think you were gonna to call. I emailed you a few days ago.”

“I know, but I’ve been busy.”

I lied. He paused for a second before replying.

“I just passed by Bozorth tonight since you always have your classes there to see if I would see you,” he said.

“I don’t have class on Wednesdays.”

Another pause before he said:

“Listen, I want to see you. Maybe I can pass by.”

I began pacing, searching for something to say.

“I’ll call you,” he said.

“Ok, call me.”

We said our goodbyes. I closed my cell and stretched back on my loveseat. I had received what I wanted when I least expected it, my Little Debbie and Elijah.