game

The clock said six a.m. That was about the time I usually got up, but this morning I had woken up at five o'clock with a melody running through my head that I didn't want to lose. Though it was still dark outside, the city was glowing from the streetlights reflecting off the low clouds. It would probably start raining soon. No walking in Central Park today, I thought as I continued writing. The boys will be disappointed.

I was sitting in my usual place, the piano bench near the windows - playing softly so I wouldn't wake my sons, stopping now and then to write something down. I wasn't worried about waking Melinda - she slept like a log. I could be blasting the last part of the 1812 Overture where they shoot off the cannons and she wouldn't wake up. But I could hear her now, back in our bedroom, getting dressed. I wondered what she was doing up so early. Ordinarily, if the sun hit her before eight o'clock, she'd be in a bad mood the rest of the morning. She must have a last-minute job. That happened a lot.

The tapping of her heels on the tiled hallway echoed through the apartment as she came out into the living room. "Taylor? I'm leaving." The closet door slid open and hangers rattled.

I didn't look up from the music I was working on. "Ok, Lin, I'll see you later," I said warmly, running my left hand through my short hair as I scribbled furiously with my right.

"No, Taylor. I'm leaving."

My heart stopped beating for a second. I slowly put down my pencil. The music that had been running through my head for the past hour stopped as suddenly as it had started. My eyes caught a reflection of her in the window and I turned towards her. Everything seemed to be running in slow motion.

Melinda was standing in the entryway, putting on her tan jacket. I had given her that jacket for our second anniversary, and she wore it on rainy days. But on this day there was a suitcase by her feet. She was leaving for good this time.

I avoided her eyes. If I didn't look in her eyes, then I wouldn't see what I knew was there, and I could pretend for just a few minutes longer. I stared past her at the door, the door she would be going through for the last time.

Tossing her blond hair over her shoulder, she laughed quietly, and it was empty. "Taylor, you knew this was coming. Don't tell me you didn't."

Somewhere I found my voice. "But I thought..."

"That I loved you? That I loved this? That I would change?" She laughed again, and this time it was cold. "Oh, Taylor. You're a bigger fool than I thought you were." She buttoned up her jacket.

"I'm a fool, Melinda?" I kept my voice quiet and level, not wanting to wake the boys. "I suppose I am, for thinking that after five years you had decided to stay."

I could feel her smiling at me, and it was cruel. "I'm still wondering why I stayed five years."

I finally looked at her face, into her eyes. I saw what I knew I would see - nothing. They were dead to me. There was no feeling there. She didn't care.

I stood up, clenching my fists. I felt the color rising to my cheeks along with the anger that I had been trying to suppress. I wanted to hit something, but instead dug my fingernails into my palms. "What about the boys, Melinda?" I hissed. "What am I supposed to tell them? You're just going to leave them without even saying goodbye?" I watched her face, looked deep into her eyes. If I had seen just a glimmer of feeling at the mention of our sons, I would have fought her, done anything she wanted to get her to stay, if only for them.

"I'm tired of playing house, Taylor." Her voice was maddeningly calm. Her gaze never shifted. There was no remorse at leaving her children.

I gave up then. Nothing I said was going to change her mind. The game was over. My anger subsided as quickly as it had come. I was tired of the sight of her, still smiling at me as if this was all a great joke. I trudged over to the window. The rain was just starting then. I knew I had blood on my palms, but I put my hands in my pockets and stared vacantly out the window, not seeing. I felt numb. I closed my eyes and listened to the silence roar in my brain, where a few minutes before, music had danced.

"Goodbye, Taylor."

I didn't turn around. I heard the scuffle of the suitcase being picked up. The door clicked softly behind me, and she was gone. I let the tears come with the rain.

I stood at the window for a long time, thinking about her. What had I seen in her that made me love her, even though deep down I had probably known all along that she didn't really love me?

Melinda and I met at a party. She was doing freelance photography for a magazine, or she was supposed to be. Instead she was mingling with the guests and acting like she owned the place.

She came into my life just when I needed her. I had always been so driven and career-oriented, but I had stopped writing and performing and gone into producing instead. It was joyless, and was beginning to drag me down.

