Rosaline looked out the window, a book in hand. She watched as raindrops seemed to run fingers gingerly across the glass. She watched the water coalesce and felt herself reminiscing about a time in her life that she wanted to relive and yet wanted to repress from her memories forever.
It was her senior year of high school. She could still imagine the clothes she would wear: her jeans and spunky black boots with her typical flannel. She could still feel her huge, red rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. The way her blonde hair seemed to be more alive and free, as if it relished in waltzing through a breeze. She could still feel the cold of water along her toes as she dipped her feet in the lake.
Most importantly, Rosaline could remember Daniel. Not Dan, or Danny. Daniel. Every syllable seemed to feel sweet on her tongue, just as his lips felt like fireworks against her own. She could still see his black hair, the way it was tinged brown when it caught a spark of sunshine. She could almost smell him, a fresh, crisp smell that haunted her through the years. It seemed to haunt her nose, yet she could never fathom to explain it to another soul. She could still feel the way his arms would wrap around her, or see that goofy smile that made his face light up. She could still see the way he scrunched his nose when he put on her glasses. She could still hear his voice.
“Rosie,” he said. “You’re doing your reading thing.”
“Does it surprise you?” she asked. “I like reading.”
“You should write, then,” he said. “I know you like writing. You should write a book,  and then you could read it.”
“If I already know what’s going to happen, it sort of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” she asked, turning her head to look at him. His brown eyes were so friendly and warm that they seemed to be made of melted chocolate. His head rested against the library shelf, where they frequented when they wanted to avoid teachers who may or may not have had something against them.
“Debate team has really changed you,” he sighed forlornly as he leaned in for a kiss, just as Mrs. Drandbury walked by.
“Daniel! Rosie! I thought you were better than this!” the old woman squeaked. “You two, get out of this library and stop all your--all your kissing! This is a school!” she cried as the couple shamefully walked out of the library, holding hands as they smiled at each other mischievously.
Rosaline looked out the window to the gray sky, as if it contained answers. The rain was more of a drizzle now, and she felt herself being tugged back through time, through drizzle until it became pouring rain.
“This was a stupid idea!” Rosie squeaked, holding her jacket over her head. “Come on, let’s get back to my house!”
Instead, Daniel just looked around him, wonder and awe sparkling in his eyes. His hair was already soaking, a soggy black mass dripping across his forehead. His tan skin was strikingly beautiful against the grayness engulfing them.
At that moment, he grabbed her and began spinning her around. Rosie began complaining that it was seriously raining, when he kissed her. Her heart had stopped; it was so unexpected and beautiful. Suddenly, everything was right. Suddenly, being soaked in gallons of water was okay. Suddenly, waltzing and spinning in the rain on a playground in a neighborhood was completely perfect and wonderful and new. The autumn rainfall was heavy, yet even through the veil of water she could see him perfectly; his eyes, his smile, his flushed cheeks. That day, she learned that the rain is quite beautiful, and it soon became her favorite type of weather.
That day, she received her first kiss.
Rosaline touched her red lipstick stained lips, puffy and soft. She wanted so much for Daniel’s lips to touch hers, just once more. She leaned her head against the window, feeling cold seep up her skull.
“Of course this is the one day I forget a hat,” Rosie stammered, shaking with cold as she pushed blonde hair behind her most likely frostbitten ears.
“Rookie mistake,” Daniel smirked, flashlight in hand. The sound of snow crunching under his boots echoed throughout the quiet night. He dropped his backpack on the ground next to him, heaving up the blanket comprised of snow-pants-like material. He plopped it on the ground, and quickly made work of unfurling his scarf from around his neck.
“I can solve your hypothermia problem,” he said as they both sat down. He wrapped the scarf around her ears like a bonnet. Rosie lasted one second before laughing and taking it off, deciding to lean against him for warmth instead. She pulled her thick winter jacket tighter around her just as he hooked his arm around her. She let out a sigh of contentment, watching as her breath floated in the air like a cloud.
“I don’t see anything,” he said impatiently, swiveling his head toward the sky. “Everything looks dark.”
“You have to let your eyes adjust,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.. After moments of comfortably nestling against each other, they watched as stars began to bloom into existence above them.
“There’s Orion, right?” Daniel asked, pointing toward a triangle of stars.
