Rosie
I was supposed to meet Ryan for a late dinner after dropping by Victoria’s to practice my set, but before I knew it, the clock was striking midnight. I was vibrating with excitement as I texted him.
Rosie Ross [12:01 a.m.]: I’m so sorry Ryan. I didn’t realize how late it was.
Ryan Conroe [12:02 a.m.]: It’s ok. I guess it went well at Victoria’s?
Rosie Ross [12:04 a.m.]: SO WELL. She invited a whole bunch of people to listen. Women from the local music scene. It was amazing, but now I don’t feel all that good. I’m taking an Uber home to sleep it off.
Ryan Conroe [12:05 a.m.]: Are you ok?
Rosie Ross [12:05 a.m.]: Yeah. I just drank too much.
Ryan’s next response didn’t arrive for almost ten minutes.
Ryan Conroe [12:14 a.m.]: I didn’t know you drank.
My head was spinning. I knew the Uber driver would charge me a ridiculous amount of money if I messed up his ride, but I knew I was going to throw up soon. I just needed to make sure it was in the privacy of my own apartment. I stared down at my feet and tried to think clearly. Slowly, as I took deep breath after deep breath, the nausea subsided. It wasn’t gone, just delayed. Still, I could think more clearly.
In the temporary clarity, I frowned. I’d just had the most incredible networking evening of my life and beating my bowling alley birthday party was no easy trick. I’d played an amazing set, too. I really felt like I’d nailed it, and by the looks on their faces, I definitely had. With a live audience, I had instant feedback. Playing live was exhilarating in a way that YouTube just wasn’t.
Rosie Ross [12:14 a.m.]: I don’t drink a lot.
Rosie Ross [12:15 a.m.]: Wait. Is that a problem?
I felt like Ryan was judging me for having a drink at a party. Like normal people do. Like everyone else had been doing at Victoria’s.
Rosie Ross [12:08 a.m.]: I didn’t drink THAT much.
Rosie Ross [12:09 a.m.]: I definitely wasn’t the drunkest person at the party.
Rosie Ross [12:10 a.m.]: That was probably Victoria. LOL.
Ryan Conroe [12:11 a.m.]: You should go sleep it off. We can talk tomorrow.
I shifted back and forth in the back seat of the car, suddenly feeling frustrated and wound up. I hated being judged or controlled by anyone. If I wanted that, I could just call my dad up and ask him what he thought of my evening.
Ryan knew how much my music career meant to me. He could at least pretend to be excited for me. Actually, as my maybe-agent, he should be excited for me. Anger was rising hard and fast. Harder and faster than usual, thanks to alcohol soaking my brain.
Rosie Ross [12:11 a.m.]: Just tell me one thing. Does it bother you that I had a couple of drinks at a party?
I stared at my phone for what felt like ages. In reality, it took just over two minutes for him to reply. Two minutes of agony.
Ryan Conroe [12:13 a.m.]: Honestly? It bothers me that Victoria gave you alcohol when you’re underage. It’s unsafe.
My breath hissed in, and the Uber driver met my eyes in the rearview mirror before instantly skirting away. One look at my irate expression and she was pretending I wasn’t in the back seat. Wise woman. My hands had balled up into angry fists. I had to unfurl them to text Ryan back, and it was a real struggle.
Rosie Ross [12:14 a.m.]: You think I can’t handle having a couple of drinks at a party?
Ryan Conroe [12:15 a.m.]: I didn’t say that. Can we talk about this tomorrow, Rosie?
Rosie Ross [12:16 a.m.]: Why? This is important.
Ryan Conroe [12:17 a.m.]: Because it’s late and you’re drunk. If you really want to talk, let’s have a real conversation. Can I at least call you?
It wasn’t that late. I wasn’t that drunk.
Rosie Ross [12:18 a.m.]: I’m fine. But I’m in an Uber right now. It would be weird to have a phone conversation.
Ryan Conroe [12:19 a.m.]: Ok, then let’s talk tomorrow. Or when you get home.
