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I had to pull over in traffic, because my phone was ringing off of the hook. Numbers and names I didn’t recognize or hadn’t seen grace my phone’s screen in a long time were illuminated in white and boasted an incessant clipped ringtone of Janelle Monáe.

Everyone had something to tell me.

My Twitter mentions are usually solemn: A friend will ask about my writing, a reader will ask me for an update, an unknown will follow intrigued by something I penned. I left the Internet drama of my youth on Myspace.

Or so I thought.

Apparently, there was a girl who thought I was dating her man, FIVE YEARS AGO, and decided to lash out at me because she recognized my avatar. The first mention was typical, a this-is-the-trick-who-tried-to-steal-my-man tweet. That didn’t bother me. However, the tweets that followed were completely out of line. She began to strew my personal business all over her timeline. Family business. Things I’d only told to a few people I’d considered close friends.

Breakdown:

1)   I’ve never met this girl, didn’t recognize her avatar or her name.

2)   If this is how you felt, why not handle it five years ago?

3)   Why are you handling ANYTHING with the “other” woman? Why not solve the problem that lies between the both of you? THE MAN.

4)   Who is this brother, who was/probably-still-is a close friend, and why would he choose to share my personal business to anyone?

I raced home to handle my research. I scoured Myspace and Facebook looking for someone who did not exist—she’d changed her name since then. I lingered on the pages of ex-boyfriends and male friends trying to see if any of their top friends resembled her face. I blocked her and anyone else who’d retweeted her foolishness. My infuriation was born in the fact that someone whom I was probably still close to had divulged my most personal secrets to someone they were briefly involved with.

After resolving that I wouldn’t find our connection, I gave up. I was bothered that my business and falsehoods lay in cyberspace, but didn’t want to succumb to using my Twitter as a battleground. My girls tweeted, text, and called pleading with me to respond to her. I refused to give her any shine on my timeline. I didn’t want to be bothered with a back and forth based on something that happened years ago. However, one friend in particular made an amazing suggestion.

“That whole display this evening was some high school s**t. She had all of her little minions retweeting and disrespecting you. Complete childishness. If I were you, I’d do what I do best– write a post on her behind.”

A light bulb flickered inside of me.  I jumped on to my bed, flipped open my MacBook and prepared to lash out in literary elements galore. I scoured her timeline, looking for bits and pieces of her life, preparing to defend myself against “women like her.”

I was halted.

As I traveled back in time, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for this girl. Her mutterings were laced with wanting and longing.

“Damn, I wish I had a boyfriend right now.”

 “Just got home from work, lonely.”

 “Cooking for one tonight.”

“I really want to stop working retail and live my dream.”

Interesting.