But Melinda was different. I had never met anyone quite like her. She got me to loosen up, brought some sponteneity back into my life. She had no problem taking off on to the Bahamas or Mexico or Europe on a moment's notice if she felt like it. She had a playful, carefree attitude towards life. To her it was all a big game, and she always said that she intended to play it out to the fullest. Things looked so different through her eyes, and I began to see the world again, to enjoy life.

I had fallen in love with her so quickly, and she had said she loved me too. Yet, I had been surprised when she said she would marry me. My first clue should have been what she said when she accepted: "Sure, it'll be fun!"

And it was. We were the Glittering Couple - two tall, blond, fashionable people making the rounds of the New York scene - parties, awards shows, clubs - in which I had lost interest. She got so much enjoyment from things I thought were routine and dull and pointless. In public, Melinda draped herself on my arm as if she was an expensive accessory instead of my wife. It bothered me to see her acting like that, but it seemed to make her happy, and I loved her so much that I went along with it.

But the glitter of the scene soon wore off. That was when she left the first time. She said she needed time to think about her life and what she wanted. My life and what I wanted didn't cross her mind. When she came back, after a week, she acted like she hadn't even been gone. And I let her, because I loved her.

A month later, Melinda told me that we were going to have a baby. I was ecstatic. Coming from a big family, I had always wanted children. Maybe this is what would make her truly happy. The baby turned out to be twins. Jacob and Joey were the center of her world - at first. Melinda doted on the boys, bought them the best of everything, took them to playgroups and baby classes. She was the perfect mother, everyone said. And I had agreed, secretly hoping that the passion she was showing for our children was real this time, and that maybe it would rub off on our relationship as well.

But she played the mommy as well as she had played the wife. She played so well that I actually started to believe that she was serious for once. That she was happy with our life, and our boys, and with me.

I had been wrong.

I was angry for a while. I was mostly angry with myself for getting swept up in her game without really knowing her rules. I was disgusted with myself for hiding my head in the sand and not wanting to see how different we really were. Melinda never took anything really seriously - but she was a wonderful actress. I suppose that Melinda had been gone long before she actually left. Had she ever really been here to begin with? Why had she stayed? Had she ever given me any reason to think that she was going to stay forever? Not really. But why, then, had I been so surprised when she left? I had been surprised. I thought that everything was fine. I guess Melinda was right; I was a fool.

The reflection of the clock in the glass showed me that it was seven o'clock already. The windows were wet, but I couldn't hear the rain. Back home I had always been able to hear it pounding on the roof, and it was a comforting sound. Here, it was just silent and wet and gray and sad.

I stood there for a while, watching the bustle of traffic, the people going about their own business in their own little worlds, totally oblivious to what was going on high above them. Melinda was out there, somewhere, in the rain. She wouldn't be alone for long. She may have even had someone to go to already. But she wouldn't ever be happy.

From behind me came the quiet irregular slapping of two sets of sleepy little vinyl feet. I wiped my face on my shirtsleeve and put on a big smile.

"Dada!" they cried, running over to me. I knelt down and they barreled into my arms. I wrapped them up in a big hug, the pain in my heart momentarily eclipsed by the joy of my sons.

"You guys hungry?" I asked as I reluctantly let go of them.

"Pa-cake?" Joey asked brightly. Jacob solemnly nodded agreement.

I stook up and took them by the hands. "Pancakes it is."

As I made breakfast for my sons, I agonized over what I was going to say to them and what we were going to do. If I was a cruel man, I might never say anything at all. Never mention Melinda again; erase all evidence of her from the house. It would work. Jacob and Joey were so young - eventually they would forget her. I might even forget her.

But that wasn't me.

I sat there at the kitchen counter, watching them eat pancake men and giggling over each arm and leg they ate. Then I knew what to do. I needed to get out of this place. There was really nothing here that was hers but there was nothing here that was mine, either.

Except the boys. I had to go, take them someplace where people didn't play the game the way their mother had. I would take them someplace where we could hear the rain as it drummed on the roof, and it would comfort us all.

I would take us home.

