|
Excerpt:
My boyfriend was having sex with a woman who worked at a boutique supermarket we'd been frequenting for sixth months, or perhaps it was eight.
One Wednesday morning I received an e-mail from an unfamiliar address--one of those addresses that consists of a phrase that is supposed to be amusing and clever. Usually if the sender is unknown to me the message turns out to be spam--advertisements for some product that is supposed to improve my appearance, sex life, or make me more wealthy.
This e-mail salutation used my first name. The sentence that followed said the man I was living with, and used his first name, was involved with a woman who works at Dario's. It was signed, "A Friend." I felt sick, my heart rate shot up as if I'd been sprinting, and I grew angry--not at my boyfriend, but at the sender. I didn't recognize the ISP, closed my mail box, ran the ISP's name on a search engine and discovered it was a local provider. Taking down the phone number on their website, I called. I wanted to get through to technical support, hoping I'd speak to a tech who either didn't know better or care, and would give me the account holder's name. I was told curtly that that kind of information about their customers isn't given out. The woman I spoke to implied I must be somewhat crazy or stupid for asking such a thing.
That evening when I confronted my boyfriend about it he became indignant. A week later he moved out.
In the weeks that followed I walked into Dario's almost daily and wandered about trying to deduce which one she was--the overweight dark-haired woman in the flower department, the blonde who wrapped gourmet breads? I went through every checkout stand, peering into the faces of the female workers. Was he now openly dating or living with one of these women?
For several months I thought he'd try and contact me, talk of starting over, suggest couples counseling, but I never heard from him again. I
stopped going into the market, took different streets to the subway and to my job, so as not to go near the place.
Unless I used a great deal of discipline, a scenario would run through my mind--had he been with this woman before he and I went into the market in the early evening, had they exchanged furtive smiles while I was waiting in line to buy fish? If I didn't force myself to think of something else I would imagine other possibilities: did he have sex with both of us on the same day? While we went for a walk or when we were home together in the evenings, did thoughts of her frequently run through his mind? And did I subconsciously make myself oblivious to it for self-protection?...
***
FROM CUT AND RUN copyright 2005 by Cydney Chadwick
Published by texture press
ISBN: 0971206120
|
|
