Moments ago, a 20-something couple had the most epic breakup-then-makeup-then-breakup-then-makeup-again fight in the history of fights. And it's all because of Matt and me.
The afternoon started out lazy, like most overcast weekends are in this small town. Matt and I were chatting in my room when angry obscenities echoed in through my bedroom window. Something was amiss.
A young Asian man in baggy (possibly JNCO?) jeans was yelling at a pony-tailed Asian girl with a pink blanket draped over her shoulders. The two were seated on the curb in front of my house.
Naturally, Matt and I were intrigued. We turned off the lights in the room and opened all the windows, peering over the window ledge through the blinds; we were privy to what should have been an otherwise very private conversation (though, honestly, if you're airing your dirty laundry right in front of my house, I'm gonna want some details).
The guy was yelling at his girlfriend about "SOME FUCKED UP SHIT THAT [SHE] DID," emphasizing, "WHAT THE FUCK THAT SHIT IS SO FUCKED UP WHEN YOU FUCKIN DO THAT SHIT." Only catching fragments of the argument (the girl kept a cool demeanor despite her hot-headed partner's profane, inarticulate slurs), Matt and I deduced the two had already broken up, but were trying to get back together, but they kept getting jealous of each other because each party had been caught out "seeing" other people which should have been okay because they were totally over each other except that they totally weren't and that's why shit was so fucked up, freal, though.
Soon, their friends pulled up to the adjacent curb in a Honda Accord. Two guys and a girl (all also Asian) got out of the car and walked towards the seated couple. There were a few minutes of intense mediation, and the two guys walked back to the car with the ex-girlfriend, presumably to separate the two and allow some cooling off time. The other female Asian friend stayed behind to talk to the ex-boyfriend, who, even though I could only see the back of his head, was visibly seething.
The female friend went back to the car to talk to the ex-girlfriend, et. al., leaving the ex-boyfriend alone. I had an idea.
I frantically scurried over to my laptop, went on YouTube, and turned my speakers up as loud as they could go. Taking a silent cue, Matt held my laptop up to the window (he's taller than me), where he pressed the "play" button, blasting Celine Dion's rendition of "All By Myself" for the whole neighborhood to hear.
The young man sat contemplative on the curb, seeming not to notice, nor care. Halfway through the song, though, we did manage to get the attention of one of the friends in the car. Matt and I were giggling our butts off.
The song ended, and Matt and I switched over to Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You." Almost on cue, upon the crash of Whitney's crescendo-like chorus, the ex-girlfriend emerged from the vehicle, still draped in the pink baby blanket, and planted herself on the curb next to Angry Ex-Boyfriend, where they sat silently.
Whitney Houston ended her song, and we next played Toni Braxton's "Unbreak my Heart," still at full volume. The couple chatted, ignoring the music blaring overhead.
Then, things turned sour. The tone of their voices (well, his voice) went from hushed to severe. It was then that I unleashed a song I felt best reflected the couple's (individual) sentiments: Lit's "My Own Worst Enemy."
At this point, one of the guy friends got out of the car and walked toward the couple. But it was not to diffuse the escalating argument; the friend mumbled something to the couple, and pointed to my bedroom window, where Matt and I ducked out of sight, still giggling our butts off.
Listening to their friend's counsel, possibly compounded with their tolerating four awful yet relevant songs, the couple stood up and dusted off. Together, they walked like civil, dignified human beings across the street and piled in the car, and drove away.
I like to think that Matt and I saved a healthy, loving relationship today. Tomorrow: we save the whales!
