Dear David Plouffe, Rembert misses you
Put some Taylor Swift on 'repeat' and settle down, because this week Rembert Browne writes an open letter to whomever has time for his broken heart.
I didn't think it would be like this. Who knew, a week after the greatest news of my life, I would be weeping uncontrollably during random times of the day? America finally has a black president, a man who is my hero, and my ungrateful self is sitting in front of my Dell, sad and lonely. What could cause a young man like myself to feel so blue, you ask?
Does the number "62262" mean anything to you? Does the name "David Plouffe" make you weak at the knees? For the past year or so, I have been sitting by my two favorite technological devices, my phone and my laptop, waiting to hear from these two entities. Whether it be by text message or by e-mail, the Obama Campaign for Change, Hope, Freedom, Liberty, Democracy, Breathing, America and Will.I.Am relentlessly forced me to be their friend.
Sure, at first it was annoying. Being someone that does not get many text messages, at first when my phone vibrated and it wasn't someone I knew, but just good 'ol 62262 letting me know that Obama ordered the corned beef hash and a black coffee (duh) at an IHOP in Puyallup, Wash., it was a buzzkill. But, after the third or fourth month of this, I began to not really care about my friends. Instead, I became more concerned with the day-to-day, hour-by-hour moves of Senator Obama. I was the first to find out via text that Hillary was dropping out and Obama was to become the presumptive Democratic candidate. I was the first to know that, against his advisor's advice, Obama and his wife were going to fist-pound on National Television instead of hug and kiss. And I was the first to know that Sasha and Malia were getting a new puppy, not a new baby brother. By the summer, I had deleted all of the numbers out of my phone, deactivated my Facebook account and was working up the nerve to ask 62262 if she wanted to go to formal at Bates. But then something hit me.
62262 was not the only love of my life. There was something else -- someone else whose companionship I could not count out. His name?
David Plouffe was there often times when 62262 was not. My phone broke for two weeks over the summer, and all of a sudden, 62262 just wasn't around like she used to be. Guess who never wavered?
When things were at their lowest and I thought I couldn't go on, David Plouffe wouldn't just e-mail me once, he'd e-mail me twice. Back to back.
At first I thought it was some computer glitch that the Obama Campaign for Earth, Wind, Water, Fire and Heart couldn't fix, but then I realized how purposeful it was. Mr. Plouffe cared that much. He cared so much, sometimes he would recruit his friends Barack, Michelle, Pauley Hodes -- even Joe and Jill down the stretch -- to keep me in the loop and make me feel wanted. By October, I had more friends than I ever could have imagined.
But that time in my life has come and gone. Snap back to reality; Gee whiz there goes gravity, as they say. These days my inbox is only flooded by participants in Blitz wars started by the surprisingly vulgar Dartmouth Mathematics Society. And, even though it's really cool that my mom just figured out how to text and wants to keep alerting me of this on a bi-minutely basis, she's no 62262. (I love her. Don't get me wrong.) I guess I just thought the communication would keep up after he was potentially elected, but nay -- it was all for naught. Well, we had a good run, Obama and Co. All I wish is that more people could have been exposed to the love that I received from 62262 and Mr. Plouffe. Even still, you did a great job, and you know where to find me.
Rembert is a staff writer for The Mirror. His story is being optioned as a TV movie by Lifetime.