Love, Rosie (220 page)

hear
my
name
being
yelled
by
drunken
men
in
deep
slurred
voices.
I
keep

thinking
that
my
Romeo
is
standing
on
the
pavement
below
my
window
call-

ing
me
and
throwing
stones
up
to
awaken
me
from
my
slumber.
Then
I

remember
that
it’s
Saturday
night,
one
o’clock
in
the
morning,
the
pub
has

just
closed,
drunken
men
are
shouting
their
special
order
over
the
counter,

and
the
stones
against
my
window
are
the
rain.
But
a
girl
can
always
dream.

Speaking
of
dreams
I
had
one
last
night
that
I
was
a
chicken
and
that
I

was
being
chased
around
a
huge
hotel
kitchen
by
chefs,
waiters,
and
the

guests
and
they
were
trying
to
kill
me.
Take
from
that
what
you
may.

Every
time
I
pass
by
Sanjay’s
wife
she
rolls
her
eyes
and
tuts.
He’s
still

asking
me
out
on
dates,
he
even
asks
me
when
she’s
standing
right
beside

him.
So
I
say
very
loudly
that
what
he
is
asking
me
is
wrong
considering
his

marital
status,
that
he
needs
to
have
more
respect
for
his
wife,
and
that
even

if
he
wasn’t
married
I
would
say
no.
I
say
it
so
loudly
so
that
she
can
hear

but
yet
she
stills
tuts
and
Sanjay
smiles
at
me
and
throws
a
few
poppadoms

in
the
bag
for
me
for
free.
The
man
is
insane.

Rupert
(my
other
neighbor)
asked
me
if
I
want
to
go
to
the
National

Concert
Hall
at
the
weekend.
Apparently
the
National
Symphony
Orchestra

is
playing
Brahms
Piano
Concerto
Number
2
in
B
flat
major,
op.
83,
which
is

his
absolute
favorite.
It’s
not
a
date
or
anything.
I
think
Rupert
is
completely

asexual
and
that
he
just
likes
company.
That
suits
me
because
that’s
how
I

love,
rosie

329

define
myself
right
now
anyway.
Plus
the
“I
Love
Mother”
tattoo
on
his
arm

would
be
a
real
turn-off.
That
quote
by
James
Joyce
really
upsets
me
too,

because
Rupert
is
so
tall
that
when
I
look
straight
ahead
I’m
faced
with
his

chest
and
I
constantly
read
this
“Mistakes
are
the
portals
of
discovery.”
It’s

like
a
sign
or
something,
like
Rupert
was
put
in
the
flat
beside
me
to
make

me
understand.
Only
I
wish
the
message
made
more
sense
than
that.
Mis-

takes
are
more
like
the
potholes
of
discovery.
It’s
a
bloody
long
bumpy
road

to
discovery
and
you’re
more
likely
to
die
in
a
car
crash
than
a
plane
acci-

dent.
I
wish
it
said
“Chocolate
is
good”
instead.