Green Gchat Icons: Break-Ups in a Google Era

Routinely, I open my Gmail, and in the months since our break-up, I instantly feel the nausea. She’s there, on the left, a small green video icon next to her name. She’s here. Separately, invisibly, and without one exchange of text, we acknowledge each other. Like walking into a room and she’s there just standing in the corner, casually talking to others and as I walk in she glances up from the conversation to make eye contact. There’s a nod, maybe even a smile. Understandable and respectful distance. We do not say hi, we do not joke, we do not send links that desperately remind us of one another, like earlier days. Rather, we sit idly in the left side bar of our open gmails, each silently ruminating on the other’s virtual presence. Facebook, tabs of articles to read, job applications I should be working on, my Twitter account (incessantly loading up new tweets), my other Gchat conversations, are all blurred by the oxymoronic “Go”-green color of her Gchat icon. I do not go. I sit, numbly overwhelmed by the nature of twenty-first century, twenty-something relationships. Excuse me, break-ups. I can’t even check a fucking email without being reminded of her presence, standing in the virtual room, reminding me of us.

The past year. The beauty of us, the dull sadness. The waking up in the morning, staring at the ceiling. Get up, stop thinking about her, you have to get up. And listlessly, I pull myself out of the very empty bed and hope the first cup of coffee will distract me from the dream that she, once again, played a part in. But those are all the things one might expect from a break-up. The narrative we’re told. The crying, the little heartbreaking reminders found in a song, found in her model of car driving along next to me, found in well, everything. But I didn’t know how to prep for the punch of that little green Gchat icon. That, see, I’m still here. I’m still living my life parallel to yours, on these virtual plains. Every. Single. Day.

I’m reminded and stuck on the way our conversations flowed, the way we could flirtatiously type for hours. At work, during exams, when I should have been sleeping, there was always time. Connected and attracted despite our distances. I stare at my screen, and imagine hers, full and organized in her unique way, scarily similar to my own. And I can picture myself on her own screen, on the left, staring back at her from my own virtual and iconic place. Courtney Baxter (available to chat). And it’s true. I’ll always be available for her conversation, ready to see that box open on the bottom of my window, the thought bubble replacing her green. I will always light up inside, stop breathing for 2 or 47 seconds (I can never really tell) and feel her walking slowly across the room. “_______ is typing....”. I’ll always be green for that, for her.