Rosie O'Dell (16 page)

Rosie forced a giggle and whispered, “Gee, I’m sorry, Tom. I was sound asleep
and dreaming that I had to do my pee. I thought I was in the bath
room trying to undo the zipper on my jeans as quick as I could. It was a good
thing you woke me up or God knows what would have ended up on the sofa.”

I covered my half-open fly with my crossed wrists. The erection that had
instantaneously arisen was almost gone down now, lessening my embarrassment.
“That’d be one way to get Mom to make a few changes around here,” I said,
standing and turning my back to walk out. “You can use the bathroom in the hall,
if you like. I’ll go upstairs.”

I walked gingerly up the stairs and into the bathroom, locked the door, and sat
on the toilet cover. Then I touched the outside of my pants and moved my fingers
along my penis to discover what it had felt like to Rosie. I learned little
except that my touch, echoing the feel of hers, gave me another instantaneous
erection. I stood up and looked in the long mirror on the door. My dick poked
the cloth out ludicrously and showed no indication whatever of going down. It
felt like it was going to stay up forever. Long minutes of splashing cold water
on my face and visualizing myself swimming a hundred laps in the pool finally
achieved a slow uncertain collapse.

When I came back down, Rosie was just hanging up the telephone in the kitchen.
She’d managed to reach her mother at home, she said, but she’d already taken her
sleeping pill and couldn’t come. I looked at my watch. Sleeping pill? It wasn’t
even nine o’clock on a Friday night. She’d told Rosie to call a taxi, which
Rosie did. One was coming in five minutes. Rosie related this without once
catching my eye. Her face had an unnaturally high colour.

“I told you that you need to get more sleep,” said Suzy to her, making sure, I
thought, that she was speaking loud enough for me to hear. “That almost happened
once before when you fell asleep, dead to the world, on the chesterfield at my
place.”

I went through the motions of asking her and Suzy to stay, but paradoxically, I
was glad that the girl who was responsible for the best erection of my life to
date was leaving, because I wanted to discuss urgently with my male confidant
Brent the cause, quality, and care of hard-ons.

As soon as the girls were safely aboard the taxi, I asked Brent, “Do you pull
yourself off?”

“Every couple of days,” said Brent. “Why? Don’t you?”

“When’d you start that? I never knew you were hauling yourself all the
time.”

“Around Christmas. I had to. I was always going around horny.
Interfering with my hockey. Why, what’s going on?”

“Rosie touched my cock by accident. And I got this raging hard-on.”

“What do you mean by accident? What did she do, bump up against you or
something?”

“No, with her hand. She kind of rubbed it with her fingers.”

“She rubbed your cock by accident with her fingers?” Brent sat bolt upright.
“How the fuck—? When?”

“Tonight when she was asleep on the sofa next to me. She was dreaming. It was
only for a second.”

“Dreaming? Dreaming about what? Giving you a hand job?”

“Jesus, no, Brent. It was outside my pants. She was dreaming she was in the
bathroom taking a leak.”

“Huh?” The perplexed look on Brent’s face made me hold back from telling him
that she had also started to undo my zipper. This was suddenly too complicated
to explain. Brent settled back down. “Yeah, it had to be by accident. The last
thing I’d figure Rosie for is a cockteaser.”

“Yeah, she was really embarrassed.”

“Yeah, I thought there was something wrong with her when you were upstairs. She
looked kind of funny and I heard her in the kitchen with Suzy, freaking out a
bit. I thought they were arguing about staying or going.” Brent went silent for
a moment. Then, “You lucky prick. No wonder you’re talking about jerking off.
I’ve never had a girl touch my cock by accident or on purpose. I’ll be having a
good pull tonight, just from talking about it.”

Brent called his mother to pick him up soon after and I went immediately
upstairs to the bathroom again and thought of Rosie, specifically her fingers.
My good time was interrupted momentarily by the nerve-racking shout from my
mother below: “Tom, are you home already?” I bawled out, “Yes, I’m using the
bathroom,” and continued right on to my very first climax, outrageously
unbelievable in its exquisitely thrilling delight. A tiny bubble appeared at the
tip of my penis.

