Eleven Years Ago
After a year of dating, Rosie decided she loved Rex despite, and sometimes because of, his supreme jerkiness. Because his moments of jerkiness often illuminated his strength, his confidence, his masculinity. But sometimes, those moments just made him a jerk. And usually, the combination of his handsomeness and her love for Rex outweighed all the jerkiness. But not today. Not today when Rosie and Rex made plans to eat crabs by the water downtown.
Rosie could tell that Rex was stressed as soon as she saw him. His shoulders were so tense they nearly brushed up against his earlobes and he was chewing a big wad of pink Bubblicious gum. His temples were flaring intensely and his responses were curt.
It was one of those days in which Rex had a big gray cloud around him. All of Rex’s prior girlfriends hated this cloud. And they would either run scared of the impending storm or would shine extra bright hoping it would go away. But these approaches worked neither for Rex nor his prior girlfriends. Because no matter what, when Rex showed up with a big gray cloud around him, everyone always ended up enduring a storm. Everyone always ended up soaking wet. Everyone except for Rosie.
Rosie wasn’t scared of rain and she wasn’t scared of Rex. And she never changed her approach to her day on anyone’s account. So despite Rex’s stiff shoulders and bulging temples, she continued walking down Allen Street in her long black dress, cozy knit hat and tiny white shoes. And Rex stood alone under his dark cloud.
“That gum is grossing me out!” Rosie finally told Rex as she peered into the window of the antiques shop on the way to the restaurant.
“Well, I’m hungry,” Rex said, refusing to accept a truth without a retort.
“Oh, you’re hungry?” Rosie said sarcastically. “Well, don’t fill up on gum, all right?” She winked smoothly at Rex before skipping into the musty store filled with old armoires and dusty lamps.
Rex almost smiled, but swallowed it. He didn’t like any outward concessions. Especially while he was under his cloud.
Rex tapped his right foot outside and stared down at his watch. He huffed audibly as he watched every tick, tick, tick of the second hand. Rosie observed him doing this from inside the shop, but it didn’t make her move one bit faster. She returned to her shopping and slowly traced her hand along the intricate carvings of a wooden desk from the 1920s. She inspected every millimeter of a rusted metal windup toy from the 1950s. She leafed through a pile of old postcards. It was Rosie doing what Rosie always did. Absorbing her world. Soaking it in. With great attention. And great warmth. Letting everything ripple through her and fill up all of her senses. And she did it all with Rex Thorpe standing outside, tapping his foot and staring at his watch.
But Rex couldn’t stand to be outside for one more instant, and he burst inside the musty shop furiously. The same way he had burst into Blooms Flower Shop.
“I just told you I was hungry. Can the postcards wait so I don’t have to?”
Rosie looked up from the crooked pile of postcards with only her eyes, leaving her chin and the rest of her body leaning in toward the box.
“Of course, my darling,” Rosie said gently and with a smile. It was almost genuine.
“I was just finishing up. But first look at this photo! It’s amazing!” Rosie thrust one of the postcards right into Rex’s face, and Rex was charmed all over again. He pretended to reluctantly scan the postcard but his mind was fixated with how strange and lovely Rosie was there in that old shop in her long black dress with those little shoes.
Rosie lifted up her dress an inch as she started to walk, revealing her tiny delicate ankle. She pranced away and waved at the short and wrinkled shop owner. “See ya, Jonny,” Rosie said like they were old friends.
And then Rosie and Rex made their way back to the street and continued walking toward the restaurant where their crabs were waiting. A fabric shop caught Rosie’s eye and she waltzed in prepared to examine all of the prints, take in the scents of the lace, feel the silks against her cheek. But as soon as Rosie’s foot stepped through the doorway, Rex burst with rage.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Rosie.”
He grabbed her wrist.
“I just said I was hungry.”
Clenched jaw. Silence.
“Twice.”
Bottom crooked teeth out.
Silence.
Eye of the storm silence.
And suddenly, it wasn’t about Rex’s hunger or Rosie’s delight in silk. Or Rex’s flaring temples or Rosie’s casual strut. Or Rex’s handsomeness or Rosie’s red lips. It was about friction. There was too much of it. And no amount of Rosie’s funkiness or Rex’s firmness could mitigate that.
So quickly, and without putting much thought into it, Rosie decided to forgo the crabs and the evening with Rex. She wiggled her wrist from Rex’s fingers and walked down Allen Street back toward her apartment.
When Rosie got home, Chloe was sitting on the couch stoned. Her arm was flopped lifelessly over a cushion and her eyes were closed lightly.
“Hey, babe,” Chloe mumbled, barely even moving her lips. And then she sat up, rubbing one eye but not bothering to move her hair away from the front of her face. “I thought you were out with Rex.”
Rosie huffed.
“Ugh, I was.”
Rosie reached for the joint sitting on the coffee table.
“He’s such an ass sometimes though.” Rosie threw herself onto the couch, splaying her arms out in defeat. She swung her tote bag over the back of the sofa. A few pens dropped out without Rosie even noticing as she sat up slowly and pulled her fingers to her lips for a drag of the half-smoked joint.
But Chloe placed her hand over Rosie’s before it met her mouth and guided it back down to the coffee table.
“Try this instead, doll,” Chloe said, handing her a white round pill. “This will take the edge off.”
And Chloe couldn’t have been more correct. Within thirty minutes, that single white pill of Vicodin soothed Rosie, warmed Rosie, hugged Rosie, consumed Rosie. It left Rosie with her arm flopped lifelessly over a pillow too.
The high from that white pill was so thoroughly calming. So thoroughly relaxing and soothing in a way she had never felt before. In a way she felt she needed.
Because Rosie expected so much from life and the people in it and she loved to feel and experience every last ounce of everything, but it exhausted her. And those little white pills allowed that all to melt away. It allowed her to relax. To find stillness. To find quiet.
Rosie let her afternoon with Rex and all the other vibrating things evaporate into nothing as she drifted into a half sleep. Drifted into her high.
And it was a high Rosie would have again and again. Even when it stopped making things better, and started making things worse.