The argument could be made that I set the relationship on fire just to watch it burn, a kind of strange pyromania found in the laugh of the mirthless. And yea! Though I walked through the valley of the shadow of Beth, I got tired of catching her fucking other men. She would get indignant and I would get confused as she called me old-fashioned for wanting her to be monogamous. I suppose I am, but one really shouldn’t need to muzzle their girlfriend’s vagina.

I remember near-fondly the first time I found her, tangled up in cheap, low-thread count sheets with some hungover college-aged kid. She had called a mutual friend of ours, Kelly, to come pick her up and this mutual friend called me, concerned. This type of mutual friend is the kind everyone should not only buy stock in, but buy a lot of stock in. They should sell her on the shelves with a lifetime warranty and the company should never be allowed to go out of business under any circumstances.

The apartment was…nice? Not swanky, but clean. This was the home of Martin, I had been told, and he was a “friend” of Beth’s and had taken care of her the night before. I knocked on Martin’s door, having absolutely no idea who this person was or if this was even the right house to begin with. A lanky kid in boxers answered the door. “I already told you people we’re not interested in your fuckin’ charities, yo.” He yawned and started closing the door.

“You must have me confused for someone else. I’m here to pick up Beth, that’s all,” I implored. “Cute girl? Short, drunk, kind of out of her mind?” Early morning confusion reigned across his face.

“Hold on,” he said slowly, holding up a finger and dipping behind the door. “Yo! Beth! Your ride’s here!” he yelled into the rest of the house, then turned back to me. There was a muffled response as he dipped behind the door again. “What’s your name?” he asked, returning.

“Kelly,” I said without hesitation. He yelled back into the house and then motioned me in, pointing me in the direction of where she could be found. I walked past the kitchen and glanced at the counter, noticing cutting boards still moist and pulpy from lime wedges. Salt sprinkled the floor. The over-large bottle of tequila was nearly empty and I knew then that she’d be a mess all day long. I turned into the hallway and knocked on the only door there.

“Yay! Kelly’s here!” I heard her squeal from behind the door. I shook my head and opened the door to see her curled up with a guy who couldn’t have been old enough to get into a bar legally. She hadn’t opened her eyes and her face was planted against the man-child’s chest. From his expression, he hadn’t expected a guy.

“Uh. Kelly?” he asked, confused.

“No. Alex,” I replied. “But you can call me Kelly if you’d like, I suppose. It won’t endear me any more or any less to you at the moment.”

“Alex!” Beth screamed. Her eyes were wide and she felt compelled to cover herself up with the sheets around her. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to pick you up, obviously,” I said, flashing a faux smile. “I figured you’d be ready to go by the time I got here. Do you need a minute to say your goodbyes? Maybe get a little morning shag in before coming home?” My smile had disappeared and I cocked my head a little to the left as if inquiring seriously.

“Well…could you at least hand me my panties? I’d like to get decent,” she shot back, pointing to the floor near the door. I glanced down and saw her clothing splayed out near my feet.

“I’d give my left nut for that to be possible right now,” I responded, turning around to leave. “I’ll be out in the car.”

The drive home was singularly tense. We said almost nothing to each other and I could smell the night on her as if it were happening right then. The unmistakable stench of tequila and arousal wafted from the passenger side of the car and I rolled down my window, hoping to get the smell out of my nostrils.

“Could you roll up the window please? I’m cold.”

“You stink,” I replied.





I understand now that it’s sometimes typical for the cheater to act in more manic ways once they’ve been caught. It’s like a probationary period they force on themselves to prove to their significant other that they do, in fact, care very much for the person they no longer care to sleep with. After a few intensely quiet days of both people treading softly in each other’s presence, the chill shatters and things slide into this mania slowly. The mania has a staying power for awhile; maybe a couple days, maybe a couple weeks, it’s different with every couple but it can rid the mouth of the foul aftertaste. The manic ways of Beth and I lasted all of fifteen hours.

I hadn’t been able to concentrate on the book I was reading. The words were making sense, but I’d keep reading and forget what I’d just read because honestly, I couldn’t shake the morning images. The book’s normal anchor in the imagination was a sorry replacement for life’s reality hurricanes and Beth kept pacing through the apartment, mumbling to herself.

“I should go, do you think I should go? I think I should, I’m so sorry, I really am, god I’m so stupid…”

“Yes,” I said finally as I closed my book. “Pack up your shit and bounce. It’s obvious you’re unhappy with me and at the moment, it shouldn’t be hard to believe that I’m unhappy with you, so…” My voice was even, solid. Inside, I was patting myself on the back for showing no weakness.

She stopped pacing and sat on the far end of the sofa. “It was only the one time, I promise I can make it up to you if you let me,” she pleaded. Her voice wavered towards the end and matched her quivering lips. I put the book down and stared at her for what had to be two solid minutes.