HALF A DOZEN TELEPHONE
calls to Rosie’s house and Suzy’s
house on Saturday and Sunday found neither girl in. Monday morning in school,
Rosie came right up to me and said, “I had practices all weekend, Tommy. Mom and
Suzy’s mom said you called. Sorry I missed you.”

“Yeah, I just wanted to find out what was going on with that Jamieson
idiot. Brent told me he didn’t hear from the police and I was
wondering if you found out anything from Brenda.”

“Poor Brenda. She couldn’t look at any of us at the practice on Saturday. But
she told me in the locker room afterwards that Jamieson told her brother he was
dropping everything. I’m a bit sorry about that myself because I really wanted
to tell the police what he said to Suzy and to Brent. It’s good for Brent,
though. And the piece of shit has to use a crutch for a while, apparently, so
that’s good too.”

I hid my surprise at her abnormally aggressive language towards the lout and
said, “Rosie, I also wanted to tell you I had a great time Friday night. I
really want us to do something again soon. Maybe go to a movie or
something.”

“Tommy, I’m mortified about Friday night, and what happened. It makes me want
to cool it when it comes to my socializing for a little while. We can get
together here at school, though. And make sure you tell me when you have a swim
meet, because I’d like to go if I can.”

“I didn’t mind what happened Friday night, Rosie. I really liked it,
actually.”

“You really liked it when Brent had to…?” She stopped and looked at me,
remembering. “Oh.” She brought her head closer. “That accident from my dream.
You’re so sweet.” She squeezed my forearm and walked away, throwing over her
shoulder, “See you at editorial board.”

It was like she was back to treating me like a child, even though I was now
just as tall as her. But that’s the way it went for the rest of the school year,
lots of chats and laughs around school, but nothing outside.

In June, I caught up with Suzy walking along a corridor one afternoon by
herself. I came brusquely to the point. “I really like Rosie, I mean really like
her, but I can’t seem to get anywhere with her.”

“I know you really like her,” said Suzy. “She really likes you too, Tom. She’s
always telling me how much she always loved you.”

“But it’s like she just keeps wanting to be friends. What am I supposed to
do?”

“Keep chipping away at it. One of these days you’ll break through.”

“Break through what, Suzy?”

Was that a sad look she gave me before she brightened up? She said, “I didn’t
mean it like that, Tom. I just meant keep going. You guys were made for each
other. Is Brent really going away to hockey school this summer?” Maybe that was
the reason for her sad look.

“Yeah. He’s really good. A scout for a university was down from
the mainland to watch some of the high school graduates play and he happened to
see Brent at a practice and told him he was playing three years ahead of his
age.”

“He’s fantastic. And it looks like Rosie is going away to tennis camp.”

“What? I thought she was too late applying for that.”

“No, she didn’t apply because she said she wanted to stay here with me this
summer and play at Riverdale. But I talked her out of that because I’m going to
spend most of the summer with my father and little brother in Gander. The big
reconciliation. Ta da. Rosie was late applying, but her coach says he won’t have
any trouble getting her in because she’s got such potential. Jesus, you and I
are surrounded by superstar athletes. Well, I am. You’re one too, with your
swimming.”

“Nothing like those two.”

“What are you doing yourself this summer, Tom? The park thing?”

Dad and Mom had signed me up for some sort of a national park camp, a junior
intern program, in Terra Nova National Park or the newly established Gros Morne
National Park, learning all the services and the trails and safety procedures,
and giving visitors information and help on hiking, canoeing, kayaking,
climbing. It was an ideal way to spend six weeks of the summer for a
fourteen-year-old. Gros Morne had been their choice because I loved it, and Mom
had relatives in the region that I knew and liked from earlier summer jaunts
there as a little boy. Still, until this moment I’d been trying to figure out
how to say no to Mom and Dad. But now that it looked like Rosie, as well as
Brent, was going away, and she hadn’t even bothered to tell me, I made up my
mind right there. “Yes,” I said to Suzy, “I’m really looking forward to
it.”

When the report cards were handed out the day school ended, I was back in
second place, and Brent was third. We went over to Rosie and congratulated her
on coming first. She thanked us and said, “You guys did great. Plus you had a
social life, which I didn’t.”

