"Curtis, this kid is wiggin'," Andy chortled. "Donnie's becoming a lady's man," he dramatically burst out. God, he was such a rambunctious person.


Curtis didn't make a sound as usual. He crinkled his nose into a disgusted face. I felt myself do the same.

"Andy, you shouldn't be talking. It's not like you ever liked anyone- beside your mom," I proudly threw back at him.

"I once was in love. It was two years ago, but then she gave me cooties and-"

"Then the whole class stopped talking to you for a week," I continued.

For the rest of lunch, Andy discussed our comic book. We were creating unique superheroes and villains to hopefully sell during lunch next month. Andy was ambitious. I'd never seen him want anything more than to make this. By the look in his eyes whenever he explained how Cyborg and Collosus deserved to die, I could tell that comic books were the only thing he liked to read.




I eventually stopped thinking about Rosemary. She became a lost memory because of the amount of time I spent making characters for our comic book. However, that changed when I went to my school's annual talent show where only Geeks who wanted to participate in school activities, the Preps who were the performers, and the Jocks who would come to only call out vicious names to the performers. I was ignoring every performer, until I heard the song "Don't Cry Out Loud" by Melissa Manchester. I used to have a grudge whenever I heard that song. But behind the microphone and the piano, was a girl with dirty blond hair and green eyes that were now almost conspicuous. I learned that Rosemary was in the other half of my school- the high school side.

For the next few days, I couldn't stop thinking about what Andy said. The thought of actually liking a girl felt unimaginable. But Rosemary wasn't like Mary Joe, Heather, or the other girls in my grade. Rosemary looked more mature and like an outcast, which intrigued me. She seemed lonely even though she had many friends. I was quite charming back then. I wore a side-swept hairstyle with my brown hair, and I stayed in style as I always found a way to pull off a suede vest. But my looks never received recognition from her. Days passed like months and Rosemary still hadn't noticed me even though I sat on the front steps after school. But then on the day of the summer dance, she finally did. She was with three other girls as they were waiting for someone to pick them up. They were all dressed in white knee-high dresses while they waited by the edge of the sidewalk and smoked cigarettes. She looked down at me.

"Hey, kid. You want one," she asked in a sharp voice that demanded attention.

I refused to take it, but after awhile I wished I did. I thought that maybe she would've thought of me differently if I took one.

Out of all of them, she stood out. Her hair was up in a ponytail, revealing facial features that were structured perfectly. Then something under her nose, pushed her cherry cheeks up. I always thought that dimples were just weird holes caved into cheeks. I learned the truth. She was my type. I never knew I had a type.



As the person who they were waiting for pulled up in a Gremlin, they all jumped in like a bunch of wild laughing birds. Rosemary jumped into the seat next to the driver. He had tan skin and long dark brown hair that reached just above his shoulders. She leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. I wished I was him.

That night, my mom kept questioning me about why I was acting strange. She kept forcing me to eat all my dinner. I could tell that she was angry. Whenever she was, she would wear her hair in a high bun. I tried to eat, but it didn't taste the way that it used to. I admit that I was obsessed with Rosemary. I couldn't stop thinking about her. She was like a mystery.

"He's in love, Barbara," my father said suddenly as he raised his head from the food.

"In love? It's not healthy to be in love at such a young age," she snapped. "I'm taking him to the doctor tomorrow. He's only twelve, Charles."

"My little boy's growin' up," my dad grinned as his thick mustache curled over the sides of his upper lip.

"But look at him. He's as skinny as a girl- all bones. He's not eating one bit of my food and look at his eyes. Looks like he hasn't slept in months. No child of mine is..."

I spaced out for a few minutes. She was talking too fast for me to understand.

"He'll just have to learn to grow out of it- just as I did." That was the end of it.

Later that night, my dad startled me. He bent his head toward my ear and whispered to me to quiet down. I didn't understand what he meant until I realized my face was wet and my pillow was soaked. It was as if I was getting so used to crying at night that I was beginning to think that it was all a dream. Sometimes my stomach hurt so much that I couldn't sleep. Sometimes I hated her for that.

