Rosanna

Rosanna Shepherd

August 30, 7 years ago

"𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓊𝓅 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓌, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝑜𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓌 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒"

-𝐿𝒶𝓃𝒶 𝒟𝑒𝓁 𝑅𝑒𝓎, 𝒯𝑜𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓌 𝒩𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒞𝒶𝓂𝑒

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꫂ❁ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

I wake up to the sound of something clattering against my window. Followed by another, then another. I sit up, cross to the window in my tank top and sleep shorts, my brain still foggy. When I push the curtains aside, Harrison's in the backyard below, one hand full of gravel from my Mama's garden path. The moon is bright, illuminating the blonde hair that falls across his forehead

"Ya' gonna make me throw the whole driveway?" he shouts, his lips curving into the smile he only seems to have when he's with me.

I press a finger to my lips and point toward my parents' bedroom on the other side of the house. I hold still, listening. There's nothing but the rattle of the air conditioner and Daddy's snoring carrying through the walls. Harrison mimes zipping his mouth shut, but he's still grinning. I smile back even though I should tell him to go home. It's late and too risky, and Mama and Daddy would lose their minds if they knew I was sneaking out in the middle of the night.

But I don't.

I've never been good at telling Harrison Bishop no. Especially not when he looks at me like I'm the best thing he's ever seen, even though I just rolled out of bed with my curls going six different directions.

I slip out of my room and down the hall, careful to avoid the squeaky board outside the bathroom and the loose step third from the bottom that creaks like a door in a horror movie. Everything's dark except the green light from the microwave clock that reads 12:47.

Harrison's waiting by the back porch when I step out into the thick August heat. He's in basketball shorts and a faded Duke t-shirt with a hole near the collar. I've told him to throw it away at least three times. But he's always been nostalgic, and can never let go of old things.

"Hey," he says, quieter now that I'm close enough to touch. He pulls me into a hug that smells like Irish Spring and summer air. A scent so familiar I'd know it even with my eyes closed.

"Hi," I whisper, pulling away.

He takes my hand without asking and laces his fingers through mine, pulling me toward the gap in the hedge that leads to the street. We've been doing this all summer. Him at my window with pebbles from Mama's path, me following him into the dark like I ain't got any sense at all, like I ain't risking everything my parents taught me about being careful. Three, four times a week since school let out in June, and every single time my heart goes just as fast and my whole body lights up the second I see him standing there.

My parents would kill me if they knew. Not just because I'm sneaking out, but because it's Harrison I'm sneaking out with. Harrison Bishop's granddaddy sits on the town council and the hospital board and probably decides who gets to breathe the air in Bishop Creek. And his mama—she looks at me like I'm something she stepped in. They'd kill me because even though no one says it, this town has rules about girls who look like me.

They'd kill him too. For different reasons. Well, for the same ones, maybe, coming from the other direction.

The street's empty, every porch light off. Harrison keeps hold of my hand as we walk down the middle of the road.

"Where we goin'?" I ask.

"Creek."

"Harrison—"

"What?" He looks over at me, and even in the dark I can see his smile. "It's hot."

"It's almost one in the morning."

"Exactly. Nobody else there. Just us." He swings our joined hands between us. "You sayin' you wanna go back?"

I sigh but don't answer, which is answer enough for both of us.

We've walked the path to the creek so many times this summer I could do it blind. Over the fallen oak that's been there about five years now. Around the mud patch that never dries out. Past the clearing where most of the teens in Bishop Creek like to hang out—the beer bottles and used cigarette evidence of that.

The swimming hole is about half a mile down. The trees open up to reveal the smooth black water holding the moon on its surface. There's a rope swing hanging from the big cottonwood on the far bank, swaying slightly in the wind, and the rocks where we always sit.

Harrison lets go of my hand and pulls his shirt over his head in one motion. His back's tanned dark from a summer of outdoor court games played shirtless in the heat. There's still that scar on his shoulder blade from when he fell off his bike in sixth grade and needed eight stitches. I've traced it with my fingers a dozen times this summer. More than that, probably. Lost count somewhere around the Fourth of July.

He's long-limbed and gone gold from the sun, hair deepening a little in August, curling at the ends because it's gotten longer than his mother Priscilla likes. And that's exactly as long as Harrison intends to keep it. He doesn't seem to know how he looks, which somehow makes it worse.