I said, “How much more encouragement did you need?” But Rosie was turning to
Suzy who had come up to us, beaming.

“And look at the great leap forward that Suzy took,” said Rosie, putting her
arms around her.

“From the bottom of the pack all the way up to the middle,” said Suzy. “And
I’m some frigging happy.”

The four of us said goodbye to each other, parting on talk about how
Brent, Suzy, and I would be going to the same high school in
September, but because Rosie’s new home was in another school zone she’d be at a
different one. Both Rosie and Suzy made faces of consternation about that at
Brent and me.

Walking away with Brent, I looked back. Suzy was already heading for their door
out and I was surprised that Rosie was still standing there looking at us. She
gave a little wave and I flicked my hand in a way that I hoped conveyed
nonchalance. She said, “Tom, wait a sec,” and jogged up to me. “I wish I was
staying in Newfoundland. We had such great times last summer.” Brent walked a
few feet away and waited for me. “I wish I was going to Gros Morne for the
summer like you.” She went on. “That would be so good. But I’ve got to go to
this tennis school to see if I’m really any good or not. I don’t think I am, but
at least then I’ll know.”

“Well, of course you’ve got to go, Rosie. You are really good and you need more
competition to get even better.”

“We’ll see. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about going before, but I knew I
probably wouldn’t go if I did. Listen, I’ve been planning to write you care of
the park headquarters when I get there to let you know what it’s like. Promise
me you’ll write back.”

I nodded and she embraced me for five seconds with her cheek pressed to
mine.

When I rejoined Brent, he said, “That one loves you big time, b’y.”

“Funny shagging way of showing it. Between me and you and the wall, there’s
something weird about how she acts all the time, like she’s passive-aggressive
or something.”

“Don’t sweat it. It’s like my old man said to my mother one time when she told
him he had no idea about a woman’s needs—he said: A man trying to figure out a
woman is like a shitfly trying to figure out a cow’s anus. He has no idea how to
make it work, so he can only buzz around it thinking he’s making a big
impression and just be ready for when a nice warm tasty turd drops out.”

“Tell your father, thanks. That sets everything straight for me. I’m going to
miss your old man’s bullshit in Twillingate this summer.”

“Yeah, me too,” Brent sniggered. “It’s awful to think I’m going to be two
thousand miles away from the prick.”

At home that evening, my father looked through my report card and said, “Very
impressive, Tom. Who came first?”

“Rosie.”

“She’s right back on her feet, eh?”

“Yes, and she deserved it. She’s the smartest kid in the whole class and she
worked very hard.”

“Umm. Well, I’m very proud of you. You did well in your studies and you did
well in your swimming and you had some fun. I like this part.” He read the
teacher’s remarks: “‘Tom is a balanced and very well-rounded and popular
student.’”

Later that evening from my listening post in my room, I heard Dad say quietly
to Mom in the living room, “She did well, yes, but that line between near-genius
and near-lunacy is a very fine one. Give me ‘bright-normal’ like Tom any day of
the week.”

Naturally, I felt like going down and bellowing, “Shut up, you stupid old
bastard.” But I mastered the urge. I didn’t want to give it away that the
acoustics of the house wafted even quiet talk to my room. And also, to be frank
with myself, something about his remark on Rosie rang true.

TRUE TO HER WORD
, Rosie wrote me a letter the second
week I was in Gros Morne Park. It was not full of news. There was a limit, she
said, on what you could say of interest about tennis strokes. She was on the
court or watching films or listening to lectures all day, and at night, after
maybe a barbecue and a little TV, everyone dragged their weary asses off to bed
by nine o’clock. The school was co-ed, okay, “but as one girl from Montreal
said, ‘Can you believe the lousy luck? Just eyeball that hunk over there, and
here we are with more chaperones on site than coaches.’” They were miles north
of Toronto, but the head guy promised a day trip to the city next weekend to do
some shopping. “At which intelligence, we all danced and yelled, ‘Yippee, free
at last.’ Now that’s pathetic.” She begged me to liven up her life by writing in
detail about what I was doing. She missed us all a lot, she said.