I met Rosemary at the library, it was frigid but not cold. most people there were silent. lost in a world of various words. but Rosemary wasn't.
two pencils in each hand chipped with black nail polish and headphones connected to her ears draping down to her phone. a book staying open her eyes scanning over it, Romeo and Juliet.
I remembered it because the cover matched her eyes. skin pale and splatters of hazel and blue left from her pupils, lips plump and red. a simple, invisible brunette stuck with strands of hair in a loose ponytail. but you see I don't recall an exact reason why I was in a library. I stopped looking outside, dull and lifeless.
Rosemary was different, actually scratch that. I think I said that already.
however continuing this moment you're probably wondering why start like this? I'm here explaining a girl that you may have no clue about and don't even care about.
But I do.
I believe it's that simple to repeat and there a billion and more reasons why. I could tell you them all yet I think I might just keep going at where I started at.
hours before I entered the room of well you know, Rosemary, I was stuck in a classroom. surrounded by the same copies of a teenager in every school. the bitch, the jock, the geek, the quiet ones, the sarcastic loud one - that may somewhat be me - but the point is I can keep going. the stereotypes are real when it comes to high school.
I'm probably one of them but anyways I was there, one of the best friends I've known since primary school on my left and on the other side the door. I would choose the door over him if it means I could get out of here.
that sounded like a dick move but I'm entitled to saying that. as well as scribbling down words of lyrics on my notebook, without getting yelled at but of course that can't be right.
"mr. Clifford maybe you know that answer?" what a complete ass hat, he needed to choose me to answer a question. he couldn't pick the smart fuck in the back with his hand raised for every second of the period, he called out on me. now it might not sound so bad until you hear what I say.
so let me play this moment again and let's hear about me getting dug in a hole by my own self. "Nope."
"and why is that, weren't you paying attention?" I began with writing more words down then I nodded but anyways,
"I was paying attention, but I believe while you were talking I was too busy hearing in my head how fucking stupid you sound when you can't realize that no one really cares about anything you say Mr. Kyla." now continuing the story the whole class basically worshipped me at this moment even if I was sent down to the head master of the building.
long story short I got in school suspension. but when free period came around that's when I guess you could say it gets intriguing. the secretary told me I was able to go to the bathroom. with my desire of an adventure and inability to pay attention to instructions I roamed the school instead. the hallways were inaudible so I just aimlessly wandered.
that's how I got there, to the library. maybe I did know why I was there. but looking back at this time, this minute of seeing Rosemary I realize my taking for granted of how she looked. the distraught pout of concentration and the blunt actions of her not even knowing how good she looked.
that stupid fucking sweater with the patches of different fabrics that she can't stop wearing having her name engraved in it. I wanted so badly to talk to her, but I wasn't sure why I was terrified of getting utterly ignored from her.
but with my disgusting confidence I walked up to her with no bag, not any books and sat right in front of her daring eyes following me.
she stopped tapping the pencils, on the stack of three more novels. it at first looked as if she wanted to physically take her nails and scratch my eyes out when I interrupted her. in my defense a lot of the tables were taken and I was tired of standing. minutes passed however, she kept reading.
and this was my time. I was going to so easily sweep her off her feet - okay you are probably thinking how wrong I am and maybe you are right but shut up okay - "do you often read Shakespeare?"
when I look back at that question I believe it was simple and not so bad of a start to a conversation but now she all she can do is remind me how much of a fucking annoying dick I sounded like. moving on, she stared at me and eyebrow raised then moved her hand to the earbud moving it from her ear.
"excuse me?" I repeated myself without thinking.
"I said do you often read Shakespeare?" nothing, I got nothing from her when she finally instead said,
"why are you talking to me?" I remember my skin inching up with chills.
"you still haven't answered my question," I paused moving closer there it was, the name in yellow threading. "Rosemary." She still stared with disbelief and I don't know if it was by my wordings or how long I have lasted.
"don't call me that." she simply informed looking back at her book. I called her a simple name, one that probably anyone could've said since it was so easily spotted on her jumper. I gaped at the name thinking I could've misread it.
but I didn't, "what should I call you then?" her fingers pushed against the paper reading each sentence and tried to forget my presence.
"Rosie, anything but that name." I was intrigued by the disgust of a word.
however I just couldn't stop gazing, I know I said this a lot, but wow. I was hopelessly attracted to her. "now Michael can you just leave me alone." Rosemary knew my name, can you not tell how infatuated she is with me?
"how do you know my name?" she laughed unamused.
"how could you not? all everyone could buzz about it is how a blue hair dick head said some funny shit about Mr. Kyla. but since you know my name and I know yours can't we leave it like that and you can fuck off." She replied with a condescending voice, and I didn't know how a grin was able to tug upon my lips.
I do recall trying to salvage the conversation and I somehow did. "I don't think so, Rosemary can you not answer a question?" I was pissing her off. but I enjoy to see the tiny specks of rage in her soft eyes. just her face itself wasn't just encompassing beauty but more like abiding art.
"you know what," she put down her pencil aggressively and crinkled her nose as she closed her book with anger, "yeah I enjoy Shakespeare and yes I know your name, no you can't get my number because you can't respect my wishes of you not saying that name. and here's another fact for you,"
"I hate people who interrupt anything I do. especially blue haired boys who are annoying so again, fuck off." she ranted pierced with full on vexation. Rosemary packed up her things leaving the library and I remember smiling.
I immensely adore that pale brunette.
but here is start, the story of Rosemary. the girl with sad eyes and shaky soft, hands with chipped black nail polish. she hates her name and screams at the world and has a passion for vinyls. yet that was Rosemary made of glass and fragile no one could ever break her open, except me.