“No, you idiot,” she giggled, taking his hand in hers as she directed his fingers to the belt of stars. Her heart was thruming violently in her chest as she held his hand in hers. She may have even been shaking.
“Oh, I see it now,” he whispered wistfully. He looked around once more. “There, that’s Draco, right?”
“Nice!” Rosie beamed. She smiled at him, looking at him next to her. At that point, she had never been the one to initiate their kissing. Although everything was dark, she could still see his lips.
“Hey, Daniel?” When he turned, she leaned into him, kissing him softly and shyly. She felt his lips open as he let out a laugh. She felt the way he pulled a hand to her hair, pulling her face closer to his. Everything around them was quiet, yet there seemed to be a symphony of beautiful harmonies wrapping around them as they quietly, silently, beautifully, kissed under the ubiquitous stars.
Rosaline pulled away from the window, determined to focus on the now. No, thinking this much about him could result in another disaster. Another night of mourning and agonizingly screaming into a pillow, her makeup smearing across the white sheets. Another night of holding a notebook in her hand, wanting to write a different future where things were better and fixed and wonderful. Any more thoughts of him could send her into a night of nostalgia, feeling stuck in a year she wants to disappear from. Yet she couldn’t stop the steady stream of memories that were so heavily cemented into her thoughts that they seemed to always float around her.
“Oh, that was poetic,” Daniel commented. “I liked the part where you said memories were like cement. Symbolic. Nice.”
“Okay, but was there anything that you didn’t like?” Rosie asked. “Like, something that sounded weird or awkward? Constructive criticism is okay, just so you know.”
“I loved it! What do you want me to say? ‘Rosie, your poetry sucks. I’m going to break up with you and spend the rest of my life with Beyonce. Her poetry is A+, a thousand times better than yours.’ ”
“I said you could do constructive criticism, not degrading, destructive criticism. Maybe I’ll break up with you instead.”
“I am afflicted!” Daniel mock gasped. “And I was really starting to enjoy strawberry lip gloss,” he whispered as he leaned in to get a taste.
She abruptly pulled away. “Sorry,” she muttered, furiously scribbling words and notes. “I have an idea!”
“Eureka!” Daniel shrieked, hugging Rosie and shaking her violently. “She has an idea! She has an idea!”
“Daniel Esquera!” Mrs. Dranbury snapped, her eyes behind her thin rimmed glasses glowing with rage. “If you and Miss Antoine continue to disrupt everyone in this library, I will be forced to make you leave and not come back for the rest of the semester.”
“I’m sorry,” Rosie said quickly, looking down at the ground as her cheeks lit with warmth. Mrs. Dranbury stomped off, and she was able to see the eyes of other students watching them. Some gave her mocking stares and supressed laughs, while others just looked pissed. Daniel turned her head so they could face each other.
“Don’t mind them.”
I do though, Rosaline thought, as though her thoughts could transcend time and be voiced in those moments when Daniel spoke.
The woman stood up from her spot, pacing around her apartment. Stop, she thought to herself. Don’t do this to yourself. Thinking like this only ends in the one thought that she wanted to erase. Instead, she picked up a notebook and a pen and began. The memory was inevitable, and she had to face it with her favorite companions. She felt August sunshine on her face once more.
“It’s so peaceful out here,” Rosie said, swinging her toes in the water. The wood underneath her was searing hot under her legs and bikini.
“It’s so hot,” Daniel groaned, falling backwards. “Come on, we can race in the water.”
“I’m warning you, I’m a spectacular swimmer,” Rosie said seriously as she looked at him.
“Oh, challenge accepted,” Daniel smirked, standing up. Rosie turned around to watch their families talking amongst themselves on the Esquera family’s patio. The smell of hamburgers was wafting around them. The very essence of summer surrounded them; swimming in the lake would top it off perfectly.
“Okay, fine,” she relented. “We’ll swim until we reach that little inlet over there.”
Rosie watched as he gulped. “Wow, intense much?”
“Very,” Rosie smirked as she dipped into the water. It reach her thighs from there, and was a sweet sort of cold.
