Dedicated to Rosaline

How long are we going to pretend that this world is not a dangerous place? As humans, we are raised to think we are invincible. Raised to believe that horror will never happen, that we alone are safe in a tide of rising evil. Yet, when tragedy strikes, suddenly our confidence is stripped and we realize the terror that lurks outside of our misconceptions is very real. I learned it the hard way.

Her name was Rosaline Tupper. It was purely by chance that I met her one day, in a quiet place I no longer walk. Usually, I keep to myself, but the fact that this girl had strung up a hammock between two trees at the park, and was absentmindedly twirling a light red flower piqued my interest. I quickly discovered a kindred spirit in this soft spoken, shy character. She was quirky. She was odd. She, like me, never saw the world for what people said it was. There was no such thing as an ordinary day. Her imagination flared with creations as absurd and amazing as anything I had ever dreamed up. She alone smiled at my thoughts, and she inspired me to create more. Is it any surprise that I began to fall in love with her?

As the months went by, we became extremely close. We were insanely busy, but every day at 3 o'clock sharp, we would both log on to MSN to talk, and we would meet under the moon to brainstorm. Thoughts went careening through my conflicted mind. I wanted her to be more than just a close friend, but I couldn't gather the courage to ask her. Time dragged on, I argued with myself. I'd never been good at the relationship thing...was I good enough for her. Finally, I made the only decision that made any sense. I asked her to by girlfriend. She cried. Stung, I recoiled, but with a watery smile that put the full moon above us to shame, she flung her arms around my neck. I hugged her back, feeling as though my world was where it was meant to be. It didn't last long.

The next day, I got a phone call from her brother Jack. "I don't...erm...well, I don't really know how to tell you this Ron..." but he did tell me. And what he murmured that foggy september morning will live with me for the rest of my life.

"Rosaline's dead. Gang members...we don't really know what happened...but she was almost home when she was killed...almost home...I guess now she really is."

The words were there. He spoke English. But they made no sense. Quietly, I thanked him, and set the phone down. I did the only thing I could think to do. I sank to my knees, and lost it. Do you know what it feels like? The night I ask the girl I love to be my girlfriend, she's ripped from me. First I was devastated, then I got angry. Oaths of horrible vengeance screamed from my lips, wishing pain and suffering on her killers. Then I felt nothing, numb to the world. If only that had lasted. Guilt was next...this was my fault. I wasn't there. I let her walk home alone. Because of me, Rosaline was dead! Of course I didn't know what I would have done had I been there, but somehow I knew I could have done something! Shielded her, taken the bullet myself. I would have, I would have given everything for her. I wasn't there for her.

Life has a way of taking away everything from you, and then, when you don't think it could posssibly get any worse, it does. Her parents didn't know we were friends, they especially didn't know we were romantically involved, but they knew who I was. They knew I was a Latter-Day Saint. They despised my church, and I was forbidden from attending my friend's funeral. I never got to say goodbye to the first person I have ever loved, never had the chance to show her what she meant to me.

So far, only two people in my life knew about the incident. Leslie and Jeanna. I kept it a secret from everyone else. (I started dating Leslie soon after, more to distract myself than anything) I refused to talk about it, but people began to notice a change in my demeanor. I managed to blame it on my bad relations with my parents, and later on my failed relationship with Leslie. It was the pain of this loss that truly created the cynical jerk I became. I was consumed by grief, and keeping it secretly bottled up began to take its toll on me. I began having panic attacks. It ruined my relationship with my wife, because she drew other conclusions for my behavior, and I never trusted her enough to divulge. So I'm telling it now. There it is, the dirtiest little secret in the life of Ronald Lee Miller III.

And Rosaline, if you are somehow reading this, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. Sorry I couldn't protect you. Sorry I waited so long to tell you how much you meant to me. I did love you, and to an extent, I still do. And I miss you more than I can ever say...and I wrote this for you, the dedication to my book.

To Rosaline
This work is dedicated in your memory
in memory of the love and imagination you gave life
It is my hope that the wind will always lift you higher than the clouds
that the worlds you created will finally meet their queen
I hope, wherever you are, you are happy
you are still creating
and you remember how much I loved you
~Vincent Del Greco