"You comin' in, or you just gonna stand there starin'?" he says without turning around, and I can hear the smile in it.

"I ain't starin'," I lie. But I am. It's hard not to.

"Uh-huh." He kicks off his old basketball shoes, shoves his shorts down, now in his boxers before I've even moved. He hits the water with a splash that sends ripples all the way to the far bank.

I smile when he comes up, water streaming down his face, his hair plastered to his head.

"Come on." He shakes his head like a dog, sending more water flying. "Don't make me swim by myself."

I pull off my tank top and step out of my shorts, trying not to think about how I look. I leave my clothes in a pile next to his, my tank top landing on top of his Duke shirt. My bra and underwear are both black cotton, nothing special, just plain stuff from the Walmart two towns over. But the way Harrison's looking at me from the water makes me feel like maybe they are. Maybe I am too.

I've never felt beautiful. Not the way the girls at school are beautiful, with their straight hair that moves like the shampoo commercials and their bodies that look good in everything. I'm too dark, too curvy, too much in all the ways that don't count and not enough in all the ways that do. My hips are too wide. My thighs touch. My chest is bigger than I want.

But Harrison doesn't look at me like that.

He never has. I remember when we were kids and the other boys made a list of who was pretty and who wasn't, ranking girls like we'd entered some contest nobody signed us up for. When we were thirteen and fourteen I started developing before the rest, and boys I'd known my whole life suddenly looked at my chest instead of my face. When I was fifteen I overheard a guy tell his friends I'd be pretty if I weren't, "you know" — and everybody understood what he meant even though he never finished the sentence.

Harrison's never looked at me like I'm anything other than his Rosie.

The water's cold when I step in. I wade out until it's at my waist, the chill pulling the breath right out of me, raising goosebumps along my arms. I dive under and let it shock every nerve awake. When I surface, gasping and laughing, the water from Harrison's hair is dripping onto my shoulder.

"Took ya' long enough," he smirks.

"Hush," I say, splashing him.

We're both laughing and trying to sink each other like we're ten years old instead of almost grown. His hands find my waist under the surface and pull me close, and we're not playing anymore. The laughing winds down. The splashing stops.

We're close, his face inches from mine. I can feel him breathing against me, warmth radiating off him even through the cold. My heartbeat picks up.

"Hi," he says, soft, almost shy.

"Hi," I say back, breathless.

He kisses me slow, one hand coming up to cradle the back of my head, fingers tangling in my wet curls. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back. We've kissed a hundred times since June. Started that first night, this exact spot, when he looked at me in the moonlight and asked if he could kiss me, like I might say no. As if he hadn't been the only boy I ever wanted.

Harrison Bishop could have any girl in this county. They've been throwing themselves at him since eighth grade. I've watched it happen, anxiously waiting for the day he'd break my heart by choosing one of them. But he never seemed interested in any other girl. I used to think I was imagining it. But then this summer happened.

We end up on the rock where we left our clothes, the stone still warm from the day. We sit with our legs over the edge, close enough that our arms touch.

"Look," he says, pointing up.

The stars are out, thousands of them, the Milky Way dragging across the sky. I tip my head back and stare.

"It's pretty," I say.

"Yeah," he whispers.

When I look over, he's not looking at the stars at all. He's looking at me.

"What?" I say, my face going hot even though he's been looking at me all summer, and this shouldn't feel different.

"Nothin'." He reaches over and tucks a wet curl behind my ear, his fingers trailing down my jaw, leaving heat behind them. "You're just—you're so pretty, Rosie."

"Stop."

"I'm serious." His hand's still on my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. "Don't know why you won't believe me."

Because believing him feels dangerous, like setting myself up to be let down. I lean into his hand anyway.

He leans in and kisses me again, soft at first, then harder when I kiss him back.

"I love you," he says for the first time, against my lips.

I pull back, my eyes going wide. "W—What?"

"I love you, Rosie. I do." He cups my face in both hands, his eyes so blue in the moonlight, so certain. "I know we're young and everybody's gonna say we don't know what we're talkin' about. I don't care what they say. I've loved you since we were kids, I've just been too scared to say it—"

"Harrison—" I whisper.

"You don't gotta say it back if you're not—"

"I love you too," I cut in, the words tumbling over each other. "Of course I love you. How could I not?"

His whole face lights up. He kisses me so hard we both fall back on the rock, tangled up together, laughing hard.

