Dust Bunnies

By OFW editor: Renée Miller

Published: August 27, 2012

By Renee Miller

Sometimes it's best not to look under the bed. Occasionally the wise thing to do is to let whatever lay underneath the mattress stay hidden. The best relationships contain some mystery. I learned this the hard way and I'm passing that wisdom to you while I watch the neighbors gather outside.

As I pushed the vacuum under our bed I noticed the corner of a white piece of paper sticking out of the far left edge of the mattress. Not entirely sure I wanted to know why the paper was there between the mattress and the box spring—my heart must have known it couldn't be anything good—I pulled the bed out and lifted it to peek underneath.

The left side was my husband's side. Funny how we seem to pick our space, then we never venture over to that other piece of mattress. Even when he worked late, knowing he won't be home, I never placed so much as a toe on his side of the bed.

I should have remembered that unwritten rule when I peeked at the secret my husband kept there.

My heart skipped a beat and my breath stuck in my throat, unable to move past the lump of sick horror lodged there. I picked up the paper and read the list of names, dates, and phone numbers written in my husband's spidery scrawl. Beside each name he'd drawn stars. Some names had three stars, some had four, and a small few received just one. My hand found my mouth and I gnawed at the nails I'd worked so hard to grow. I'd stopped that habit long ago but my subconscious didn’t care about that as I lifted the mattress once more.

Next to the paper lay a box of condoms.—we never used condoms as I'd had 'the surgery' years ago. It was a large box, econo-sized the label said, flattened by the weight of my husband's body over an unknown number of nights. Three condoms remained in the box, and bile stung my throat as the implications of those three condoms combined with the list hit me with the force of a hammer.

Setting the battered purple box next to the paper on the bed, I thought they looked vile and dangerous laying there atop the chocolate brown comforter spattered with aqua splashes that I'd spent so much time choosing. I wanted to be sure that he liked it as much as I did. Now I wished I'd picked the hot pink comforter with the vibrant yellow daisies as I’d wanted.

The last item under the mattress brought me to my knees, literally. Hot tears caressed my cheeks as they fell silently from my eyes. A brown envelope, creased and worn from numerous handlings, waited for my inspection. It felt cold in my hands but I reached inside to pull out a stack of photos. My husband and his lovers. Each picture showed a different position, a different location...a different man.

Stuffing them back into the envelope, I tossed it on the bed next to the condoms and the list. Then, fighting down the fury that blinded me and made my hands tremble, I pulled the suitcase, the one he used often as he travelled for 'business', from the closet. I opened the dresser and started packing. When the suitcase was full, I went to the kitchen and grabbed the box of garbage bags from under the sink and filled three of them. When I finished I made a phone call, Gordon's Locksmith arrived a short time later. I thanked the handsome young man and couldn't help wondering if his face lay among the photos in the envelope.

Then I went through the house, making sure I hadn’t overlooked anything. Once finished, I sat on the window seat in the living room, the one he’d built when we moved in, and waited for my husband to come home.

I hear the neighbors talking. He must be home. The crowd outside scatters, speaking in hushed tones as they glance back at my husband who emerges from his car. He stands on the edge of the lawn. His face pales as he digests the scene before him. Three garbage bags, his suitcase, and a careless pile containing tools, movies, and his prized CD collection cover the path to our house. Next to those, his eyes widen at the photos he’d taken as souvenirs, thinking no one would ever know. I neatly spread those out in a large square so that he could see every single one.

I smile as I watch him through the window. His gaze moves to mine and I feel a moment of grief at the loss of all those years, the love I thought was so perfect. Then I think of those photos, of his lies, of my own stupidity at not seeing that we lived in a make believe world that he created, and I lift my hand to raise a stiff middle finger.