Moving Day

This is a simple BTB story offered without apology. The idea came to me and I thought it would be a different way to tell a familiar tale. Writing it, I fell into a sort of present tense, internal monologue, stream-of-consciousness style and it was a fun change for me. Or, maybe it's just bad writing. Stream-of-consciousness can seem that way.

There is nothing new in this story. I just enjoyed telling it this way.

There is no sex in this story.

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"Skirt... skirt... skirt... That box is full. Snap the lid on top, carry it to the truck, and get another box.

"Blouse... blouse... blouse... Throw the hangers on top. Okay, another full box. Write her name on top. Out to the truck. What a hell of a way to spend a Saturday. I could be playing golf with my friends or just sitting out back with a cold beer. Instead, I'm boxing up my wife's clothes and packing them in my truck.

"That's it! It's official. I have finally lost my mind and I'm talking to myself." I stop to take my pulse. It's racing. I sit and try to calm down.

"God damn bitch! I can't believe she lied right to my face and got away with it! What the fuck is wrong with me?

"This isn't working. I just need to get it done." I take a deep breath, rise, and walk back to the bedroom.

I grab another box. "Dress... dress... dress... Hangers go on top." They fill a box of their own. Out to the truck.

"Damn it, does she even wear half this crap? Sweater... sweater... sweater... Close the box."

That's when it hits me! "Where the hell did she get all those shoes? Damn it! I'm going to need more boxes." I open a new box and start to throw them in unceremoniously.

Eventually I pause to gather my thoughts. "Okay, her closet's empty. I'll start on her bureau. All the underwear goes in a box. Socks... Lingerie. Damn! When was the last time I saw any of this? Oh well, no matter now. Another full box. Out to the truck."

I open another drawer. "More blouses. Shit! I have two suits for work, a dozen dress shirts short and long sleeve combined, maybe eight short sleeve polo shirts and another eight long sleeve shirts for casual, six or seven pairs of khakis, and I don't wear half of them. No wonder she took over the back half of my closet for her overflow."

Everything goes in a box.

I know what you're asking. How did I get to this? Five years of marriage and things started feeling off. She started spending more time out with her friends and her Saturday shopping trips got longer and more frequent. Husbands aren't made of stone. We can feel neglected and I was. I tried talking to her about it. At first she expressed regret and promised to change, but in time she just laughed it off. Some of her comments were meant to be funny, but they weren't.

I don't have pots of money or a rich uncle, but I do have friends. I had a friend from work follow her on a girl's night out and I didn't like what he told me. I had another friend follow her on a Saturday shopping trip and I liked that a lot less. Cell phones are convenient and it didn't take long to see that my marriage was over. She was meeting her boss from work. What a shithead! What a cliché!

That's when I started to plan. Divorce was a given. Revenge was the sticking point. Divorce was the best revenge for her. With no kids and two jobs, a divorce would be clean and easy. I could go after him with a baseball bat, but he wasn't worth going to jail over. I could sue his ass, but those law suits don't go anywhere anymore. I finally came up with a simpler plan.

"Okay!" I stood, stretched my back, and thought, "What else? Bathroom!" I gathered her cosmetics and grooming supplies and tossed them in a plastic trash bag and put the bag in a box. "Anything under the sink? Okay, that goes, too. I'll keep the wash cloths and towels for now."

Back to the living room. "Laptop! That goes in a box. Wedding photographs? Hell, yeah! She can have them all! Her favorite candlesticks? They go. Crystal vase her grandmother gave us for a wedding present? She loves that thing. That goes... Oops! Clumsy me. It broke. Oh well? Close the lid."

I reach to get our wedding photograph that hangs in the living room, and then I pause. "No, I think I'll keep that. I can draw some rings on it and use it for darts."

I look around one last time. "That should do it for now. I'll let the lawyers handle the rest." I grab the envelope and put the last of the boxes in the truck. Then I head off to shithead's house. Did I mention he's married? Two-bit corporate paper pusher and he steals my wife on the side. It's hard not to feel like a loser when you realize that's going on.