"So who's this Rosemary you've been screamin' about for these past few days?"

I had no reply. He stood up from the ground. The light from my window reached the left side of his face. His true age was showing. He looked somehow less of the stressed and tough dad I recognized.

"You're going to get better, son. You are."

He was wrong. I didn't get better.

"Charles, he dropped nearly five pounds," my mother cried out two weeks later. Her face was a bright red. I wasn't sure if it was from anger or sadness.

My dad didn't reply. He stood next to the scale and was speechless. He lifted his shoulders, crossed his arms, and stared into my eyes long and hard for what felt like five minutes. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Mom stared at the numbers on the scale.

"Eighty," she muttered to herself. "Charles, I'm taking him to the doctor whether you like it or not. He's sick!"

I glanced at the mirror that stood behind me. My ribs pressed against my chest and my cheekbones were slightly more noticeable. I looked a bit different, but it wasn't such a dramatic change.

I leaned my shoulders back a bit too dramatically, and said, "Mom, no," in my father's voice.





"I'm not going to the doctor's office." I shook my head assuring her, but mostly assuring myself.

It didn't work.

"Right now, young man. Throw on some presentable clothes. I'll be out in five."

I stood my ground. "There's nothing wrong with me, you're just over-exaggerating. Like what dad says I'm- I'm having these weird feelings that I just have to get over."

I'm practically a grown man, I wanted to say. I had a few hairs growing on my armpits and I swore I saw a hair moving its way out from above my upper lip. Besides, it was just a few pounds that slipped; I was sure it would grow back on.

She thought about it for a while, but surprisingly she nodded and made me promise I would eat her food. But, a few months later, my dad decided that we were going to sleep over his brother's house. Each year on Christmas Eve, we would go to Uncle Mike's house, have dinner, and sleep over. Before we made it out the house, I felt my head get lighter at each step I took. My face felt wet and my hands felt clammy. Whenever I tried to wipe the dampness off my hands, it came back again. Everything in front of me danced in spirals. It amused me how much it looked like the ones in the movies where the character is about to faint. I thought I was just getting sleepy until I felt my whole weight drop to the ground. The last thing I remember is watching my mother's small feet run toward my head. I woke up in the hospital to my mother crying as if she couldn't breathe. I felt my face get sweaty and the only thing that I could say was "I'm sorry."

The doctor then trudged into the room with my father. He looked down at the papers in his folders and lifted his head up slowly.

"I'm sorry Mr. and Mrs. Lamby, but your son fainted because he was dehydrated and he's lacking protein." He explained what healthy foods I should start eating to get more vitamins and what we could do to stop me from "hurting" myself.


My parents stood with blank faces. I felt my face get warmer and something crawl up my throat that was hard to swallow. I wiped my wet eyes and tried to get their eye contact. They couldn't bare to look at me.

From that day on, I was trying really hard to force food down my throat. I looked like a chicken whenever I tried to swallow. I felt dead, clueless, and useless, and food was my only reminder that I was still breathing and I still didn't have the guts to talk to Rosemary. But finally, I gained three whole pounds after forcing my mouth open with one hand, and stuffing the food into my mouth with the other hand, without making myself throw up. One night Andy saved me- I once thought. I was sitting at the kitchen table when I heard the telephone ring. That ring changed everything. After pleading with my mom, she said I could " go to Andy's house." She saw this as a sign of recovery. I still wonder if I hadn't gone that day, maybe everything would've changed.

"Make sure you eat something," she said in a weak voice.

"What took you so long? Needed to lay a grass?" Andy snorted with his goofy laugh. His brother, Trip, was driving his Volkswagen Beetle with his girlfriend, Heather, in the front seat. Andy, Curtis, and I sat in the second row. We never admitted it, but we felt kind of cool hanging out with older kids.

"Where we going?"

"The Drive-in at Dairy Queen."

It felt like every other weekend. Dairy Queen was infested with kids from ages twelve to eighteen who either bought something to eat, danced to "Angie" by the Rolling Stones on the Jukebox or songs by Cyndi Lauper when the Valley girls came in, or showed off their car and girlfriend in the parking lot. There were also the stoners who would just lay on the grass as they smoked grass. Sammy, the cashier, would always yell at us for not "using adequate manners."