"I'm gonna marry you someday, Rosie. Spend the rest of my life with you. I mean it. I'm never leaving you."

"You're crazy," I say, but my heart's doing somersaults.

I should tell him he's being ridiculous. We're seventeen and sixteen. People don't stay together out of high school. We'll probably break up before graduation like everybody else.

But I kiss him and let myself believe in forever, in all the impossible things that feel possible when you're sixteen and in love under a sky full of stars.

So we stay. We swim again, racing each other across the black water and back. We lie on the warm rock and kiss until our mouths go soft, and we do the things teenagers do when they're in love. So sure the whole world belongs to us and nobody's watching. After, Harrison pulls me against his chest, and we take sips of the cheap beer he's bought, and he smokes the weed he got, and we stay in each other's arms.

"You want some?" he says, offering me the blunt he just rolled.

"Harrison," I say, a warning in it.

"What?" He's not looking up from what he's doing.

"You know I don't do that."

He grins, lazily. "Worth askin'."

"It is not worth askin'. You ask every single time."

"And every time I'm hopin' you'll surprise me."

"I'm full of surprises," I say. "That just ain't gonna be one of 'em."

"Your loss." He takes a long drag, holds it, lets it out slow. The sweet, earthy smell curls through the air between us.

"That stuff is bad for you. You need to stop before you get caught one of these days," I warn.

"Nah." He says it confident, so sure he's invincible.

"Harrison—"

"What? I'm careful." He takes another hit.

I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them, suddenly aware of being naked, suddenly needing to cover up even though he's already seen and touched everything. The rock's cooling now, finally letting go of the day's heat, and I should put my clothes back on, but I don't want to break the bubble we're in, where nothing exists but us and the creek and the stars.

"What're you gonna do?" Harrison says after a while. "After graduation next year, I mean."

"College, hopefully," I say. "If I can get enough scholarship money. My grades are good enough, I think, if I write a good essay, do well on the SAT in March."

"Where you thinkin'?"

"I don't know. Somewhere bigger than here." I look at his profile in the moonlight. "Somewhere people don't already know me. Somewhere with more people that look like me."

He's quiet a moment. "You don't wanna stay close?"

"There's nothing to stay close to. Not for me. What about you?"

He shrugs, finally meeting my eyes. "My parents want me to be a doctor. I don't know. Haven't really thought past you." He stubs out what's left of the joint in the dirt and turns to face me. "You, this place — it's enough for me. I don't need to go somewhere else to figure out who I am. I already know."

I pull my knees tighter. "That simple for you, huh?"

"That simple." He reaches over and tucks the curl back behind my ear again.

I don't say anything to that. Don't know how to explain that I need more than this town has, that I want to be somewhere I'm not always being watched, and judged, and held to a different standard than everybody around me. I want to be somewhere I can be Rose instead of the Black girl, the adopted girl.

"You could come with me," I say, careful, not sure how he'll take it.

He looks at me a long second, and I think maybe he's going to say no. He pulls me back against his chest, and I settle into the warm circle of his arms.

"I'll come. Told you I'm never letting you go. Wherever you are, that's where I want to be." He says into my hair.

I want to believe him so bad it aches.

"I love you Harrison," I say, and I mean it with everything I have.

He kisses me, and I taste smoke and creek water and every good thing I've ever wanted. His hands slide down my back and I'm just starting to think maybe we have time for one more perfect minute when a hard white light hits us.

We break apart and I throw a hand up over my eyes, my heart slamming, and Harrison's on his feet in a second, stepping in front of me, putting his body between me and the light.

"Harrison Charles Bishop, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

My blood goes cold. Every muscle in me locks at once. I know that voice.

That's his mother.

"Mom—" Harrison starts, but she cuts him off.

"Don't. Don't even try." The light swings off my face and I can see them now, both of them, standing at the edge of the clearing. His dad holds the flashlight, the beam pointed down at the ground now, and his mother stands perfectly still with her arms crossed, the fury radiating off her even in the dark.

"Get dressed," Priscilla Bishop says, quiet. She's not talking to Harrison.

I grab for my clothes, my hands shaking so bad I can barely hold anything. Where's my bra? I find my underwear and yank it on, almost falling over, then my shorts, fumbling the button. But I can't find my shirt. I'm going to cry, I'm going to be sick, I'm going to die right here on this rock—

"Here."

