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

I Wanna Go Home

Screaming.

Blood-curdling screaming.

Roger jumped out of bed and ran out to the livingroom. There, Emma lay in her crib, crying hysterically, in need for her daddy. She flailed her arms around, crying for anyone to help her.

"Emma- Emma, what's wrong, baby girl?"

Roger bent over and picked her up. Her screams into his ear fractured his heart and caused it to shatter like glass, falling along the rug beneath them. As he rubbed her back, he noticed the unusual amount of heat surfacing on her shirt. His immediate reaction was to feel her head... hot. Really hot.

A wave of hysteria washed over him. She'd never been sick before. Upon feeling her head, Roger rushed to the kitchen, searching for anything. He had no idea what to do; his head muddled with fear and disarray, as he'd never encountered anything like this before. Sweat poured from his forehead while he rampaged through the cabinets, looking for anything yet completely blinded by the fact that he didn't know what to give a sick baby. He knocked over bottle after bottle of various pills, medicines, and tablets yet nothing looked meant for a child.

"Judy?! Judy, I need help!" His call was not answered. "Judy, Emma's sick! Please, tell me what to do!" Again, no reply. It was only then that he remembered she had gone out for the night, leaving him home alone with Emma until morning. Of all the nights, why this one?

Roger, without having thought of it before, ran to his bedside. Scrambling to pick up his phone, he rocked Emma, who still continued to scream in his ear. He dialed a number and waited for a pickup.

"Roger?"

"Rick! What do I do?!"

"What? Is that Emma screaming? What's going on?"

"She has a fever– now tell me what the hell to do!"

"Roger, calm down!"

Another set of emotions cascaded onto Roger, leaving his heart in his throat and an urge to throw up. Emma began to slip from his grasp as he started to shake uncontrollably. Pulling her back up to his side, Roger sat down on the bed. A flow of tears began streaming down his face, soaking both him and his daughter as they cried together. His voice choked and cracked, spit and bubbled, as he tried to say, "R-Rick, I don't know what to do-"

"Turn down the thermostat. See if she'll drink anything– the fluids will flush her out. Give her a warm bath and then lighten her clothes. Now breathe. It's gonna be ok, Roger. She'll be ok."

Roger continued to sob on his bedside. Although he knew she was going to be ok, his heart couldn't beat faster. In fact, it began to beat too quick. It pounded against his chest, vibrating his bones, and the pulse in his temples throbbed until it felt as if his head was about to explode. The quickening of his pulse obstructed his ability to breathe. He heaved in, trying to catch any bit of air, but nothing gave way to the air. His hands went numb and he lost grip of Emma and the phone. The phone slipped and fell onto the floor while Emma tumbled off onto the mattress.

"Roger? Roger?!"

—

Rick pulled and pushed on the door, rattling the knob. Eventually, the door gave way, swinging wide open as he finally ran into the apartment. He glanced around until his eyes adjusted to the dark of the room. The frame of an open bedroom door gave him the courage to walk in further. There, he found Roger and Emma. Roger stared vacantly at the wall, trembling and rocking back and forth. Emma lay on the bed, still crying as much as he had heard on the phone.

Rushing over to pick her up, Rick whispered, "Emma, Emma, shush! It's just me. Here-" He gave her a pacifier, much to her displeasure. The two of them headed into the kitchen, where Rick proceeded to wash her down. Every sense of nervousness that he had felt the first time he held her melted away. He was comfortable. A paternal instinct to take care of his adopted brother's baby overtook him, causing him to jump into action without a second thought.

Half an hour later, Rick sat on the couch, cradling Emma and rubbing her back. She had finally calmed down and now lie in his arms, yawning. He smiled at her but the creak of a floorboard broke his concentration. Snapping his gaze to look up, he saw a slim, tall shadow emerging from the bedroom.

"Rick?" Roger flipped on the light and squinted. "Rick, what are you doing here?"

Rick laid Emma down on the bed and, with a light tone saturated in concern, said, "Roger, are you ok?"

"I..." He looked over his shoulder into the bedroom, an empty yet disoriented look casting over his expression. "What happened? I was just in there-" He pointed at the kitchen, "-and then I woke up in there." His finger then pointed into the bedroom.

Rick shook his head quickly. "You called me, remember? Emma had a fever. You were on the phone with me and I heard the phone drop so I came and took over. You were having a panic attack when I got here."

Roger blinked. Expressionless. His eyes fell on Emma, who was still asleep on the couch. He said nothing yet his head was filled with distorted messages, confusing him.

"Roger... I think you need to come back home," Rick whispered.

Much to his surprise, Roger nodded with an enthused flair.

—

The family gathered around on the couch, forming a circle around Emma, who wiggled around on the carpet. After he had taken over, Rick had helped Roger pack his belongings and move back in with the family. The family, however, did not take kindly to this sudden development; instead, they fought back, claiming that the same thing would happen again. But after much discussion, Rick convinced them otherwise. Roger made an oath to adhere to his own responsibilities. He also made a pact with David that neither of them would interject on each other's business.

Syd spoke up and said, "Did Judy like seeing Emma?"

Roger shook his head. "She didn't care for her. Judy isn't the... motherly... type."

"Did you ever talk to your mom about going back home?" Nick asked.

This time, Roger nodded. "She said now that I'm 18, I can go work for her."

"So are you leaving?"

"At some point, yes." He paused. "I'd like to get my feet on the ground first."

The room fell silent. Everyone pondered their own wonderings: Nick thought of his unfortunate drinking binge a couple nights before (something he'd kept entirely to himself), Syd thought of his sister back at home, Rick thought of Emma, and David thought of college. Roger's mind wandered into a timeline of his stay with the foster family. As bitter as he had been when he arrived, he felt a sense of gratitude and indebtedness towards them. They'd spent all their years trying to help him feel at home but now, he acknowledged how truly hostile he had been towards them. And as Emma lay sleeping, he began to appreciate how beautiful life really was. Here he was, a broken man who had never experienced fatherly love, with a baby of his own who he'd sacrifice his life for.

Roger glanced around at his family.

Family.

He'd never called them family before.

After all these years, he finally fit in.

After all these years, he belonged somewhere.