Everyone had two hamburgers and Trip's girlfriend had low fat ice cream. I managed to swallow down a hamburger and fries.For the first time I felt like my stomach was going to explode instead of crumble up and die. Heather kept ruining the moment as she told stories about the latest gossip and used "like" after every word. We eventually started having a good time and ignored her as we were trading jokes about the Jocks out there showing off their cars.

When we stepped out, I looked back at the parking lot to look at the Jocks. I looked around to see if Rosemary was there, but was relieved when I didn't see her.

"Hey, is that Rosemary over there?" Curtis asked as he pointed toward the grass.

On it was a bunch of guys and a few girls sitting against or around the trees. Next to one was Rosemary, who was being hugged by the guy with the tan skin and long hair who was in front of my building. He was making out with her as she held on to a small white stick that looked like it was burning between her middle and pointer finger. After I realized what it was, it made my stomach feel even worse. Before I could hold it down, it all came rushing out of my mouth along with what I realized were tears coming out of my eyes. In embarrassment I wiped my tears away and my mouth as I told Trip to just drive me home. I walked up the stairs and told myself, I have to do it. I ran up the stairs and slowly opened the door and searched for my bike. I glanced towards the living room and saw my parents cuddling on the couch as they watched the television. I almost second guessed myself about leaving my parents, but I slowly searched for money and found ten dollars. I headed downstairs and down Lawrence Street on my bike. I hated Rosemary then and I wished I never met her. All I could do was think about her and that was the most dreadful feeling.

"I wish I'd never see you again," I whispered as if she was in front of me. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I-" I choked on the last words as I felt more tears fill my eyes. I looked up to the sky and thought, It must be really late. I looked to the right of me. It was a tree that caught my attention. It had ripe apples that hung along its limbs. It's almost spring, I told myself. Just then, I felt the wind get stronger and my bike pick up speed. Before I could stop myself, my bike ran over an apple and sliced it though the middle, as it left the bike shifting to the side, as well as me. I slid onto the ground and tried to reach for the bike, but instead I missed as my head flew onto the ground. I heard a loud Crackkk! I was confused at first, but then realized it came from my mouth. All I saw was red. I had never felt more scared before. I realized that I couldn't survive on my own. I ran five blocks back home.

The next day, the dentist had put in a filling next to the remainder of my buck tooth.

"You're a lucky one," he smiled.

Days passed and I didn't see Rosemary. I hadn't heard of her until our neighbor, Mrs. Gibler, told us that on the night I went to Dairy Queen, she tried to kill herself.

"She swallowed down a bottle of pills," she said through rotten teeth. "They found marijuana in her body, too."

Months went by and I still didn't see Rosemary.

"Donnie, I need to tell you something," my mother said as we were sitting around the dining room table. She placed her hand over her stomach and smiled at dad. "You're going to have a brother or sister. So your father and I decided -"

"That we're going to move to Staten Island in a new house. We bought it for a cheaper price and there's plenty of room for all of us," my dad said.

I felt my heartbeat in my ears, which made it hard for me to understand him. We're moving?, I thought. I didn't know what to say or think. Living somewhere that was not Lawrence Street, frightened me.

I never saw Rosemary again. I never understood what those ridiculous love songs by Survivor or Foreigner meant. But just then, while sitting in the car with boxes, I found myself understanding. It was a terrible thing that makes my stomach hurt, my heartbeat grow faster, and the significant other the only thing I can think about. She was beautiful, dangerous, and like a rare specimen that when you see once, you'd want to keep it.

After we finished moving, my father bent down and whispered into my ear, "Your first is always the hardest, son. It kills you to move on, but you eventually do." He stood up and slowly walked into his new room.

I never understood what he meant until years later. I walked into his room, too, and hugged my mother.

"Her name is going to be Sophie," she said.
----------------------------------

"That's me," Sophie squealed.

I nodded as we both looked into the box. In it was two candy wrappers, a cassette tape, a comic book, and a receipt.