C6 (1)

My husband doesn't think I'm very smart. And I have to admit that for a long time I thought he was right. After all he was making good money and when I tried to get a job after John, our son, left for college I ended up bagging groceries in the local supermarket. Not very impressive.

Hubby was horrified to learn that his wife was stuffing cans of tomatoes and bags of chips into the plastic sacks of his clientele, among others.

"Honey, you don't have to work. I make plenty," he said.

"I'm not doing it for the money," I said. "I was going stir crazy. John's gone and when you're home you spend most of your time on your computer."

"Honey, you know how hard it is to stay on top," he said. "I've told you enough times. Those punk kids want to run over my ass. Gary and Caroline especially. So I have to go the extra mile."

"I know, I know," I said. "But that means I'm alone most of the time. I had to get out."

He grumbled for awhile, and pouted, but after a couple of weeks we'd settled into a routine.

It took me a couple of weeks to get used to being in the workforce again after spending years at home. But I began to relax and chat with the customers. Some of the men even flirted with me.

I started talking with one of the checkers when we took breaks together. She spotted the romance novel I'd brought and that led to an enthusiastic discussion of all the books we'd read by the same author. We learned that our tastes were very similar.

On the surface Rita and I were an unlikely pair. She was ten years younger, had been divorced twice and was currently single, raising a ten-year-old daughter. I 'd been a mother and housewife for over twenty years, married to the same man. She had tattoos and openly spoke her mind. I held my tongue, never swore, and looked like I should be home baking cookies. And yet we recognized that there was a bond between us. Our friendship grew deeper each day.

Less than a month after we'd met we were spending time together outside of work and sharing the nitty gritty facts of our lives. It was during one of these klatches over coffee that I told her about my husband's opinion of my intellect.

"Jesus Cheryl," she said. "You're one of the smartest women I know. I look up to you. I don't know what he's talking about."

That made me stop and think. Up until that time I'd never really questioned Bill's assertions. And I realized that I'd gotten some of the same messages from my parents. But Rita's words stuck with me.

Nearly four months later Rita came breezing into work with a pamphlet in her hand. It turned out to be the catalog for the community college.

"We're going back to school, girl," she said when we had time to talk in the break room. "Get out of this dead end crap job."

My first reaction was fear. Gut wrenching fear. I stared at her.

"We're going to learn computers," she said.

It took her over a week to talk me into taking one of the classes. I kept telling her what a miserable student I'd been in high school. And she would say, "I don't care about what happened in high school. I know you can handle this."

But what tipped the balance was Bill's reaction after I hesitantly told him of our plan. He put on what I called his "wise" face. "Honey, do you really think that's a good idea?" He said. "You know you barely got through high school. College is a lot harder." We'd been high school sweethearts so he'd seen my failures first hand.

However, instead of cowing me, as it would have done in the past, it made me mad. "That was a long time ago," I said. "And anyway, if I don't try I'll never know."

A couple of days later he tried a different angle. "Honey, I don't know if we've really got enough money for you to be going to college, things are tight right now."

But it was too late. Rita and I had already enrolled.

The first A was a huge surprise. And it was the only A in the class. I'd worked hard to prepare for that first test but still it almost seemed like a fluke. But the A's kept coming. And I learned that I loved working with computers.

"Didn't I say you could do this?" Rita said one evening as we studied in her mobile home while her daughter did her own homework across the table from us. It really didn't seem to bother her that I was doing better in the class than she was.

"Oh Rita, I am so glad you pushed me into this. I'd never have done it on my own," I said. We enjoyed an emotional moment together, both of us getting teary eyed.

That was only a week before I worked up the courage to turn on Bill's computer while he was away in order to practice my new skills. A week before my life changed utterly.

I was simply thinking of it as a computer. And I'd assumed that the time he spent on it was devoted to work. Silly me. Before taking the class I really hadn't realized what the Internet age was all about. I'd heard a lot about it, of course, but it hadn't sunk in. So I thought of my darling husband as being incredibly devoted to his job.

I was so proud of myself. I turned it on and waited for the Desktop to load. And once it did I examined what was there. It felt so good to know what I was looking at.

The first folder that caught my attention was entitled "Pictures". Oh, how nice, I thought. Maybe he's got some pictures of me and the kids. So I clicked on it. Three more folders. "New." "Old." And, "Friends". Oh, he's got some photos of our friends, I thought. I clicked on it. More folders. Women's names. Not one I recognized. Hmmm. I clicked on "Darlene".

