"So how did you like the movie?"  I asked my young wife.

     "It was nice" she replied.  Silence.  The rain now was torrential.

     "What did you think of Holly Golightly's character?"  I asked with trepidation.  We had watched "Breakfast at Tiffany's."   "I dunno," she replied.  Silence.  I glanced over furtively.  Her face was set, frozen into a mask, with the downward curving mouth forming an inverted "U."  Developing schizophrenia complicated by psycotropic medication is not a pretty picture.   "For God's sake" I pleaded silently, "say something, anything."

     Do you wonder why she called her cat "No Name?"  I pursued, hoping for an answer.  "Stop interrogating me" she screamed.

     My mind drifted back to seven years earlier, before the birth of our two young children.   She had been a beautiful woman of 23.  We were given a sumptuous wedding by her father at a fancy Central Park South hotel.  Then off to a honeymoon in the British Virgin Islands.   I still remember posing her for a picture, perched on a rock by the sea, looking for all the world like a mermaid.  Long flowing jet black hair, cheekbones, sensuous mouth, almond shaped eyes . All of these sat on top of a beautiful figure.

     We had laughed a lot.  At night we would dance under the stars, she with flowers in her hair and me with the certainty that this would symbolize our life together.  I felt blessed, and thought nothing would ever mar my happiness.  Disasters only happened to others.