I wasn’t patient enough for that. I’d gone from zero to furious. The alcohol had fueled my crisis, but even a sober Rosie would be pissed off.
Rosie Ross [12:20 a.m.]: You don’t trust me to have a couple of drinks.
Ryan Conroe [12:21 a.m.]: It’s not you that I don’t trust. It’s the Austin Police Department. Call me crazy, but I don’t like the idea of you doing something illegal.
Rosie Ross [12:22 a.m.]: You were fine taking those pot plants from my apartment. That was illegal.
Ryan Conroe [12:23 a.m.]: That was different.
Was it? It didn’t seem different to me. Both acts were illegal.
Rosie Ross [12:24 a.m.]: Right. Because you were doing it and not me.
Ryan Conroe [12:25 a.m.]: No. Because I knew the risk I was taking. You didn’t know all the people at that party.
Ryan Conroe [12:26 a.m.]: There were too many unknowns.
Rosie Ross [12:26 a.m.]: You think Victoria’s friends were going to get me in trouble? They were all women, by the way. Did I mention that?
Ryan Conroe [12:27 a.m.]: I don’t know. That’s the point. Can we please have a conversation about this on the phone? And maybe when you aren’t drunk?
I ground my teeth. I was very, very angry. If I was old enough to buy a gun, or vote, or smoke, or fly to some horrible desert wasteland and die so some fat guy in a mansion could get more oil money, I ought to be able to drink.
Rosie Ross [12:27 a.m.]: So, I’m old enough for you to fuck, but not old enough for to have a drink?
Ryan Conroe [12:27 p.m.]: According to the law? Yes.
Rosie Ross [12:27 a.m.]: You know the drinking age in Mexico is eighteen. Canada too. It’s even younger in Europe.
Ryan Conroe [12:28 a.m.]: I know it’s twenty-one here.
Rosie Ross [12:29 a.m.]: You’re awfully high and mighty and lawful for someone that did the same when you were nineteen.
Ryan Conroe [12:30 a.m.]: And look what happened to me.
Rosie Ross [12:31 a.m.]: You became a well-adjusted, normal person?
Ryan Conroe [12:35 a.m.]: No. I nearly died. My girlfriend did die. My brother tried to die for a decade.
I had no response to that. Guilt fought with the anger I was already feeling. Anger won. He’d had a solid decade to get over his hang-ups about alcohol. I wasn’t his ex-girlfriend. I wasn’t off driving drunk. I didn’t even have a car. All I did was have a few too many drinks at a party. I was getting home safely. There were so many forces in my life trying to fit me into molds that chaffed and pinched at my soul. The last thing I needed was another person in my life telling me who to be.
Rosie Ross [12:36 a.m.]: So, I just shouldn’t ever drink? I don’t get to be a normal nineteen-year-old and do normal nineteen-year-old things because something bad once happened to you? I’m not you.
Ryan Conroe [12:36 a.m.]: Can we talk tomorrow.
Rosie Ross [12:37 a.m.]: I don’t need anyone else in my life telling me what to do.
Ryan Conroe [12:37 a.m.]: I’m not telling you what to do.
Rosie Ross [12:38 a.m.]: You’re judging me for not behaving the way you want.
Rosie Ross [12:39 a.m.]: I’m not your dead girlfriend. I know what I’m doing.
Ryan tried to call me, and I rejected the call. I didn’t think I was capable of having a rational conversation. Or one where I wasn’t slurring my words. Tears started to burn in the corners of my eyes. I was frustrated, angry, and increasingly confused. The world around me was fuzzy and unreal. Somehow, I was continuing to text.
Rosie Ross [12:38 a.m.]: I’m really upset right now. I don’t feel good. I don’t want to talk.
Ryan Conroe [12:40 a.m.]: Call me tomorrow morning ok?
Rosie Ross [12:45 a.m.]: I don’t know.
Feeling like I was about to spontaneously combust, I crawled out of the Uber, threw up in the toilet, and went to sleep.