“Alrighty, Rosie,” he said. “You asked for it. One, two, three…”
Before saying go, he dived into an all out freestyle. Rosie squeaked, throwing her arms and legs into overdrive as she thrashed to get there. She swam past him, water spraying up around them like the time they kissed in the autumn rain. She laughed with joy, envisioning the following autumn, where they could kiss and dance in the rain again. She throw in some extra power, flashing by him in a torrent of frothing water.
She heard a screech behind her, and knew it was her little sister. She was probably rooting for Daniel, who had always been her favorite in their group of family friends. She was almost there. She could make it to that strip of land, come on, come on.
Her knees brushed against ground. She winced as she stood up, panting, holding her arms up victoriously.
“Take that, Daniel-”
Years later, Rosaline could still feel every emotion that seized her in that moment.
Rosie could only register shock.
The girl, only eighteen years old, with loving eyes and a bright heart for a boy, watched as Daniel began sinking.
“Daniel!” She managed to sputter. She wanted to race out there, help him. She wanted to drag him to land. She wanted to watch as he coughed water, throwing an arm over his flushed face as he accepted the fact that he lost.
Mrs. and Mr. Esquera began sluggishly running through the water, screaming. Rosie was too far to do anything if her legs would work.
Daniel was in the middle. He was still struggling to reach Rosie, throwing his arms around him viciously, but she watched him as he tried to say something. Nothing came out. Yet years later, Rosaline realized that he wasn’t saying “Help” or “Move” or “I’m dying.” He mouthed something so familiar to his lips that it was instinctual. “Rosie.”
Rosie watched in horror as he sank under the water. His parents had barely even made it one quarter of the way. He was too far from either of them.
He was gone.
Rosaline watched these memories flash behind her closed eyelids. She knew them too well; she had confronted them many times already. Yet every time they were like that fresh wound once more.
After calling the police and watching her parents search for the body, Rosie couldn’t take it anymore. She had puked in the water. No one screamed in rage at her or paid her any attention. That felt worse; she should have taken a scolding or should have been thrashed back and forth. It was her fault, wasn’t it?
She may have been screaming at the top of her lungs, because soon enough her father had grabbed her, soaking, asking her what happened. The words splashed out of her messily just like her vomit did. She doubted her father had understood a morsel of what she said, but he eventually gave up and began bringing her back via the Esquera’s boat. She felt as if they might be over his body at any given moment. She began to register what was happening, and felt tears falling. Her throat was already raw and painful.
Rosaline felt that familiar rush of tears as she remember the next few blur of hours.
Rosie sat in the police station. It had been maybe an hour before they found him. She looked up at the flickering ceiling lights, counting the dead bugs within when the officers came. They introduced themselves, yet their names never stuck in her memory. They had a paper bag with them, taking out his things: the clothes he had stripped before swimming, and his phone. Locked, possibly forever.
They described him needing an autopsy. Rosie could only think, Get him out of there. He’s trapped, and he’s alive, and he’ll be back, because in no conceivable universe could Daniel Esquera be dead. The idea of doing an autospy, of spilling his things out of a paper bag only made things more unreal.
The entire time Mrs. Esquera was weeping and bawling. It was such raw emotion that everyone else who had been able to control themselves began to cry, too. The drive back home was lonely and quiet, the idea of a dead Daniel floating unspoken around them.
Rosie wasn’t able to sleep that night.
“Mom?” she whispered, going into the living room. Her mom and dad were there on the couch, talking quietly. They perked up when Rosie came into view.
“Honey,” her mother cooed a second before Rosie broke down between her parents, screaming and weeping. That night, the three of them didn’t go to sleep until 4 in the morning.
The next day it rained. The next day was full of ditching obligations. The next day was full of torrents of pain. The next day was the first day without Daniel. It worse than she could have ever imagined.
Because the Esquera family was Catholic, they held a Novena. Mrs. Esquera came late, racked with pain and unable to even talk. Mr. Esquera didn’t even come.
Eyes occasionally flicked to Rosie. These were all families that she knew; families she had grown up with. Yet she never realized what a tragedy would do to all of them. Everyone ranged from either a few tears and a sniffle, to dissolving into uncontrollable bawling. Rosie didn’t understand how they even managed to make it through the prayers.
The next day was the visit at the funeral home.
The place was painfully quiet. Rosie knew that if Daniel were there, he would be shouting things at random to disturb the silence. But the point was that Daniel wasn’t there, and he never would be again.