I back up his driveway and begin to unload my pickup when his wife comes out. "Excuse me! Can I help you?"

"No, mam. I'll just be a moment. You're Barbara Johnson, aren't you?"

Shithead's wife now seems wary. "Yes. Can I help you?"

"No, mam. I'm just dropping off my wife's things."

She looks confused. "You must have the wrong address."

"No, mam. Your husband is Frank Johnson?"

"Yes."

I hand her the envelope. "This is for you. Right this minute, your husband and my wife are at the Marriott in room 212. They've been meeting for a while now. I don't actually know how long."

She looks at the envelope and back at the boxes as I unload the truck. Somehow, I think she believes me and I start to feel my first twinge of guilt at the pain I must be causing her. "I'm sorry. I didn't think of how you would feel about all this."

"They're having an affair?"

"Yes, mam."

"It's not his first."

"I didn't think so."

She holds up the envelope. "Does this contain the evidence I need to divorce him?"

"Yes, mam. Could I suggest you not open it? Just give it to your lawyer."

"You can suggest it, but I'm still looking at it before I call."

"I figured. I'm truly sorry."

"No you're not, but I appreciate the gesture. So why are you giving me your wife's clothes?"

That brings a smile to my face, the first smile of the day. I hadn't thought of it that way. "Actually, they're for her."

"Hell no!"

I feel ashamed by the things that make me laugh sometimes. "I figure this is the most hurtful way I can tell her that I know about her cheating and we're getting a divorce. Plus, I figure I'm going to ruin his whole day when he gets home."

"Giving away her clothes?"

"I'm going to tell her she lives here now."

"Oh hell no!" After a moment, the shock wears off and she begins to laugh. "That's diabolical! You're a real son-of-a-bitch, you know that?"

"Yes, mam. It's been said before."

"Can I get you anything? Some coffee or a beer maybe?"

"Thank you, but I'm about done and then I need to get home and change the locks."

"Will you have time to change mine, too?"

I like this woman! She thinks like me. "Well, let me see who made them and maybe I can get replacements."

A few hours later I am sitting in the coffee shop across from the Marriott. I feel like the worst is behind me. Two houses now had new locks and my wife is officially moved to her lover's house, although she doesn't know it, yet. It's time to deliver the message. I'm sipping my coffee and watching the parking lot when I see her walking to her car. That's when I pick up my cell and send a text to my wife. "Your clothes are packed and moved. You will find them at Frank's house. You live there now. However, Frank does not. The locks on his house have been changed. Ours, too. I don't know why Frank would cheat on his wife, do you? She's lovely and she seems very nice. Did you know they have kids? Oh well! Have a good life. I'll have you served when the papers are ready. I hope he's worth it." I hit send. Moments later she stops, looks at her cell, and collapses on the pavement. I sit and sip my coffee, and I wonder why?

Epilogue (because it is expected):

What happened after that was more anticlimactic than I expected. She tried to apologize, but I wasn't listening. We were done and I made that clear. He went home and found himself locked out. She didn't have the courage to face his wife, but eventually he removed my wife's belongings from their driveway. I don't know where they went and I don't care. They deserve each other.

I had a Monday morning appointment with a lawyer and she was served Friday at work. Frank's wife served him, too. I had no interest in reconciliation and I felt no forgiveness. In time, the pain and anger would fade and I was left with a deep-felt disappointment. Two years later I met the woman who would become wife number two. Suffice it to say that we had many long discussions about our expectations and I became convinced that I had found someone who shared my values. Barbara took a bit longer to find someone, but a woman with children has fewer opportunities. The odd thing is that Barbara and I would become friends and occasionally get together for dinner and mutual support. That friendship would eventually grow to include our new spouses. Looking back, my life is richer now than it was before I caught my wife cheating. Who would have thought that her betrayal would lead to my eventual happiness?