𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 | roger taylor

L

September 24, 1982

Where the hell is he?

I glance around the nearly full auditorium, my patience withering and my anger rising as every person that walks in is still another stranger. There's no way he would miss this, I keep telling myself. Yet the clock creeps closer and closer to seven, and I'm still alone.

"Is this seat taken?"

I look up. Another stranger. "I'm waiting for someone. I'm sorry."

"That's alright." The man sighs, scanning the room for another spot. "Front row it is."

I watch him reluctantly trot to the front, squeezing into a lone aisle seat. I decide if one more person asks me that, I'll give them the seat- Roger can fend for himself. Unfortunately, nobody does. The lights finally dim until we're plunged in almost darkness, the show about to begin.

I'm rehearsing what I'll say to him later when the auditorium doors slam, causing a few people to look up in annoyance. It's him, holding our two year old son in his arms, looking like he'd just run up several flights of stairs. He squints around the room in search of me, and I eventually have to wave to get his attention.

"Excuse me... so sorry... just trying to get to my wife..."

I take my purse off the saved seat as Roger shuffles through the row, whispering his pardons to everybody he passes. He finally flings himself down beside me, throwing me an apologetic look. "There was traffic-"

"I don't wanna hear it," I say in a hushed whisper. "Maybe you would've gotten here in time if you didn't stop to get the baby."

"He wanted to come see his sister. Right, kid?"

I'd specifically left him home with the babysitter, knowing if I asked Roger to fetch him before the recital he'd be even later than usual. Alexander's quiet for a two year old, not fussy like Audrey had been, so it's not an issue that he's here anyway. The child reaches for me and I take him- he settles against me in the dark.

"You're lucky. She's not on until the second half."

Roger glares at me. "Why didn't you tell me that? I almost got pulled over trying to get here."

"Because I knew you'd be late," I tell him. "And it's rude to only show up for your own kid's performance."

"Well, I would've sat through the rest-"

A harsh shush comes from behind us, and we fall silent just as the curtain opens.

We sit through several performances before our daughter comes along, and I have to nudge Roger awake. He sits up, disoriented, which earns a giggle from our son. "She's on," I whisper, just as Audrey steps out onto the stage.

At eight years old, she's already one of the best young pianists at her music school, and improving every day it seems. She hasn't abandoned the drums, though. Audrey still loves to play them- along with practically everything else under the sun- but decided piano would be her focus. She's only reminded me more of her father with age- her wide grin, her playful and determined spirit.

Alexander's more like me. He's an observer, less willing to jump right in. Bright for his age, but way too serious. I call him an old soul, which Rog thinks is just an excuse for a child who needs to socialize more. I'm probably biased. He's the spitting image of me- dark eyes and hair, my exact nose and mouth.

"What's the piece called?" Roger asks me as she starts to play.

"I'm not sure." It's bouncy and complicated, but she plays it with ease, her brows furrowed in focus. "Here's the program, it might say there."

She ends the song with a flourish, looking out at the audience with a natural, proud smile. Stage fright isn't a term in her vocabulary. Roger jumps up to clap, the rest of the audience following suit as she bows, then disappears into the wings.

"I'm so glad she's musical," he says to me as we're leaving the auditorium, the show finally over. "The classical music is a little less rock and roll than I was expecting, but it's something."

"Hey, she still plays drums sometimes. Speak of the devil."

Audrey comes skipping towards us, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining.

"Did you see me out there? I was the loudest of everyone," Roger boasts as he goes to embrace her.

"You didn't have to stand up, Dad," Audrey says, flashing him a sheepish look. "No one else's parents did."

Roger laughs. "Are you embarrassed of me already?"

"Yes." She turns away, as if checking for listeners, before eagerly leaning towards him. "You really think I did okay? I did it better at rehearsal..."

"Nonsense. I'm not a pianist, but I think you were perfect."

She beams.

-

The ridiculously large house we bought years ago is now, finally, fuller than it formerly was. There's always something going on- a child playing an instrument or singing, Roger on his drums, a record spinning somewhere in the distance. Although it's nearly impossible to get the kids settled down at night, there's really never a dull moment around here.

"I wanna sleep in Audrey's room," my son says, looking at me with wide eyes from where he lies in his bed. "Can I?"

Their relationship thrives off their mutual adoration of each other. Although she'll never admit it, she loves him, and slips so easily into the big sister role. Alex, however, is open about it. He'd follow her around every minute if she let him.

"I think you should stay in your own bed tonight," I tell him. "But I'll have her come say goodnight, okay?"

Audrey's just leaving the bathroom when I enter the hallway, her hair wet and braided. "He wants me to say goodnight again?" she asks, glancing at his opened door.

"Be nice."

She rolls her eyes, the corner of her mouth pulling up into a very Roger-like smirk. When did she start acting like a teenager? And most importantly, when did she inherit her father's sass? She brushes by me and into her brother's room.

A pair of heavy footsteps pads up the stairs, and Roger appears beside me. He kisses me in greeting, a hand moving to rest at my waist. "Are they asleep yet?"

"No, Audrey's saying goodnight."

Together, we peek inside at the two of them. She's crouched beside his bed, reading him a book, her soft words alive with emotion. Alex is trying his hardest to stay awake, his head jerking back up every time her voice rises in excitement. She doesn't notice- she'll finish the book even if he falls asleep.

Roger reaches for my hand, squeezing it, and I know. Loving this life of ours is so incredibly easy.

-

the end