Page 9 of The Reluctant Hero

Unless it’s a legal document and it can’t be folded.

A part of me is hurt at the thought and the rest balls up in rage.

Justin finally found me and sent over paperwork for a divorce. Why the hell didn’t they deliver it to me in person? That’s what they’re supposed to do, isn’t it?

Whatever. I’ll sign it and be done with this bullshit. I’m ready to go back to my hometown. Living with my parents for a while is going to be humiliating, but I’ll do it. I’d like to be around some support. Even my best friend Janine hasn’t texted or called back.

I rip it open without mercy, and a single sheet falls out.

All it has on it is a name typed up in a huge font that I can’t miss.

Elliot Bernard.

I flip it over to find it blank.

Who the hell is Elliot Bernard?

My mind spins in useless circles during my evening routine of showering and tooth brushing. No matter how many angles I try to see it from, I don't know that name. It pisses me off enough to grab the stupid thing and toss it in a drawer so I can’t see it anymore.

I have too much other shit to worry about to start mystery teaming my way through life. I have real problems to face. And no team.

Fuck Elliot Bernard and whoever put this in my mailbox. That’s my final answer.

That continues to be my answer for every envelope that shows up in the weeks that follow. All I get is a single sheet of paper with different names that I don’t recognize.

They get shoved into the drawer of forgotten people, and I keep going.

Then, a different type of envelope shows up. This one is smaller and holds two or three things—photographs.

Three photos that are practically pornographic, and three different women. They show more of the women’s naked bodies than the man. I only get a hand with a wedding ring, but I know who it is.

I picked that ring out myself as a personal touch for him. It's a white gold band with a square-cut diamond in the center.

My soon-to-be ex has been busy.

The room is exactly the same in each photo—red wallpaper and black silk sheets. I can’t look at them long enough to make out any other details. It's a nice hotel. Is that where he met up with Annette?

This isn’t substantial enough to take to a lawyer. They would need his face in them. That ring wasn’t one of a kind or anything. If I remember correctly, the jeweler said it was a popular seller. This is an ego-flattening taunt that leaves me sobbing.

It isn’t over his infidelity anymore. It’s about how gullible I was to be so in love with him. Even when things weren’t good between us, I never saw this. And it’s alotmore than one woman.

I take the next day off and get tested for any diseases that I stayed awake thinking about all night. Everything comes back clear, but I can’t help feeling dirty. I didn’t see any condoms in use, and it makes me gag.

My self-confidence takes an abrupt nosedive and doesn’t recover. I spend more time avoiding the mailbox and feeling sorry for myself than I do working. When it gets to the point that the boss threatens to fire me, it lights a fire under my ass to suck it up and keep going.

It becomes a monotony of work, sleep, eat, a letter with a name I don’t know, photos of women that make me puke, and a growing hate that I can’t shake.

My natural snark has come back with a vengeance. The placid attitude I adopted as a soft-spoken wife gets thrown into the wind without a backward glance.

I keep going. More determined than ever.

The only things I have for entertainment are Manny’s slow descent into gerontophobia and the blue-haired woman down the hall.

4

Shut Up

Justin Blake

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