Christopher Prato - Little Boy or, Enola Gay

Maria had mentioned Rosie a few times. But until that day I didn’t realize that Rosie was the same girl who had made fun of her reading in middle school. Maria always chose her own time to say what she wanted to say. She was cautious, never hasty, when revealing her feelings, and discussing her past. She didn’t want people to connect the dots of her life, I guess, because that would lead to understanding and, with that, potential disappointment. I loved her for it, because she always had better control over herself than I did over myself. As a matter of fact, had I asked her to elaborate about Rosie prior to that day in August, she probably wouldn’t have given me a straight answer. Well, actually, it would’ve been straight. It would’ve probably been something like: “I don’t want to talk about Rosie yet.” Case closed.

Maria always proceeded with discretion, anticipating her tenth step before she took her first. It was like she was waiting patiently for the story, her story, to let itself unfold. She didn’t want to accelerate the process of divulging her life’s history to me or anyone else. It would’ve been unnatural for her to do so. Maria let fate take it’s course. Sometimes it bugged me, because I really wanted to dive right into her life, from the very beginning. But whether it was an emotional secret or a physical act, Maria was endlessly vigilant of what could happen if she threw reason to the wind. Sometimes I wish I’d paid closer attention to her strategy. I could have learned a lot from Maria.

“That day at the beach,” I said, “did Guido see you naked?”

“A.J.!” She was angry that I asked that, but I just had to.

I held her hand and continued to listen, trying to keep my mouth shut.

“Anyway, me and Rosie were in the changing room after we went swimming. Usually, after went in the water, we just went straight home, in our bathing suits. It wasn’t a big deal ’cause the M train was always so hot. I’d just throw a top on and go straight home. But that day, we planned to go to Jeff’s house, for his sister’s birthday. So I had to change out of my bathing suit and into a party dress.”

Okay , I thought, so what’s the big deal?

As if she heard me ask myself that question, she said, “No, you don’t understand. I was very insecure about my body. Not just in front of boys, but everyone.

“That’s cool,” I said, “we all are a little embarrassed about that stuff.” And I was sincere, because most people are a little ashamed of their bodies.

“No, A.J., Rosie started to make fun of me because I was afraid of getting naked with a guy, of having sex with a guy. She kept saying, ‘Guido likes you, but he thinks you’re a prude.’ She made me feel so ashamed of myself. I was standing there naked, and helpless, and she was relentless. ‘They’re just tits! It’s just a pussy,” she said, erupting in tears. “And she even reached out and tried to grab me, like it was no big deal— uh, huw, huh, huh, huh …

“…—uh, huw, huh,” she inhaled, loudly—“and said I was a freak and a prude.”

“‘Just do it,’” she commanded, “‘just do it.’ She was manipulating me, A.J.!”

I was about to speak, when she said: “ That’s what was so sick!”

“ Then why did you keep hanging out with her? ” I asked. Then I saw her eyes about to burst again and was pissed that I even opened my fucking mouth.

Thankfully, she stopped herself from crying and answered, “I don’t know. I don’t know why I did a lot of stuff back then.”

“Well, you got naked, and she tried to grab you and made fun of you, and then what?” Again, Maria looked at me as if I wasn’t getting it, whatever ‘it’ was. I thought: Guess the phrase ‘got naked’ was a little too coarse.

“And then nothing. She just said I was stupid for not having sex with guys—you know what I mean? She said I’d never get a guy like Guido to like me if I wasn’t willing to do it. And I sort of believed her. I thought there was something wrong with me, because I didn’t understand why anyone would ever want to show boobs to anyone. I knew there was an emotion out there that allowed a girl to expose herself like that, and make herself vulnerable, but still feel secure. And I wanted to feel that. But I had no idea where to find it…” She trailed off.

“But you didn’t show Guido anything, did you?” Damn!

“No! I already told you that!”

I was nervous. I have to admit, all that breast talk was turning me on just a little.

“She didn’t make fun of the way I looked—probably because she saw how much bigger mine were than hers.” I couldn’t help but chuckle out loud.

“So, she didn’t make fun of the way you looked?”

“No, she didn’t. And because she didn’t, and because she was giving me all this advice, I guess I sort of trusted her opinion of me. It sounds sort of dumb, but I thought it was a special moment for me and Rosie, because it was the first time I really, I don’t know, showed her something that I’d never showed anyone before. But at the same time, she was so cruel. This all must sound so dumb, because you’re a guy. You don’t understand girls.”

“I understand,” I said. And I really thought I did.

“Rosie fucked me over,” she added, seriously.

Maria grew quiet after that. I felt like I should have consoled her, but I didn’t know how. Maria cursed more often than most girls, but she always chose her profanity carefully, and there was always a reason behind each curse word she used. Rosie was the reason she chose that one that afternoon.

But there was more. “A.J., what I’m about to tell you something else I’ve never told anyone else before, except for my mother…” She hesitated, and then continued: “You see, Rosie—” she started to tear—“Rosie stole from me.”

“What do you mean she stole from you?”

“Well, it was after that day on the beach when I started noticing it, though it could have been going on a long time before. See, Rosie came over my house to hang out. After she left, I noticed that my gold watch was gone. It was a watch that my mother had given me for my thirteenth birthday. She knew how important it was to me. I looked all over the house for it, but couldn’t find it.”

“Then what happened?” I asked.

“Well, I had Rosie over my house a few weeks later, and after she left I noticed that my bracelet was missing. Again, I searched my house top and bottom for it, to no avail. And then, one day, I was hanging out in the park near my house. Rosie dropped by to say hello, and I realized that she was wearing my watch. When I asked her about it, she said her brother gave it to her. But I knew the truth. I knew she was stealing from me.”

“But you didn’t really confront her. When someone does something like that, you should just threaten to call the police. That would’ve scared her off real quick.”

Maria shook her head. “No, I couldn’t do that. I don’t know—she was my friend, A.J.! She was my friend!” Maria started bawling. She cried like I’d never seen anyone cry before. I pressed my face against hers. Suddenly, they were my tears, too.

I understood all that she’d said, all that she felt deep within her heart and soul. At that moment—and I know this sounds terribly cliché—we were one and the same. It wasn’t just her father; it wasn’t just one or two mediocre friendships; it wasn’t just a friend stealing from her. Everyone had fucked Maria over.

Before that day, I’d attended funerals, visited sick friends in hospitals, and watched family members die of cancer right before my eyes. But I’d never empathized with another person more than I did with Maria.