ONE
How I Met Rose
In June of ’92, when the first bullet was shot in Bosnia, marking the beginning of an awful fucking war, I was in Montenegro. My parents had some inkling of the shit that was about to go down and took my brother and me away just in time.
Adjusting to a new life didn’t come easy to any of us. I suppose I had it the best; I was still young, and adapting to the new school and new friends wasn’t hard. My parents and older brother had a much tougher time, however. I remember when my mom got the job - her first job since we had moved. We were all as happy as could be. This not only meant that our financial situation would improve, but also that she would be able to blend into the new society and hopefully make friends.
Man, I wish she didn't get that job.
My mother’s new job was working as an advisor to the president of the Montenegrin Academy of Arts and Sciences. This was basically just a fancy name for an institution that deals with pushing culture into society. Mom enjoyed the work and had made some really good friends over the decade she worked there.
About ten years into working at this place, she made friends with a woman named Rose. It was strange to me, really; my mother was never one to make friends quickly, yet as soon as Rose started working at the academy, they became the best of friends. They spent an awful lot of time together. Every few days, Rose would stop by our house for a cup of coffee and some fresh gossip, a tradition native to all the Balkan countries.
I, personally, really liked Rose. I could tell you it was her personality or humor that made me look at her favorably, but no. No, the woman was just hot, plain and simple. Rose was about 5’6”, slender, and very pale. She had long black hair with black eyes that I’d get lost in, and her trademark bright red lipstick made her already white teeth gleam. Overall, she was a very captivating individual. I never really got to speak with her much, not that I even wanted to. She was a frequent visitor in my fantasies (hey, I was a puberty-stricken kid at the time), and I liked leaving it at that.
One day, when I was about seventeen, Rose came to our house for the usual routine of Turkish coffee and the latest gossip. I remembered being bored out of my mind at the time - in Montenegro, we used to have limits on Internet usage, and I would burn through mine within days.
Internetless (my word, ©), I decided to join Rose and Mom at the balcony and hear what was new in town. About twenty minutes into a conversation that was nearly unbearably boring for a teenager, Mom got up.
“I almost forgot,” she said, “I baked a cake yesterday! Rose, you must have a piece.”
“Well, alright, but just a little one. I gotta watch the figure, you know,” Rose responded, looking at me. Maybe she expected me to say she didn’t need to worry about losing weight, I don’t know.
As my mom left the balcony, an awkward silence took over. I stared at the ground, my brain working in overdrive, trying to think of a topic that would break this uncomfortable monotony. I looked over to Rose and noticed her smiling. This was strange since I hadn’t said a word to her since my mom left us alone. Then she turned to me. I immediately felt that something was… off.
“You ready?” is what I think she said. I can’t be sure because she said it in a voice so quiet, it was nearly impossible to hear.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
Rose tilted her head to the left. Her motions became extremely slow, almost as if she had suddenly become a puppet. Her smile had widened into an eerie Cheshire Cat grin.
“You ready to take it now?” she asked. Her voice had changed and reminded me of a very young girl’s. She spoke through her teeth, never opening her mouth.
“What?” I asked, starting to feel uncomfortable.
“You ready?” she asked again, as if I was supposed to know what the fuck she was talking about. She
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