El had it right: no man leaves his wife and home in order to alone. Garbo wanted to be alone, married men do not. Though Dan had denied it and pretended it wasn’t true, there was, of course, another woman all along, someone he had met online as Jules had said. With Dan so constantly absorbed in Instagram, I knew that was the starting place if I was to trace the paper trail of his betrayal.
A new character was about to enter the stage of my existence. I was soon to learn the identity of the woman who had been responsible for the great shift in my life. As with many significant dramatic entrances, the elements aligned with ironic timing. The date on which Dan asked for my casserole recipe was July 27; this was the exact one-month anniversary of his Crack-up Confession on June 27 when he drove away and left me and Max behind forever. And now exactly one month later he had sent this text, this fateful casserole request that would lead to my finally uncovering the truth that he had been keeping from us for so long, the truth that caused him to leave us, the truth about his other woman.
Robbed, murdered of my sleep by Dan’s text and the disregard for me he showed by making the request, I had lain awake contemplating my predicament, alone and adrift with my plans and finances thrown into a state of chaos and a college-age son to finish raising. Whereas Dan was, according to what he had told me, living a free and happy life in the city where everything and everyone was very cool and inspired. He did not miss his life with us at all. Added to that as I knew through Jules, Dan was eagerly expecting the arrival from Australia of the online other woman.
The uneven balance of my lost soul and Dan’s happiness drove me into anger, finally, at least for this one night. In my lonely, late-at-night house, I left my bed and went to the computer, to the computer, of course, finally ready to use it as I could have any night this past month but had not, finally ready to see for myself what Dan had been up to with this online other woman.
I sat down and typed google.com
I then typed Instagram and V4 Vision which was the name of Dan’s avatar. A number of links showed up in a list. I chose the one that seemed the most likely, and it led to Dan’s gallery on Instagram. I recognized his work immediately, his colorful, abstract washes, the pieces and lines of color and no color. I saw the knowingly pretentious titles he gave his photos, rich in modifiers and foreign languages.
I knew his pictures received lots of likes and also some comments. The previous year he spent the evenings on his Iphone while I was in the kitchen cooking dinner or washing up. He would tell me about the comments he received and that he wrote back and forth with some of the commenters to the point that they became friends.
There was one called soulwindow who was from Vancouver, there was a guy in Italy who had access to much photogenic Renaissance architectural art, and a woman from Australia, Dox Dart Nellie, who was known for the profanity of her comments. I realized that his “special” woman friend would not be any of these. She would not be someone whose name he ever mentioned to us. No. This one would have been kept a secret from us.
Looking at the comments under his photos, I ruled out the ones that seemed to be made by men, and clicked on the ones that seemed to be women. I looked to see if he had posted comments to their pictures. Very soon one woman began to stand out as posting lavish praise to all of his pictures: “Brilliant,” “ gorgeous” (with seven r’s), “Killah.” His comments to her pictures were equally extravagant in their praise: “Awesomely C oooo l,” “Sweeeet! Love the tasteful edit,” “Exquisite,” and even just the one lone, eloquent word “Love.”
Most of the people male or female who commented on Dan’s pictures used for their avatar picture one of their photos, but this woman used a black and white head shot of herself. Jules has told me that Dan’s girlfriend was 42. The age looked right for this woman in the photo; she was a brunette with her hair styled like Farah Fawcett’s popular 70s do. Her Instagram name was Tundra. From comments to her it seemed that was her last name and Tammie was her first name. So there it was. I had told Max the night of the Crack-up that the whole time the question had been going through my mind: What is her name? Now I knew. Tammie Tundra.
For confirmation as a scrolled down through all Dan’s pictures, I found one that showed two different pictures of a rainbow that had been put together to make one complete rainbow. One picture seemed to have been taken by Tundra in Australia, and to it Dan had pasted a picture he had taken of a rainbow. He joined the two pictures in such a way that the two rainbows merged and his completed hers. It was an interesting effect and well done. He gave it the title, “Your Rainbow Song,” and I saw that only minutes after he had posted it, Tundra had commented with “Love” and ten pink hearts. Noting the date, I saw that this had been done back in May while I was still hard at work completing my school year of teaching, knowing nothing of what was to come.
Their overuse of “sweet,” “cool,” “awesome,” heart symbols, and extra letters such as o’s and r’s in the spelling of their comments reminded me of notes I had taken up from my middle school students. The sentiments seemed equally like those of a teenage crush. They were, after all at this point, only pen pals or picture pals, you could say. They had never met in person. Soon they would meet, but as yet their entire romance had been carried out online, and the foundation of the affair, the Instragram part, was available for all to see.
Scrolling down through Tundra’s pictures, I could see that she was a good amateur photographer, not, perhaps as good as Dan, but definitely good. And she was prolific with lots of variety. There were many, many photographs going back for over a year. Her gallery had abstract close-up shots of rusted or paint-dripped surfaces similar to Dan’s, but she also depicted delicate nature images and even occasionally pictures of herself, her home, her son.
So she was a real person. When Dan had told his friends about the Instagirl, they had wondered if she might not turn out to be a scam. This was why Jules has first contacted me about her. Everyone has heard so many stories of people meeting someone online, falling for them, and then they turn out to be a man from Nigeria or some other scam artist who is not what they seem and is out for money or whatever they can get. This woman could turn out to be out for money, but from seeing her presence and her body of work on Instagram, I did have confirmation that she was a real person who took real photographs.
The pictures and the posts between Dan and the Instagirl dated back into the winter, our long, last winter together when Dan had had so little time for me and so much time for his Iphone. I now knew why. I now knew why he had had so little to say to me or Max for so long, no words of love, support, or praise. All of that had been going to the Instagirl. She was the obvious object of all that he had failed to give to me or Max. No wonder he had been so quick to anger, so quick to lash at us with unkind words. We had become nothing more than obstacles in his way, impediments to making his Instadreams come true.