|| E M M A || : A Roger Waters/Pink Floyd Story

If I Were A Good Man...

Birthdays had never meant anything to him. In fact, they'd never been celebrated in his life. Roger's idea of a birthday celebration was to never mention it at all and to pretend the day he was born, one that most people find joyous and exciting, was like every other day.

This day was no different.

As he stared at the ceiling, his mind ran with endless thoughts of home. A crisp chill poked at his spine. The hairs on his arms tingled while his feet went numb. The overwhelming blanket of emotion covered him from head to toe, drowning him in despair at the idea that he'd never be welcomed anywhere again. The past year had torn him up from top to bottom... and he saw so sign of it ending any time soon.

Emma cooed. Roger lifted his head to peek at her as she wiggled across the floor. A ray of warmth lit up his frozen insides, reminding him that he wasn't completely alone– there was always Emma. Although this was a relieving reminder, a feeling of warmth and comfort, he couldn't seem to smile. Kicked out of the only homes he had ever known, Roger found himself sandwiched between two options: to leave behind everything and start new or to apologize and return back. Both options came with their fair share of consequences. And right now, living with his ex-girlfriend was not cutting it.

Thump, thump, thump.

The three gentle taps on the door knocked Roger from his daze yet he didn't bother to answer, as if he had never left his stupor at all. He didn't want to answer. Against his wishes, the door opened and from behind it stepped a beach blonde with a cautious figure.

"Roger?" Judy stepped in closer. "You alright?"

Silence. His eyes fixated on the popcorn ceiling, with which he traced its shadows.

Judy's heard sunk. They'd known each other since middle school yet she'd never seen him so down and out before, not even when he had to leave his family to go live in the foster home. Glancing down at Emma, she bent over and brushed down the baby's unruly hair. "You really need to come out and do something, Rog. The only thing you do is lay in bed."

"I'm processing." Those were the first words he'd spoken to her since he arrived. They weren't substantial words but they did the trick– they kept her from calling the police on him for squatting emotionlessly at her apartment.

"Well stop processing and do something about it. You're worrying me."

Roger shut up. Then, after a moment, he said lifelessly, "I don't know what to do."

Judy pursed her lips. Then, she lifted Emma of the ground before sitting down on the bed next to Roger. Shoving Emma in his face, Judy said, "Look. Do it for her."

Roger's eyes fell on his baby, who smiled wishfully at him. A tiny spit bubble formed at her lips. Smiling softly, he wiped it off. He then forced himself to sit up... a step in the right direction. Pulling Emma up to his chest, he kissed her cheek and began to bounce her.

"Hi," he whispered tenderly, stroking her face. Her presence lifted his spirit like a dove in flight. His heart began to beat for the first time in days. "I love you, you know?"

While Roger infatuated himself with Emma, Judy quietly stood up and left without a word. He hadn't even noticed. Instead, he sat with his daughter, playing with her and priding himself on what a pretty little girl she was. She had finally grown into her toddler stage: her eyes were bright and often wandered to and fro across the room, looking for something- anything- to put in her mouth. That also included Roger's finger, which she chewed on lightly. He let out a small chuckle at her intense fixation on his thumb. At that moment, Roger realized (or more-so acknowledged) what he had to do. Judy was right: he couldn't keep living with her, nor could he stay in bed any longer.

Hesitantly, Roger reached across the bed and grabbed his phone. He dialed a number, the beating of his heart growing stronger. He pulled the phone up to his ear and waited.

"Hello?"

"Hey David." Roger looked down at his pants and began to meddle with a thread. "How are you?"

David went quiet. Roger assumed he didn't want to respond– justifiable. But to his surprise, David replied, "Good. You?"

"I'm great." Roger winced at his own lie. His incessant pride wouldn't allow him to tell the truth, even though he wouldn't be making the call if he was as great as he said. "I just... I wanted to make sure you were ok." Strike two. He didn't care about David. He just wanted his amends to be made without fuss.

"Oh... I'm good."

"Good."

The tension could've cut the air even if they were talking through the phone, miles away from one another. Neither of them knew how to continue the already degradable conversation.

Roger tried his hand at suggesting a new topic. "The fight... wasn't good, now was it?"

"No. No it wasn't."

The memories of the night in question flooded Roger's mind. Flashbacks and reels of screaming, plate throwing, and swearing replayed themselves on loop, much to his distress. He'd made a fool of himself that night.

"You're such an ass."

"Oh, sure. Blame me for your problems."

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. I wouldn't have a baby if it wasn't for you."

"How the hell did I get involved in this?! You're the one who did all of this!"

"If you'd taught me better-"

"I didn't teach you anything, Roger."

"If you'd picked me up that night before you let anything happen."

"How was I supposed to know you were gonna get drunk and screw around?! It's not my responsibility to make sure you're ok. You're f*cking seventeen, Roger– act like it. You're not God!"

*plate smash* "The hell I'm not!"

"Swallow your own deck, Roger. I'm done listening to this. You blame everyone else for your shit and expect us to clean it up. Your baby, your issue. I'm not babysitting anymore, and I'm not talking about Emma. Get out and stay out. Syd and Rick don't need your shit. Take it somewhere else."

"Well... that's all I wanted to say." Roger screwed his eyes shut, frustrated that he just couldn't get the words out. He wanted to apologize yet somewhere deep inside, his apology was shut and locked inside a cage, crying to be let out... but the key had been lost.

"Ok. Bye."

Beep.

David was right. David was always, always right. Roger knew it, too; the things said that night were all true. If they weren't true, he would've been able to apologize properly without beating around the bush. He would have said sorry and moved on. Things would be ok if David had been lying. But he hadn't, and Roger really was the arrogant ass everyone claimed him to be.

Rolling over to face Emma, he bit his lip and sighed. "If I were a good man, I'd apologize more often than I do."