The clock said six a.m. That was about the time I usually got up, but this morning I had woken up at five o'clock with a melody running through my head that I didn't want to lose. Though it was still dark outside, the city was glowing from the streetlights reflecting off the low clouds. It would probably start raining soon. No walking in Central Park today, I thought as I continued writing. The boys will be disappointed.

I was sitting in my usual place, the piano bench near the windows - playing softly so I wouldn't wake my sons, stopping now and then to write something down. I wasn't worried about waking Melinda - she slept like a log. I could be blasting the last part of the 1812 Overture where they shoot off the cannons and she wouldn't wake up. But I could hear her now, back in our bedroom, getting dressed. I wondered what she was doing up so early. Ordinarily, if the sun hit her before eight o'clock, she'd be in a bad mood the rest of the morning. She must have a last-minute job. That happened a lot.

The tapping of her heels on the tiled hallway echoed through the apartment as she came out into the living room. "Taylor? I'm leaving." The closet door slid open and hangers rattled.

I didn't look up from the music I was working on. "Ok, Lin, I'll see you later," I said warmly, running my left hand through my short hair as I scribbled furiously with my right.

"No, Taylor. I'm leaving."

My heart stopped beating for a second. I slowly put down my pencil. The music that had been running through my head for the past hour stopped as suddenly as it had started. My eyes caught a reflection of her in the window and I turned towards her. Everything seemed to be running in slow motion.

Melinda was standing in the entryway, putting on her tan jacket. I had given her that jacket for our second anniversary, and she wore it on rainy days. But on this day there was a suitcase by her feet. She was leaving for good this time.

I avoided her eyes. If I didn't look in her eyes, then I wouldn't see what I knew was there, and I could pretend for just a few minutes longer. I stared past her at the door, the door she would be going through for the last time.

Tossing her blond hair over her shoulder, she laughed quietly, and it was empty. "Taylor, you knew this was coming. Don't tell me you didn't."

Somewhere I found my voice. "But I thought..."

"That I loved you? That I loved this? That I would change?" She laughed again, and this time it was cold. "Oh, Taylor. You're a bigger fool than I thought you were." She buttoned up her jacket.

"I'm a fool, Melinda?" I kept my voice quiet and level, not wanting to wake the boys. "I suppose I am, for thinking that after five years you had decided to stay."

I could feel her smiling at me, and it was cruel. "I'm still wondering why I stayed five years."

I finally looked at her face, into her eyes. I saw what I knew I would see - nothing. They were dead to me. There was no feeling there. She didn't care.

I stood up, clenching my fists. I felt the color rising to my cheeks along with the anger that I had been trying to suppress. I wanted to hit something, but instead dug my fingernails into my palms. "What about the boys, Melinda?" I hissed. "What am I supposed to tell them? You're just going to leave them without even saying goodbye?" I watched her face, looked deep into her eyes. If I had seen just a glimmer of feeling at the mention of our sons, I would have fought her, done anything she wanted to get her to stay, if only for them.

"I'm tired of playing house, Taylor." Her voice was maddeningly calm. Her gaze never shifted. There was no remorse at leaving her children.

I gave up then. Nothing I said was going to change her mind. The game was over. My anger subsided as quickly as it had come. I was tired of the sight of her, still smiling at me as if this was all a great joke. I trudged over to the window. The rain was just starting then. I knew I had blood on my palms, but I put my hands in my pockets and stared vacantly out the window, not seeing. I felt numb. I closed my eyes and listened to the silence roar in my brain, where a few minutes before, music had danced.

"Goodbye, Taylor."

I didn't turn around. I heard the scuffle of the suitcase being picked up. The door clicked softly behind me, and she was gone. I let the tears come with the rain.

I stood at the window for a long time, thinking about her. What had I seen in her that made me love her, even though deep down I had probably known all along that she didn't really love me?

Melinda and I met at a party. She was doing freelance photography for a magazine, or she was supposed to be. Instead she was mingling with the guests and acting like she owned the place.

She came into my life just when I needed her. I had always been so driven and career-oriented, but I had stopped writing and performing and gone into producing instead. It was joyless, and was beginning to drag me down.

