Monica Charles

I started seeing Monica when my wife checked into the rehab center. Not because I was a bad husband or a terrible person, but because I needed comfort. Monica was unafraid to go visit my wife and she gave me regular updates. Naturally the relationship deepened over time, without any effort. The more we saw of each, the more we wanted to see more of each other. It was not fair to my wife, her best friend.

She slipped the fake face over her own, standing in front of the mirror. Slowly the other person eclipsed her own. At first she felt hidden, flattered, bold, like another person. What did her identity mean at this moment she wondered. So many possibilities raced through her mind: robberies, adulteries, of course impersonations. But the reasons she could be bad, or the reasons she could do good. There was no longer a challenge to being someone else.

Monica had the yellowest eyes I had ever seen. At times, I thought for a moment, she was a cat. Admittedly it was dark and we had two cats at the time. But neither cat had yellow eyes, theirs were green. My wife would not tell me they were colored contacts no matter how much I insisted it must be true.

My wife's best friend was Monica. Sometimes she stayed until the sun came up the next morning. I'd find her sitting on the couch focused on nothing first thing in the morning. At some point while I was eating she would rise and leave without a word.