I’m suppose to be meeting Rosie at the library today to work on this dumb art project, but of course in true Rosie nature, she is late.
It had been weeks since Rosie and I spoke after finding out we were both in the same class this semester. Our professor was getting on our case about not having any ideas on what we wanted to do as a final project, and that was only because Rosie refused to talk to me. Someone had to be the bigger person.
I texted Rosie last night, not realizing that he last time we spoke was right before she came to my house a couple of months ago. That night. Some days I remember that night as if it just happened; other days it feels like it has been an eternity since it did; when Rosie and I were on good terms. At this rate, I don’t think Rosie and I will ever be on good terms like we once were.
Before I type up the text to send to Rosie, I hear a massive engine of a car in the parking lot. I don’t even have to look up to see whose car it was; only the most expensive cars sound that expensive. I hate that Rosie gives me reason time and time again to believe that this was more than just the money at this point; she loved that asshole, no matter how shitty he treated her. Who am I to tell a grown woman what she should do with her life?
The front door of the library opens, and in walks Rosie. She looks around until she sees me, in which her smile quickly turns into annoyance. I rolled my eyes and looked down, back at my notebook. Rosie sat in the seat across from me at the table, slamming her bookbag on the table. I can’t lie, it startled me.
“Yo, you’re carrying bricks in your bag or something?” I said, more annoyed than joking around. Rosie doesn’t answer; she simply just takes out her notebook from her very large bookbag. She slides the bookbag on the floor, which also makes a loud thud sound.
“So, what are we doing for this project?” Rosie asked, changing the subject. “I’m tired of hearing Professor Ramirez asking us for our ideas.”
“You’ve haven’t reached out to me since we were assigned this project,” I mentioned. “How were we supposed to come up with an idea?” I finally looked up at Rosie, taking in her image. She looks like she just rolled out of bed; she probably rolled out of Prescott’s bed, like, 15 minutes ago. Rosie rolled her eyes as a response. She flips her notebook to a blank page, placing a pen in her hand.
“So we should do a modern take on renaissance paintings through photography,” Rosie suggested. “I’m not saying we should reenact paintings and play dress up and shit, but find inspiration through photography that embodies the aura of renaissance paintings.” One thing I can’t take away from Rosie is that she was passionate about art. She was always doodling in the margins of her notebook whenever we would be in class, learning about the history instead of actually doing it. Rosie was smart; brilliant even, when it came to art. She would’ve been a Waverly High student if she lived in New York her teenage years. Maybe so much of her life would’ve been different if she focused on her passion instead of other things. “Does that work?”
“Huh?” I said, notably not paying attention.
“My idea,” Rosie emphasized, clearly annoyed. “Do you want to do something like that for the project?”
“I think that works, ” I said. I genuinely liked the idea; it was different than what I heard our other classmates were planning to do. That’s the thing about Rosie; she was always different, no matter what she wore, did, or acted. She’s not your typical 20-year old girl that is just looking to pass all of her classes and get a degree in four years. She challenged the normalcy of what it was to be a 20-year-old girl in college. She was, in the best way she would describe it, a black sheep.
“Thanks,” Rosie said, closing her notebook. “Nice to know one of us was thinking about ideas.” That’s the thing about Rosie, she also knew how to ruin a perfectly good and stable moment.
“For fuck’s sake, Roe; can’t we just get along for at least 5 minutes of our meeting?” I said, not wanting to deal with her bullshit.
“We did,” Rosie said as she packed her notebook in her bag and got up from her seat. “I explained my project idea to you in 5 minutes.” She looked at me straight in the eyes for a moment. “Do not call me Roe.”
“Whatever, Roe,” I sad, purposely calling her by the nickname I gave her when we were once friends.
“Fuck off, Micah,” Rosie said before turning around to leave the library. I was completely over Rosie at this point. No matter how many times I try to be cordial with this girl, she always wants to pick a fight. If it’s a fight she wants, a fight she will get.
“Not if you were the last black sheep on Earth,” I said, laughing as I got up from my seat. “Go on and run to your boyfriend’s Porsche; every minute on the clock matters, am I right?” Rosie immediately turns around and drops her bag on the floor, causing a scene.
“You’re nothing but a little bitch,” Rosie spat out. “That’s why Kalia keeps making and breaking up with you, she’s probably flew back to Sweden to fuck her co-star after she was tired of faking it.”
“Yeah?” I said out loud, furious at Rosie. “That’s not what you said when we fucked in my room that one night!” Before I knew it, Rosie shoved me so hard, my back hit the chair that was behind me. Immediately, public safety came in to break up the altercation.
“Alright, break it up!” the peace officer said, staying in between Rosie and I. Rosie picked up her bookbag from the floor and ran out of the library.
That’s the thing about Rosie. She will only tell you half of the story and run off once the truth comes out.
Letters From Liz. 