“If my wife knew what was going through my mind—she’d divorce me.”
“Nonsense. As long as it stays in your head, it doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“She really doesn’t know that side of me—those thoughts.”
“I’m sure she has a side you don’t know, too.”
He rose from the chair, grabbed his bag, and left the office. His shift was over, and he took himself—and his thoughts—somewhere else.
The door opened and he stepped into a familiar place: a messy living room; a kitchen that was clean—but not quite; and one sweet little girl asking for his heart. And his heart went out to her. “My only, my beloved… what shall we play? Puzzle, blocks—or shall we read a story?”
Encouraged by the attention, the girl tugged him to her room and asked for the memory game. They returned to the living room, sat on the floor, and took out the cards. After they set them in straight rows—the way he liked—they began to play, taking turns. He didn’t focus; he let her lead, and his thoughts led him far away. To places his wife didn’t know, places no one knew.
The girl sat across from him—but she no longer “sat.” His mind carried him off, and the game shifted to autopilot. Without noticing, his hand reached for his phone. The screen lit, an app opened—and he was as good as gone. One moment talking to her; the next, sunk into the tiny screen.
I disgust myself, he thought. I’m sitting across from my daughter, with her little eyes looking at me—and I’m not looking back. I prefer the babble on the screen: the news alert, or the picture of the blonde. I’m pathetic, I’m wretched, I’m no good. I’m not what I wanted to be. I’m weak. I’m tempted. I’m not enough of a human being to be with my daughter without hunting for something else to do, to watch, or to think about. She doesn’t deserve a father like me.
He stood up slowly. He opened the window, glanced once more at the buzzing device—and threw it. The phone smashed on the floor, shattered, and went dark. Something in him went dark, too. No light switched on in his mind, and the distance from the device did not lift him. “I’m not a good man,” he muttered. “I’m not a good man.”
The girl, who had watched the scene, didn’t really understand what had happened—but she didn’t mind. She found a matching pair with a little guitar on it, and she was pleased. In the parallel world, bad thoughts don’t matter; there’s room only for a matching pair in the memory game—and that is enough.