But Melinda was different. I had never met anyone quite like her. She got me to loosen up, brought some sponteneity back into my life. She had no problem taking off on to the Bahamas or Mexico or Europe on a moment's notice if she felt like it. She had a playful, carefree attitude towards life. To her it was all a big game, and she always said that she intended to play it out to the fullest. Things looked so different through her eyes, and I began to see the world again, to enjoy life.

I had fallen in love with her so quickly, and she had said she loved me too. Yet, I had been surprised when she said she would marry me. My first clue should have been what she said when she accepted: "Sure, it'll be fun!"

And it was. We were the Glittering Couple - two tall, blond, fashionable people making the rounds of the New York scene - parties, awards shows, clubs - in which I had lost interest. She got so much enjoyment from things I thought were routine and dull and pointless. In public, Melinda draped herself on my arm as if she was an expensive accessory instead of my wife. It bothered me to see her acting like that, but it seemed to make her happy, and I loved her so much that I went along with it.

But the glitter of the scene soon wore off. That was when she left the first time. She said she needed time to think about her life and what she wanted. My life and what I wanted didn't cross her mind. When she came back, after a week, she acted like she hadn't even been gone. And I let her, because I loved her.

A month later, Melinda told me that we were going to have a baby. I was ecstatic. Coming from a big family, I had always wanted children. Maybe this is what would make her truly happy. The baby turned out to be twins. Jacob and Joey were the center of her world - at first. Melinda doted on the boys, bought them the best of everything, took them to playgroups and baby classes. She was the perfect mother, everyone said. And I had agreed, secretly hoping that the passion she was showing for our children was real this time, and that maybe it would rub off on our relationship as well.

But she played the mommy as well as she had played the wife. She played so well that I actually started to believe that she was serious for once. That she was happy with our life, and our boys, and with me.

I had been wrong.

I was angry for a while. I was mostly angry with myself for getting swept up in her game without really knowing her rules. I was disgusted with myself for hiding my head in the sand and not wanting to see how different we really were. Melinda never took anything really seriously - but she was a wonderful actress. I suppose that Melinda had been gone long before she actually left. Had she ever really been here to begin with? Why had she stayed? Had she ever given me any reason to think that she was going to stay forever? Not really. But why, then, had I been so surprised when she left? I had been surprised. I thought that everything was fine. I guess Melinda was right; I was a fool.

The reflection of the clock in the glass showed me that it was seven o'clock already. The windows were wet, but I couldn't hear the rain. Back home I had always been able to hear it pounding on the roof, and it was a comforting sound. Here, it was just silent and wet and gray and sad.

I stood there for a while, watching the bustle of traffic, the people going about their own business in their own little worlds, totally oblivious to what was going on high above them. Melinda was out there, somewhere, in the rain. She wouldn't be alone for long. She may have even had someone to go to already. But she wouldn't ever be happy.

From behind me came the quiet irregular slapping of two sets of sleepy little vinyl feet. I wiped my face on my shirtsleeve and put on a big smile.

"Dada!" they cried, running over to me. I knelt down and they barreled into my arms. I wrapped them up in a big hug, the pain in my heart momentarily eclipsed by the joy of my sons.

"You guys hungry?" I asked as I reluctantly let go of them.

"Pa-cake?" Joey asked brightly. Jacob solemnly nodded agreement.

I stook up and took them by the hands. "Pancakes it is."

As I made breakfast for my sons, I agonized over what I was going to say to them and what we were going to do. If I was a cruel man, I might never say anything at all. Never mention Melinda again; erase all evidence of her from the house. It would work. Jacob and Joey were so young - eventually they would forget her. I might even forget her.

But that wasn't me.

I sat there at the kitchen counter, watching them eat pancake men and giggling over each arm and leg they ate. Then I knew what to do. I needed to get out of this place. There was really nothing here that was hers but there was nothing here that was mine, either.

Except the boys. I had to go, take them someplace where people didn't play the game the way their mother had. I would take them someplace where we could hear the rain as it drummed on the roof, and it would comfort us all.

I would take us home.