“Prove it,” I said, breaking the thick, dense silence.

“What? How do you want me to prove it?”

“For the next however many days, weeks, whatever, I want you to put yourself into positions that prevent me from calling your faithfulness to me into question. This isn’t difficult. You don’t see me fucking every random slut possible, so I’m only asking you to not be that random slut. It’s simple, really. Just prove that you want to be here. With me.” I could feel my cheeks heating up, most likely reddening. My calm anger is one that should be treated with respect, the malevolent one that people remember acutely since it rarely occurs. The loud anger is pure, childish ID bubbling its way to the surface.

“Did you just call me a slut?” she asked, incredulous. “I am not a slut.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” I replied, opening my book back up. “Pack up your shit or make your case. Those are your only options.”

She chose to stay, much to my chagrin. I don’t think I had been too hard on her. There were probably more diplomatic ways of going about the situation, sure, but I was never a very diplomatic kind of guy.

We had a quiet dinner and tried to force ourselves into a normalcy we hoped would last until dessert was finished. Just as we set our forks down on the empty plates, I was called into work for a small emergency. Nothing life-threatening, but some pictures needed to be adjusted to fit the magazine’s layout before heading to the printer the next evening. It would only take a couple of hours, I explained. I’d be back in time to join her for our usual late night talk show before passing out.

The job took only an hour, a surprisingly short amount of time. I was frustrated that it was a simple solution to an even simpler problem. One of the interns could’ve handled it, but apparently they trusted me to get it done right the first time. I came home and noticed only the light to our bedroom on and supposed she had gotten ready for bed earlier than usual. When I walked through the front door, I heard her moaning through the walls like the ghost of relationships past and wondered if I had made some huge karmic fuck up or if perhaps, I simply had a penchant for the wrong kind of girl. Whatever the reason, my headboard didn’t deserve the beating it was getting and didn’t bother to shut the front door.

I started gathering up some of her belongings from the living room: small photo album here, a stuffed animal from her childhood here, a pair of panties near the entertainment center next to a pair of slacks and shoes that weren’t mine…dammit. Had they started down here? The floor continued to thud in repetition as I picked up everything of hers from the kitchen, the bathroom, the closet, all of it. I carried it all out to the middle of the street and dropped it into a neat pile. I went back inside, found the lighter fluid and came out to soak her belongings. Nothing substantial to it, just stuff, all of it easily replaceable. Except for the photos, I suppose, but fuck it.

I don’t know if they stopped because they were done or if they heard the sirens on the street and got curious. They might also have seen the fire from the bedroom and wondered what was going on, but they both came down as I stood akimbo over the blaze. I don’t remember smiling, but it’s entirely possible. I remember feeling pleased with myself, however.

“What are you doing?” I heard Beth from behind me, caution in her voice. “You can’t burn stuff in the street. It’s illegal.”

“Oh I don’t know,” I started. “Surely there must be some kind of ordinance in regards to girlfriends who can’t keep their skirts down in front of other men.” I turned. He was wearing my bathrobe. “Looks good on you!” I hollered, giving him a thumbs-up and a sarcastic smile.

“Thanks?” he replied, confusion and the light of the fire dancing across his features.

“You can keep it,” I said as he walked closer to the fire. “Your pants and shoes are underneath her stuff, so you’ll need something to wear home. Consider it a gift!”

“A gift? Why?” he asked.

“You gave me a way out. Rather than putting truth to fist and pounding your dumb, naked ass into the pavement, I’m letting you go home unscathed because I’m done. I’m tired. So I’m going to stand here while this pile of her shit burns to ash and then I’m going to wash my sheets. I think I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” I said, half to myself as he backed away from the fire.

Beth tried to get my attention. “Honey. Honey,” she mumbled through tear-stained face and snotty lips.

“Yes, dear.” Even-toned. Never even turned away from the fire to look at her. Absolute balls in the face of a shitty situation.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Little late for that, don’t you think?” I kicked at the rubbish pile, stoking the fire, making sure to burn it all.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I am the Buddha amongst the brimstone and fire. If there were any doubt in your mind before about what role you are to play in my life, this, tonight, right here, should remove all of it. What’s left in the house, what I haven’t burned yet, you have half an hour to remove. Whatever you leave is mine to turn into kindling. Your half hour starts,” I said, looking at my watch. 9:36pm. “Now.” I heard her sniffle as he feet shuffled through the grass.

The firemen let me continue the blaze under the order that I not add anything to it, whether that be fluid or more of Beth’s belongings. I agreed and said I’d clean up the street once the ashes had cooled in the morning and they stuck around until the fire smoldered. Once everything had gone gray, I used the garden hose to douse the pile, just to be on the safe side. The firemen, satisfied, left without a word and I went inside to change the sheets and ready the sofa, which turned out to be a surprisingly comfortable endeavor.

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