You'd have to be as obtuse and sheltered as I had been to understand the effect of what I saw next. "Darlene" was naked. Not only was "Darlene" naked but she was displaying everything she had with a big grin on her face. I could practically look up her vagina and see her tonsils. And her breasts were way bigger than mine.

I felt as if Arnold Schwarzenegger had just slammed me in the head with a 4x4. My first reaction was to curl up and whimper. That lasted for about two hours. And then I started to get mad.

"Goddamn motherfucker," I said. Out loud. For almost the first time in my life. "Goddamn asshole sonofabitch motherfucker." Hey! This felt kind of good. I sat at the computer. Ranting. And opened every one of those folders. It was all basically the same thing. I was cursing so hard I was getting drops of spit on the screen.

I called Rita and said, "Get your ass over here pronto." There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

"I'll be right there," she said finally.

Her eyes were huge, staring at me, when I opened the door to let her in. I snarled something from between clenched teeth and stomped back down the hall to Bill's study. I showed her everything. Every cunt. Every tit. Every smiling face.

"I've seen her around town," she said a couple of times.

Both of us recognized Caroline.

I was exhausted by the time we were finished. We both sat there slumped in silence staring at the final photo. "Josie," in intimate detail.

"Your asshole husband hit on me a couple of weeks ago," Rita said. "I wasn't going to tell you. He waited until you were in the bathroom and came slithering out. I shut him down."

We sat there staring at "Josie's" spread vulva.

"I don't know what to do," I said. After what seemed like hours.

Rita took my hand and gave it a little squeeze.

Finally I shut down the computer and walked with her to the door. I shuffled along like an old woman.

"Are you going to be okay?" She asked.

"Yeah," I said. I tried to smile but I could see by the look on her face that it wasn't working. "Yeah," I said again. "I just need to absorb this shit." She looked at me with obvious concern. "Don't worry, I'm not going to shoot myself. I promise." At last she left.

I walked down the hall and fell into bed. And slept for twelve hours straight.

I awoke with the rudiments of a plan of action stirring in my brain. As I lay there, slowly making the shift into full consciousness, I assessed my situation. I had to admit to myself that, although I hadn't seen the direct evidence of my husband's betrayal of our marriage before yesterday, I'd known it was there. The heart of our partnership had stopped beating a long time ago.

I asked myself how deeply I cared. And the answer shocked me. I didn't care very much at all. I suddenly realized that what had unsettled me most the day before was not the evidence of my husband's philandering but the cold hard truth that I would now have to do something to take control of my own life. And that was an idea that scared the hell out of me. I wasn't quite ready to face that one yet.

My strongest feeling was one of curiosity. I wanted to know who my husband really was. It was obvious to me now that he was not the man I thought I'd known.

As I sat up on the edge of the bed I felt Bill's presence in the house. My heart started hammering. I felt like a spy preparing to parachute behind enemy lines. I got up, took off the clothes I'd worn to bed, and took a shower.

Bill was in his office, sitting at his computer.

"Hey," I said, standing by the door in my bathrobe.

"Hey yourself," he said.

I noticed that he quickly clicked out of the window he was in. Something I'd never paid attention to before.

"Are you okay?" He asked. "You were dead to the world when I got home last night. I tried waking you up but you just told me to go away."

"I don't remember that at all," I said. "I just felt really tired for some reason."

I sensed that he wanted me to leave. His fingers tapped on the edge of the keyboard.

"Well, I think I'll get myself something to eat," I said, and turned to go. "Oh, by the way, I got another A in my computer class," I said over my shoulder.

"That's great honey," he called out.

I smiled to myself, baring my teeth like a hungry lioness.

Each time Bill left the house, in the weeks and months that followed, I spent every spare moment rummaging through his computer. At first, because of my lack of knowledge, it was a slow convoluted business. But with every passing day my knowledge grew. Our instructor at the college, a young man not much older than my son, didn't know what to make of some of my questions which were far beyond the level of the class.

"Are you planning to become a hacker Mrs. Snyder?" He asked me on more than one occasion.

"Maybe," I would say with a smile.

I had mixed feelings about the revelations I encountered in my search. It became clear in reading his emails and IM archives that he was adept at stringing women along, telling them what they wanted to hear at precisely the right moment. It was very painful to recall how well these techniques had worked on me for over twenty years. I began to cast a very cold eye on everything he said and did.

One thing that surprised me was the fact that almost all the women were aware that he was married. Some, of course, including Caroline, even knew me personally. But he gave them the impression that our marriage was a hollow shell that teetered on the brink of divorce. There was more truth in that than he probably realized. Several of the women, I could see, were actively engaged in pushing our fragile relationship the last stubborn inch and into the void.