The clock said six a.m. That was about the time I usually got up, but this morning I had woken up at five o'clock with a melody running through my head that I didn't want to lose. Though it was still dark outside, the city was glowing from the streetlights reflecting off the low clouds. It would probably start raining soon. No walking in Central Park today, I thought as I continued writing. The boys will be disappointed.

I was sitting in my usual place, the piano bench near the windows - playing softly so I wouldn't wake my sons, stopping now and then to write something down. I wasn't worried about waking Melinda - she slept like a log. I could be blasting the last part of the 1812 Overture where they shoot off the cannons and she wouldn't wake up. But I could hear her now, back in our bedroom, getting dressed. I wondered what she was doing up so early. Ordinarily, if the sun hit her before eight o'clock, she'd be in a bad mood the rest of the morning. She must have a last-minute job. That happened a lot.

The tapping of her heels on the tiled hallway echoed through the apartment as she came out into the living room. "Taylor? I'm leaving." The closet door slid open and hangers rattled.

I didn't look up from the music I was working on. "Ok, Lin, I'll see you later," I said warmly, running my left hand through my short hair as I scribbled furiously with my right.

"No, Taylor. I'm leaving."

My heart stopped beating for a second. I slowly put down my pencil. The music that had been running through my head for the past hour stopped as suddenly as it had started. My eyes caught a reflection of her in the window and I turned towards her. Everything seemed to be running in slow motion.

Melinda was standing in the entryway, putting on her tan jacket. I had given her that jacket for our second anniversary, and she wore it on rainy days. But on this day there was a suitcase by her feet. She was leaving for good this time.

I avoided her eyes. If I didn't look in her eyes, then I wouldn't see what I knew was there, and I could pretend for just a few minutes longer. I stared past her at the door, the door she would be going through for the last time.

Tossing her blond hair over her shoulder, she laughed quietly, and it was empty. "Taylor, you knew this was coming. Don't tell me you didn't."

Somewhere I found my voice. "But I thought..."

"That I loved you? That I loved this? That I would change?" She laughed again, and this time it was cold. "Oh, Taylor. You're a bigger fool than I thought you were." She buttoned up her jacket.

"I'm a fool, Melinda?" I kept my voice quiet and level, not wanting to wake the boys. "I suppose I am, for thinking that after five years you had decided to stay."

I could feel her smiling at me, and it was cruel. "I'm still wondering why I stayed five years."

I finally looked at her face, into her eyes. I saw what I knew I would see - nothing. They were dead to me. There was no feeling there. She didn't care.

I stood up, clenching my fists. I felt the color rising to my cheeks along with the anger that I had been trying to suppress. I wanted to hit something, but instead dug my fingernails into my palms. "What about the boys, Melinda?" I hissed. "What am I supposed to tell them? You're just going to leave them without even saying goodbye?" I watched her face, looked deep into her eyes. If I had seen just a glimmer of feeling at the mention of our sons, I would have fought her, done anything she wanted to get her to stay, if only for them.

"I'm tired of playing house, Taylor." Her voice was maddeningly calm. Her gaze never shifted. There was no remorse at leaving her children.

I gave up then. Nothing I said was going to change her mind. The game was over. My anger subsided as quickly as it had come. I was tired of the sight of her, still smiling at me as if this was all a great joke. I trudged over to the window. The rain was just starting then. I knew I had blood on my palms, but I put my hands in my pockets and stared vacantly out the window, not seeing. I felt numb. I closed my eyes and listened to the silence roar in my brain, where a few minutes before, music had danced.

"Goodbye, Taylor."

I didn't turn around. I heard the scuffle of the suitcase being picked up. The door clicked softly behind me, and she was gone. I let the tears come with the rain.

I stood at the window for a long time, thinking about her. What had I seen in her that made me love her, even though deep down I had probably known all along that she didn't really love me?

Melinda and I met at a party. She was doing freelance photography for a magazine, or she was supposed to be. Instead she was mingling with the guests and acting like she owned the place.

She came into my life just when I needed her. I had always been so driven and career-oriented, but I had stopped writing and performing and gone into producing instead. It was joyless, and was beginning to drag me down.

