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Show RFVER Through the agonies and passions of adolescence, I worshiped her from afar, courted her, endured repeated rejections, hated her, loved her more, and experienced untold anguish trying to get her to love me back. If s easy to look back at all that pain that at the time was so intense and unrelenting, but laughter doesn't discount the fact that it was real. Rosie had an athlete's body, wide shoulders, small breasts, and strong, taut legs, the result of spending a large percentage of her adolescence in swimming pools. When I was fourteen, I'd get up early on a summer morning and go to swimming practice, mostly, I suppose, to watch her swim. I'd swim, too, as artlessly and slowly as a sea turtle, and I'd leer at her out of the corner of my eye when I got a chance: I didn't dare stare at her directly, though at practice she never acknowledged my existence. The only time I remember speaking to Rosie around a pool was on one sun-washed afternoon. I had just mustered the courage to jump off the high dive and mentioned it to her. Rosie told me she could do a back flip and I insisted she show me. She climbed up to the top of the board and stood perched on the end for a long time. All the eyes in the pool turned to watch her. Just as I supposed she wouldn't do it, she leapt into the air and flashed toward the water, executing a perfect dive. I now figured I had to at least dive off the damn board and I gave it my best shot. I remember hanging in the hot bright air, suspended4n-the-aif-. like a frog as the flat blue surface came relentlessly closer until I hit the water in a classic belly flop. It hurt like hell, but what really burned was the image of Suzy knifing perfectly through the air. Rosie grew into a strong, cynical, and independent young lady. Her sun-washed innocence were replaced by skepticism and disillusionment, but her -45- |