Illicit Affairs

There once was a woman who met a man who was no good for her. They both knew it, but he pursued it. It started subtly, with an excuse to send an email here and a text about something work-related there. She was easy to talk to and refreshingly outgoing. He lived in a world walled in by religion and grossly lacking four-letter words. The dangerous thing- the real problem, if you will- was that they each made the other feel existence. Seen and heard. The banter was perfectly timed. The things they found they had in common seemed otherworldly. She knew it was doomed, but couldn't stop herself from looking at her phone and hoping he'd be in there somewhere. It was harmless.

It ended abruptly one hot August day- the first time. His wife saw a text she didn't like. She was, of course, completely justified. The man told the woman they couldn't be friends, and that was that.

Until a few months later, when the man popped up in the woman's inbox again. There he was, all platonic. I saw your name on the list of attendees... that's cool! The woman should've known better.

You know, we aren't allowed to be friends, right?

He brushed it aside and wandered back in.

Months went by, and the man and woman carelessly ignored the substance of what was brewing. To the woman, they were friends. She's friends with a lot of men- she has to be. She works in a man's industry. She has to know how to deal with the men in a man's industry, and that's why she isn't offended by bottom-feeding jokes and comments about blow-jobs.To the man, she was free interactive entertainment. Witty, edgy, smart. And attentive, because she lived on her phone as much as he did. But there was something about the way he appreciated her attention that kept her intrigued.

Then, again, his phone gave his secret away.

The man called the woman and said that his wife left him with the kids, that she was livid. The wife texted the woman asking questions the woman didn't have answers for. It isn't what it looks like, not exactly. And the woman wanted that to be true, because her husband didn't deserve a wife who was having an emotional affair any more than the man's wife did. But was it that? The woman didn't know. All she knew was that it felt like the loss of a friend, but it was probably for the best.

The woman went her own way, and the man, his.

And then, two years later, sitting in a meeting (of course) surrounded by men- an email appeared from him.

It's been years.

He was sorry, he told her. She said it's cool. ​

She never should've answered that email, that day. She should've left him where he was. A string of reasons why they shouldn't communicate turned into digital intimacy; texts turned into voice memos turned into FaceTime turned into irreparable, reprehensible lies. The atoms of the man and the woman collided spectacularly, sparking a war. A tug and a pull and a push of will; of who's lying to whom about what and bruises and blocked accounts and rage vacations and wet laundry in a pile and cop cars in the driveway. None of that should've happened. Of course, none of it should've happened.

The woman could've handled hey we fucked up, this is fucked up, it's gotta be over. Some part of her knew that the man was only a weapon in her self-sabotage. She wanted to apologize to everyone for everything; this was never who she wanted to be. She begged for a goodbye. He refused. She said, you're going to hate me one day.

Then one day came.

In a single dm on the umpteenth Instagram account he'd concocted trying to get her attention again, he said

It isn't real.

And in that moment, she disappeared.

Maybe she didn't deserve to get any kind of good-bye, but she deserved far more than to be cast as a ghost, a spirit, a phantom. She didn't want to share in the title of things that aren't real. For a long time, she felt the intense ache of being existence-less.

Slowly, though, painstakingly, she reappeared. Bits and pieces regained their place; her skin was no longer numb.

A curious thing happened, then.

The man began to disappear. She felt like she could breathe again, like she was finally free...

Like he was never really even there.

And, it wasn't real. None of this really happened.

Or did it?

​