But Melinda was different. I had never met anyone quite like her. She got me to loosen up, brought some sponteneity back into my life. She had no problem taking off on to the Bahamas or Mexico or Europe on a moment's notice if she felt like it. She had a playful, carefree attitude towards life. To her it was all a big game, and she always said that she intended to play it out to the fullest. Things looked so different through her eyes, and I began to see the world again, to enjoy life.

I had fallen in love with her so quickly, and she had said she loved me too. Yet, I had been surprised when she said she would marry me. My first clue should have been what she said when she accepted: "Sure, it'll be fun!"

And it was. We were the Glittering Couple - two tall, blond, fashionable people making the rounds of the New York scene - parties, awards shows, clubs - in which I had lost interest. She got so much enjoyment from things I thought were routine and dull and pointless. In public, Melinda draped herself on my arm as if she was an expensive accessory instead of my wife. It bothered me to see her acting like that, but it seemed to make her happy, and I loved her so much that I went along with it.

But the glitter of the scene soon wore off. That was when she left the first time. She said she needed time to think about her life and what she wanted. My life and what I wanted didn't cross her mind. When she came back, after a week, she acted like she hadn't even been gone. And I let her, because I loved her.

A month later, Melinda told me that we were going to have a baby. I was ecstatic. Coming from a big family, I had always wanted children. Maybe this is what would make her truly happy. The baby turned out to be twins. Jacob and Joey were the center of her world - at first. Melinda doted on the boys, bought them the best of everything, took them to playgroups and baby classes. She was the perfect mother, everyone said. And I had agreed, secretly hoping that the passion she was showing for our children was real this time, and that maybe it would rub off on our relationship as well.

But she played the mommy as well as she had played the wife. She played so well that I actually started to believe that she was serious for once. That she was happy with our life, and our boys, and with me.

I had been wrong.

I was angry for a while. I was mostly angry with myself for getting swept up in her game without really knowing her rules. I was disgusted with myself for hiding my head in the sand and not wanting to see how different we really were. Melinda never took anything really seriously - but she was a wonderful actress. I suppose that Melinda had been gone long before she actually left. Had she ever really been here to begin with? Why had she stayed? Had she ever given me any reason to think that she was going to stay forever? Not really. But why, then, had I been so surprised when she left? I had been surprised. I thought that everything was fine. I guess Melinda was right; I was a fool.

The reflection of the clock in the glass showed me that it was seven o'clock already. The windows were wet, but I couldn't hear the rain. Back home I had always been able to hear it pounding on the roof, and it was a comforting sound. Here, it was just silent and wet and gray and sad.

I stood there for a while, watching the bustle of traffic, the people going about their own business in their own little worlds, totally oblivious to what was going on high above them. Melinda was out there, somewhere, in the rain. She wouldn't be alone for long. She may have even had someone to go to already. But she wouldn't ever be happy.

From behind me came the quiet irregular slapping of two sets of sleepy little vinyl feet. I wiped my face on my shirtsleeve and put on a big smile.

"Dada!" they cried, running over to me. I knelt down and they barreled into my arms. I wrapped them up in a big hug, the pain in my heart momentarily eclipsed by the joy of my sons.

"You guys hungry?" I asked as I reluctantly let go of them.

"Pa-cake?" Joey asked brightly. Jacob solemnly nodded agreement.

I stook up and took them by the hands. "Pancakes it is."

As I made breakfast for my sons, I agonized over what I was going to say to them and what we were going to do. If I was a cruel man, I might never say anything at all. Never mention Melinda again; erase all evidence of her from the house. It would work. Jacob and Joey were so young - eventually they would forget her. I might even forget her.

But that wasn't me.

I sat there at the kitchen counter, watching them eat pancake men and giggling over each arm and leg they ate. Then I knew what to do. I needed to get out of this place. There was really nothing here that was hers but there was nothing here that was mine, either.

Except the boys. I had to go, take them someplace where people didn't play the game the way their mother had. I would take them someplace where we could hear the rain as it drummed on the roof, and it would comfort us all.

I would take us home.