Rosie watched as her parents comforted the Esqueras. Mrs. Esquera was still bawling; her eyes were red and puffy from tears, contrast to her husband who seemed to have mastered the art of holding it together. As the couple signed forms, brought out clothes for their dead son to wear, Mr. Esquera even managed to make a joke. Rosaline couldn’t remember what he said, but she remembered the way that Mrs. Esquera’s voice, although broken, could still manage a laugh.
Rosie needed to practice that.
The funeral the next day was unfathomably devastating. Rosie saw May, her best friend, and hugged her and didn’t let go for minutes. She knew that May was crying, too, and their mourning was like a harmony of despair.
Rosie fell in line to go to his coffin. Mrs. Esquera hugged her tightly.
“It’s okay. He’s okay now.”
Rosaline remembered the agony of approaching the coffin. It was clouded with white flowers and blue ribbon. No one that young should have to approach her best friend and lover’s grave. No one that young should have to see the body, still and cold and blue in the lips. Rosie kneeled and began weeping, shaking with tears. Her hands were folded in prayer, but she wasn’t praying. She was whispering: Daniel, I’m sorry. Daniel, I love you. Daniel, come back.
Daniel didn’t hear her.
Rosie liked to imagine that maybe he really was there. That he was right next to her, looking at her with a goofy smile, pulling an arm around her and telling her to cheer up. She wanted the hands that touched her shoulder to be his as he prepared to kiss her. Instead, it was Mrs. Esquera, one hand over her mouth as she watched the tragedy. Mr. Esquera walked out of the funeral home.
Rosie took one last look at Daniel. Black hair, tan skin, closed eyes. His chest wasn’t moving. He was wearing a black blazer over a white button up and blue tie. His hands were folded over his chest. He was so still and so unlike Daniel.
Whiserping one last goodbye, she sprinted away, out into the open.
The August humidity was thick around her. Rosie smoothed her black dress as she walked towards Mr. Esquera, looking towards the horizon.
“Mr. Esquera?” Rosie asked carefully. He turned to her; his usually happy face was wrinkled with pain and age. “I’m sorry.”
Mr. Esquera chuckled, puffing a cigarette. “I am too. I can’t...I can’t bear to see my son like that. That’s not him in there. I want to remember him alive, not a corpse. That’s why I can’t be in there. That’s why I can’t look at him. I want to remember him when he was alive.”
Rosaline, long years later, held a hand to her mouth as she began crying. The rain seemed to be unrelenting yet comforting, like a long lost friend visiting from that time when she was kissed.
Rosaline only realized now how right Mr. Esquera had been.
Her most cherished memories were the ones where everything was perfect.
“That sounds cheesy,” Daniel said, picking a piece of grass between his fingers. “But I kinda like it, Rosie. It embodies the senior class and whatnot.”
“I just want to capture it perfectly,” Rosie said, crossing out line after line. “I want people to feel it when they read it. I want it to be real, and right now is the perfect time: our last day of high school.”
“You’ll get it. After all, you have a lifetime ahead of you,” Daniel said, nudging her playfully. “We’ll go to NYU together, and I can listen to your poetry every day. I’ll go to your dorm and we’ll hang out. In the meantime, I want to just live the...now.”
“Deep, man,” Rosie giggled, snuggling up closer to him. “But you’re right.”
The two sat and watched the horizon. It was the beginning of something new, but also the end of something old. It was the end of a life that they knew. As they watched clouds float by and the sky change from shades of orange and red to wisps of purple, they reminisced, but only about the good things. After all, the bad things in life are the things that make you grow, but the good things in life are the things that shape who you are. The good things in life, to some extent, matter even more.
So as twenty three year old Rosaline wiped her tears, she pulled out her notebook. She remembered the time that Daniel encouraged her to write a novel, and so she would. It would be about a wonderful love and life, and a wonderful boy unlike any other. Maybe she could visit his grave and place a copy right next to it, or possibly even read a little to him. He would like that.
A part of her hoped that maybe, one day, Daniel wouldn’t be a memory of a coffin. He would be a memory of dancing in the rain. He would be a memory of libraries and unnecessary scoldings. He would be a memory of kisses and hugs and starlight. He would a memory of a boy, more alive than others.