If It's All a Game ...

Part One: Tre

cruel old joke
waited so long to show
the one that you wanted wasn't a girl

You're both oblivious. You think that no one sees you, that you're transparent. I pour another shot and watch the pair of you through eyes that are slowly blurring with each passing drink. His hand is under the table. Right now it's on your leg, but soon it will drift upward and your blue eyes will lighten before the pair of you mumble excuses and leave.

I know, but I think you two might have guessed that.

But do you know that his wife knows? That she's running out of excuses for those two boys whose eyes don't seem to miss a damned thing anymore.

Of course, your damned girlfriend doesn't know shit. What do you see in her, anyway? She's not like you. Not even like the man sitting next to you, the one who catches your blue eyes tonight while she looks on.

I pour another shot, the scene blurring from something other than alcohol now.

It's sad really, that you two being in love could shatter lives. That families could be destroyed. All for love.

What kind of love is that?

Part Two: Adrienne

all your life you kept it hidden inside
now when you step
you stumble

I see you. I always do. Smiling over untouched beer bottles, laughing at jokes neither of you need to say out loud. Able to say everything with a simple glance, a flick of the wrist, the way you hold your cigarettes.

My eyes meet Tre's across the room. He's getting steadily drunker, thinking everything I am. He lowers his blue eyes quickly, not knowing what I'm thinking, not knowing how to comfort a woman whose husband is in love with someone else.

I twist my napkin between my hands, shaking my head at the waitress when she offers to refill my drink. I need to keep my mind clear so I don't say anything I'll regret, so I can keep up the façade of pretending that I know nothing. So I can play stupid for you.

I sigh, resting my chin on my hand. Sometimes it feels as though we're the ones having a love affair. As if I'm the other woman. Or in this case, the woman. When you kiss me I see you glance over my shoulder sometimes, as if you're making sure he didn't see.

But you're wearing my damn ring!

I turn my head, taking deep breaths and fighting the tears. Our love has been reduced to a game.

What kind of love is that?

Part Three: Joseph

open your eyes in a
new life again
oh maybe next time
you'll be given a chance

I hear you and Mom come home, pay the baby-sitter, walk to the kitchen. She kisses you and you barely kiss back before you pull a beer out of the fridge.

Wouldn't it have been easier to get a divorce? You're not the one who stays awake when you're on tour listening to her cry. You're not the one who has to train Jakob not to say anything that might make her kiss him quickly and walk to the bathroom, turning on the shower so we can't hear her.

I go back to my room when you both come up the stairs and go into your room. Did you know she doesn't sleep there when you're on tour? When Jakob was younger she'd stay in there, make it her excuse. Now she just stays up until she thinks we're sleeping and goes to the room next door. The one with the itchy sheets and broken blinds.

I hear her say she loves you and I hear you say it back. I don't know if either one of you is telling the truth anymore. Do you say it so she'll be happy? Does she say it because she has to so she doesn't forget why she's still here?

I wouldn't be mad at you if you would leave her. Then it wouldn't be lying anymore. At least you'd let her know. It wouldn't be a game of make believe.

Because no one does, Dad.

We all just want to know how the game ends.