The Cheating Husband (Week 5 Writing Assignment) .pdf

Conflict

The Cheating Husband
I knew John was cheating, he just had to be. What else was he doing? One night a week for
the past three months he’s been going off, supposedly, to play golf with “the guys”. Hah!
Like he plays golf. The funniest part? I actually believed him. I know, stupid right? I actually
believed him. For a brief moment, a tiny lapse in judgement, I actually believed him. He even
brought golf clubs and one of those stupid little hats with the visors and he keeps them in
the garage all week until he leaves and then he comes back and pretends to clean them and
pretends to talk about “Joey got a new club with tiny nubs” and how “Terry’s always flying
off the back swing” but I know they’re all lies. You see I saw Joey or Terry or whatever his
damn name is at the store and I asked him about golf and he looked at me as if I was insane.
Me. Insane. I am the sanest sane person that I know and I know some pretty sane people.
“Golf?” he asked, looking puzzled.
“Yeah? The weekly game? With the guys?” at this point I was as confused as he was.
“Umm, sorry Dana, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I hardly see John nowadays, let
alone to play golf.”
And then it clicked. I knew what he was up to. My stomach sank and I felt my face go bright
red and I could feel the anger and the betrayal and how dare he do this to me!? I knew I
couldn’t just confront him about it. I knew he’d just deny it. That he’d just claim Joey or
Terry or whoever that guy was probably misremembering. He got confused and thought I
was some other tools wife. So do you know what I did? Between all the hey honey’s and the
how’s your day been’s I’ve been plotting and I’ve been thinking and I knew that to get the
scumbag to confess I’d have to catch him red handed. In the act.
I knew I couldn’t follow him. He knew my car and if he caught me I’d have to come out with
it. Hell, maybe he’d drive all the way to the range and actually play golf all by himself the sad
little man. So do you know what I did? Hah, it was genius. I took out insurance on his phone.
And do you know what comes with the insurance? A GPS TRACKER so I knew where that
sneaky son-of-a was no matter the time of day. So I waited for the weekly “Bye honey, be
back later!” and then I booted up my laptop and I watched. It took a minute or two, but
there he was, his entire cheating form reduced to a slimy little dot on a digital map. And I
watched as he drove through the town, past the golf club, and to this dirty little motel on
the edge of town, where he stopped. I took down the address and I headed out.
It was a dirty little place, looked like it hadn’t be cleaned since Kennedy was here with
Monroe. Honestly I was scared more of catching a disease than a cheating husband. Then
again, the disease doesn’t claim to love you while simultaneously doing that with whatever
he was doing it with. What if I knew her? What if I didn’t? What if it wasn’t even a her? I
always knew he was a little gay. I’ve never seen a straight man co-ordinate decorations like
that before and knew it was too good to be true. I could accept him being a gay man, that’s
not the point. The point is the dishonesty. The lies. We’d built a life together, and here he
was tearing it down, among other things. Before I knew it I was at the front desk, the clerk
looking awfully Norman Bates-y.
“Can I help you, miss?” he asked, with his “I dress up as my dead mother” eyes glaring at
me.

Conflict

“Umm, yes, I was wondering if you could, um, help me…” I was so nervous I must’ve been
pale. I felt sick. How was I meant to ask “Hey, have you seen my cheating scum bag husband
around here?” Finally, the words came out, “I’m looking for a Mr Maxon. John Maxon.”
The clerk gave a sigh, “I’m sorry, I’m not meant to give out customer information.”
“It’s urgent,” I said, “It’s my husband, you see,” come on Dana, you can lie your way to that
sleezeball, “He’s, um, diabetic, and he’s going out of town and he’s forgotten his insulin, and I
must get it to him! Yes, I must!”
“If that’s the case, why don’t you call your husband and get him to meet you?” replied the
clerk, the snarky piece of-.
Finally, the rage inside me bubbled and burst and I felt myself reach over the counter, grab
the clerk by his scruffy little collar and scream “WHERE THE HELL IS MY HUSBAND?!”
right into his face.
He shuffled and squired and begged “Alright, alright, I’ll tell you just please let me go,” and so
I did, dropping him back into his chair, before wiping my hands of his filth. He flicked open
the guest book and scanned the pages with his bony little finger before stopping at the name
at the bottom of the list. “Maxon, John, room 228. Walk across the parking lot, up the stars,
second door, please leave.”
I walked along the parking lot, up the stairs, to the second door, with a rusted “228” on the
door. Inside I could hear talking and laughter of what sounded like multiple men. Oh Christ, a
gay orgy! That’s all I needed. I had half a mind to turn around and leave and pretend that this
was all one long convoluted bad dream and just let him have his way with things, but I
couldn’t. No, I am a strong woman and I demand the truth! So, without a second thought, I
put my hand on the door handle, and swung it open with full force.
And there he was, the scum bag. But he wasn’t participating in a gay orgy. He was dressed
head to toe. Like a wizard. And there was Terry and Joey, also dressed in similarly strange
attire, sat around a table with a board game open on it.
“Dana? What are you doing here?” Dumbled- I mean, John, asked.
“Well I thought…” I couldn’t think. What was going on here?”
“You thought what?”
“Well I thought you were… cheating… on me.”
“What?!” He yelled, confused and angry, “What do you mean you thought I was cheating on
you!?”
“Well you said you went to golf but then I ran into Terry…”
“Terry!?” He looked at his friend, who was dressed in nothing but a horned helmet and a
loin cloth.
“No, no, the other one,” I said, gesturing to his other friend, who was wearing a full suit of
armor made from tin foil and card board.
“You mean Joey? Joey, what did you say to her!?”

Conflict

“Nothing man, she asked me about golf and I was really confused, but before I could say
anything she left,” his friend replied. I have to learn their names.
“Okay, okay, I admit, I wasn’t playing golf. But why in the hell did you think I was cheating?”
My husband seemed very angry at this point. Why was he angry? He wasn’t the one being
lied to.
“Well I mean,” I struggled to get my words out, “What else was I supposed to think you
were doing?”
“Well, I don’t know, but why didn’t you just ask me?”
All of a sudden it dawned on me that that might’ve been the smarter course of action.
“What are you actually doing?” I asked, confused as to why my husband and his friends were
dressed like the Fellowship of the Ring.
“Oh,” my husband looked down at his elaborate costume, “Well, we play Dungeons and
Dragons once a week, have since college. We stopped once we all started getting married
but Terry thought it would be a good idea to start up again, give us something to do once a
week,”
“Okay,” I was still confused about the choice of location, “But why the motel? And why the
secrecy?”
“Oh, Terry’s wife thinks it’s weird, we don’t have the space and it’s easier for Joey,
considering the divorce… And I just assumed you’d find it weird if I told you, that I was
being childish.”
“You are being childish,”
“Exactly,”
“Oh.”
When you really think about, it does all kind of make sense.