Eleven Years Ago
Rex was accustomed to elevators and doormen, and so he tensed up the first few times the stairs creaked as he climbed the flights to Rosie’s apartment. But it wasn’t long before he found the smell of musk by Rosie’s doorway profoundly alluring. The palpable dampness. The dusty crannies. The hum of the flickering light. The sticky crackle of the floor. Rex enjoyed his ability to access this kind of rawness when he was with Rosie. He was saving clean modern lines and well-dusted corners for another life.
After a year of dating, Rex already knew that the heart of all things beat more deeply when Rosie was around. Even her apartment vibrated. The walls were covered with annotated Polaroids and handwritten notes from friends. The refrigerator door was collaged with old ads featuring Cheryl Tiegs and Faye Dunaway. The walls were covered with posters of Elton John and Prince and Blondie. The corners of the couches had stuffing coming out the seams ineffectively covered by discolored pillows. There were markers and paintbrushes sprawled across the table. It was so clear to Rex that this was a place where art was made and drinks were spilled. It was a place where friends put their feet on the table, and no one bothered to replace old light bulbs. It was a place where people breathed and moved and talked and created. It was a place where people lived. And were happy. And he could see it in Rosie’s face that this was where she lived and was happy.
Rex took off his scarf, kissed Rosie gently, and then the two of them sank into her worn-in couch. They oriented themselves on the cushions as if they had been doing it just this way for years; Rex seated upright, shoes on, while Rosie placed her head in his lap and stretched her ankles over the arm of the sofa to let her clogs fall to the ground. This had already become Rex’s favorite part of the day, inhaling all of the scents of Rosie’s life—the flowery scent of the beautiful world around her lingering on the surface of her skin. It was no surprise to Rex that beautiful things clung onto Rosie and didn’t let go. It felt good being close to her. So good and so warm and so comfortable.
Rex wondered how he would eventually let go of all of the beautiful sweet things Rosie Collins was, but the thought quickly burrowed itself in the back of his mind when Rosie reached back and, without looking, wrapped her fingers one by one around Rex’s bicep and squeezed it enticingly.
Rex swept Rosie’s bangs away and traced his pointer around her temple, across her forehead and along the bridge of her nose. Rosie tried to follow his finger and giggled when she found herself cross-eyed as a result. Rex was a serious man and always assumed his girlfriend would be equally so, but Rosie’s quirky style of intimacy fulfilled him in a way he’d never thought possible.
* * *
And just as Rex was about to bend over and kiss Rosie, Rosie’s roommate Chloe burst out of her room, spewing on and on about the attractive man she’d locked eyes with at the café down the block, and ignoring Rex’s presence entirely. Rex did everything he could to keep from staring at Chloe’s nipples plainly visible through her sheer white shirt as she spoke. Rosie just half chuckled and shook her head as Chloe’s small breasts bounced up and down while she gesticulated her way through another mundane story.
And when Chloe finally exhaled, she lifted Rosie’s legs, wedged herself under her knees and pulled out a marijuana joint. Rex’s belly tensed at the sight of it.
Rex was uncomfortable with drugs, even the mere sight of them. He wanted to get up, rip the joint away from Chloe and throw it out the window. But Rosie lifted her eyes to meet Rex’s eyes and stroked his thigh gently. It was an indication that, yes, this was something she found to be acceptable in her home. And although Rex had never heard Rosie mention drugs before, the effortlessness with which she handled the joint between her fingers indicated that this was an activity she partook in regularly. Rex’s muscles tensed and his jaw clenched as he watched Rosie exhale a cloud of smoke, but in the newness of the scene, he didn’t protest.
And then Rosie brought the joint to her lips a second time.
Rex watched suspiciously as Rosie inhaled and the tip of the joint flared orange. He watched as Rosie gave in to the feeling of smoke in her lungs right away.
Rosie let her arm hang off the side of the sofa and slowly allowed her eyelids to close. As her breath deepened and her high began, Chloe’s voice, the clamor of the city streets, her lingering uncertainty about Rex and anything else grating about the world, drifted quietly away.
Rex could see the release in her face as he watched the smoke roll around in Rosie’s mouth, and then overtake her red lips, like fog rolling over a hill. She looked so calm, so beautiful. He felt Rosie’s body loosen, allowing herself to fully sink into his lap. This stillness, this quiet, was something Rex had never seen in Rosie before. He was used to her intense energy. Rex knew that Rosie was someone in tune with all of the tiny ripples of the world. All of the individual, human-to-human forces in it. And that those forces moved in waves through her. And that Rosie absorbed those waves deep within her body. It was the thing that made Rosie, Rosie. The thing that made her so special. But it also seemed to be the thing that exhausted her. Caused her to crave the calm of that high. And Rex could see that happening right there on Rosie’s old couch.
Rex was surprised to find an overwhelming sensuality in the feeling of Rosie melting into him. Rosie opened her eyes and looked deeply into Rex’s. She slowly reached her hand back and squeezed his inner thigh and walked her thin fingers delicately toward his crotch. Rex looked back at Rosie and kissed her forehead as his heart and his groin pulsed.
Then Rex, leaving Chloe to the rest of the joint in the living room, took Rosie’s nearly drooping body to her bedroom where, at her beckoning, he entered her slowly and entirely. As he moved inside her, Rex could feel Rosie’s body surge with pleasure, and then dissolve again back into her high. Rex found Rosie sexier than ever beneath him.
It was a version of Rosie he would enjoy only this one time, he told himself, in her bedroom with the old chipping paint. And then never permit this again. He didn’t want drugs to be a force in their relationship. He didn’t want drugs to be a force inside of Rosie. No matter how beautifully calm they enabled her to be.
Rex returned home from Rosie’s apartment late the next morning, heart and mind still spinning. He couldn’t keep all of these feelings, these ripples ricocheting around his brain. So he picked up the phone and called Roy Andrews, his oldest and closest, most dependable and most trustworthy friend.
“Roy,” Rex said solemnly. “This girl is going to be trouble.”
Rex knew he would need someone he could call on if Rosie was going to stick around in his life. And he had a feeling Rosie was going to become a part of him. For the first time, Rex was facing the difficulty of trying to hold on to something that vibrated. First, the sensation tickled a bit. Pleasingly. But then the energy started to move through him. Shaking his hand and then his arm and then his whole body. And even though those ripples in his body were briefly pleasant, they quickly started to become uncomfortable. Because his body was not meant to ripple like that. Vibrate like that. He wanted to release his grip, but his body couldn’t catch up with his brain. Finally he managed to let go, knowing he should keep his distance in the future. But still, he wanted to feel that first little tickle again. Even for just a moment. So he came back to Rosie again and again.