Harrison presses his t-shirt into my hands. I pull it over my head, the fabric hanging to my thighs. I'm still not wearing a bra, but at least I'm covered. Even now, in the middle of this, he's trying to shield me. He's standing there in just his boxers, blocking me from his parents as much as he can, and I find my bra behind me, fumble trying to get it clasped under the shirt, my hands not cooperating. Harrison turns and helps me, his fingers steady.

"It's okay," he says, so low only I can hear it. "It's okay, Rosie. Just breathe."

But it's not okay. It's so far from okay I can't even see okay from here.

His mother takes three steps closer, and the flashlight catches the used condom on the rock where Harrison set it aside, the empty beer bottle, the joint he was smoking. Everything we thought was just ours.

"Jesus Christ," his father says, sounding tired.

Priscilla's eyes lock on mine, and I've never seen anybody look at another person the way she's looking at me. Like I'm something she needs to scrape off her shoe, exactly what she always knew I was.

"Is that marijuana?" she says, looking directly at me.

I can't answer. I can't make my mouth work.

"It's mine," Harrison says at once, stepping in front of me again. "It's mine, Mom."

"I wasn't talking to you!" She yells.

"I don't care. It's mine." He squares his shoulders. "Rose doesn't smoke. That's all me. She didn't even want me doing it."

His mother glares at me. "Go home."

I nod quickly, scan the rock for my tank top one more time, and don't see it. It doesn't matter. I just need to get out of here before I'm sick or start crying or both.

"Harrison, we're leaving. Get in the car," his father says.

"I'm not letting Rosie walk home alone this late," Harrison catches my hand as I'm turning away.

"I'm sure Rosanna is capable—" his mother starts.

"She's a young woman and it's the middle of the night. I'm not letting her go alone."

"Harrison, it's fine, I can—" I try, but he squeezes my hand.

"Let me walk her. Or at least drop her off."

His mother looks ready to argue, but his father nods. "Both of you get in the car."

The ride is completely silent. I can feel the anger coming off his parents, and I still haven't stopped shaking. The whole way, Harrison keeps my hand in his, his thumb tracing slow circles I choose to interpret as him saying it's going to be okay.

The car pulls up to the yellow house I call home.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Bishop," I somehow manage.

"We expected better from you, Rosanna. We ought to tell your parents about this. Go inside." his father says.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, and step out. Harrison follows, his parents protesting behind him to stay in the car, but he can't help it. He walks me to my door, his hand still in mine.

"It's gonna be okay, Rosie," he says, and he sounds so sure. He leans down and kisses me, right there in front of his parents, even with everything falling apart. His hand cup my jaw, and for one second everything's okay again.

When he pulls back, I'm not shaking anymore. Or I am, but not from fear.

"Go on," he says softly. "I'll call you later. I love you."

"I love you too."

By the time I make it back into bed, my face is swollen and my eyes are burning. I'm wearing Harrison Bishop's Duke t-shirt and I can still feel him on my skin, still feel him inside me. I slip down the hall and close my door, quiet as I can. I lean onto it a moment, trying to make sense of what happened.

My phone's on the nightstand where I left it. No missed calls. No texts.

He said he'd call later.

I crawl into bed in his shirt without even trying to sleep, lying there staring at the ceiling, the covers pulled up to my chin. I can still smell him on the fabric. I close my eyes and see him on that rock, telling me he loves me, telling me he's gonna go wherever I go, promising me tomorrow and the day after and all the days after that.

I fall asleep smiling, despite everything.

When I wake up the next morning, sunlight coming through the window, my phone's still blank.

I tell myself he's grounded. Got his phone taken away. That's what happens when you get caught at the creek at two in the morning with weed and a girl. He'll call when he can. He will. He promised.

I wait all day.

All week.

All month.

He never calls.

School starts two weeks later and Harrison Bishop doesn't show. Somebody says his parents sent him to boarding school in Virginia. Somebody else says military school. Someone else says rehab, because of the drugs and what his parents found.

I wear his t-shirt to bed every night for a month before I finally wash it. By then it doesn't smell like him anymore. The fabric had gone thin from being worn so much, from me holding onto it like it's the only piece of him I have left.

By then I've stopped waiting for the phone to ring.

And that was the last time I ever saw Harrison Bishop.