A Poetic Retelling of an Unfortunate Romance

Laughter echoed through the partially deserted streets of Venice as Ella and Roscoe roamed the boardwalk late that Saturday night. They had spent their Saturday making shirts for Ella’s campaign and when they had finally finished, they went out for dinner at Piccolo, an Italian restaurant that was just off the boardwalk.

The restaurant wasn’t one that Ella had ever eaten at before, James and she had a love for Americanized Italian food which led them to dining at the Olive Garden but Piccolo was delicious, it was more authentic, simple and in a way the restaurant choice reflected Roscoe who was a very simple, authentic person that was honest and upfront about everything.

Ella loved that about Roscoe but what she also loved was that he wasn’t like James.

He didn’t do any drugs other than marijuana, he had a 3.7 GPA and he had plans for the future. Ella loved all of those things about Roscoe, she loved the fact that with him, she didn’t have to worry about drugs getting in the way; it was just easier with Roscoe and easy was something that Ella had spent months longing for.

The ocean’s cool breeze blew by Ella, making her involuntarily shiver. Roscoe noticed her shiver. He took it as an opportunity to bring her closer to him by wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

Ella smiled inwardly when she felt his arm wrap around her shoulder. She responded by stepping closer to his frame and wrapping her right arm around his midsection. Her fingertips brushed against the fabric of his leather jacket, making him shudder slightly.

Roscoe tenderly rubbed Ella’s shoulder as he turned his face to kiss the top of her head. He would have aimed for her lips, but their first official date had not yet ended and he didn’t want to seem too forward.

The kiss, so soft and innocent, made Ella break into a foolish grin. She was glad that Roscoe was several inches taller than her because if he had seen her smile, she would have felt like a complete tool.

“So what color’s your dress?” asked Roscoe.

Ella stopped walking and shot him an odd look. “Do you really want to know?”

“No,” he responded with a small laugh and a twinkle in his eyes. “Not really, but I have to, don’t I? I mean, you have to tell me so I can get a tux that matches and we can look pretty.”

“In that case, my dress, which I have yet to actually find, is going to be black.”

“How can you be sure if you haven’t fond it yet?”

“I'm sure because I refuse to wear any color other than black. I want to capture the essence of Old Hollywood glamour and the only way to do that is to wear a black dress, I'm not sure about the fabric, but I'm thinking about incorporating some lace but if I can’t find lace then I might just go with satin since black satin dresses always look really classy, ugh, I'm ranting again.” Her cheeks flooded with color. “Why do you always let me rant?”

“Because I like hearing you talk,” answered Roscoe honestly. “And when you start ranting, you get more passionate so, I like it when you rant even when I don’t have a clue as to what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Awe, even with you’re cursing, you’re quite the gentleman.”

“Of course I am that’s how my momma raised me.” Roscoe smirked.

“Well then I’ll have to congratulate your momma on doing such a fine job with you.” Ella pursed her lips together as if she were lost in deep thought. “Perhaps I’ll get her a balloon.”

“A balloon?” he shot her a quizzical look.

“Yeah,” Ella smiled sheepishly. “Nothing says good job like a balloon and also, balloons make everyone happy. Whenever I get a balloon I always get real giddy about it. Then I start parading around the house with the balloon wrapped around my wrist.”

“I used to do that when I was like five.”

“Why’d you stop?” asked Ella.

“Because, I don’t know, I guess I just grew up.”

“Growing up is no excuse to stop parading around with balloons. If anything, it’s a reason to parade around with balloons; it’ll remind you of simpler days gone by.”

“No offense Ella, but I'm already living in simpler days gone by,” he motioned to his clothes.

“Oh the ‘50’s,” stated Ella in a dreamy tone.

“The sociopolitical climate may have been horrible, but they had style.”

“That they did,” agreed Ella. “Though I'm personally fonder of the ‘60’s, that’s when I would’ve loved to have been alive, even though the odds of my living to see the ‘70’s would’ve been slim to none.”

Roscoe shot her a disbelieving look. “You wouldn’t have been that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Ella shook her head. “I can safely say that I would’ve immersed myself in the music scene and I would’ve made sure to make myself Jim Morrison’s favorite groupie, oh no, maybe I would’ve been Janis Joplin’s favorite groupie, either way I would’ve been with one of them and I would’ve been pounding hard at the bottles and the drugs.”

“You would’ve done Janis?” Roscoe scrunched his nose in distaste.

“What’s wrong with Janis?” Ella cocked her brow.

“Musically, nothing, physically, her face,” answered Roscoe.

“Perhaps she wasn’t the most aesthetically pleasing of women but I think that her soul makes up for it. If Janis wanted me, Janis would have me. She’s the only woman that I would be with and that’s saying something, because fish doesn’t agree with me.”

“Fucking Ella,” muttered Roscoe.

“What? I'm being serious! I'm honestly allergic to fish; you can ask my doctor, he’ll back me up on that.”

“I believe you,” laughed Roscoe. “But if you had to choose between Jim and Janis, which would you choose?”

“Tough choice, but I'm going to have to go with Jim. There’s something about a man gyrating in tight pants that just gets to me.” An urge suddenly struck Ella but she cast it aside, she had to remain cool. “So, who’s your old school dream girl? Is it a Hollywood beauty or a music star?”

“Hollywood beauty,” he answered.

“Marilyn?” asked Ella.

“Nah, she’s hot and all but I’ve always preferred Natalie Wood. She’s beautiful and classy but you could tell that she was a freak behind closed doors, like a good woman should be.”

“You and Ludacris have the same idea of what it takes to be a good woman.”

Roscoe burst into laughter. “Oh yeah, he said that in a song.”

“He did, it’s a lovely little song filled with the words ‘nasty girl’.”

“Those words sound weird coming from you.”

“If you hang out enough with me, you’ll realize that nothing sounds weird coming from me.”

“We’ll see about that,” Roscoe shot her a sly smirk.

“We will.” Ella rubbed her hands together.

“You get cold really easily, don’t you?”

Ella nodded. “Yeah, I'm a true Southern Californian that starts complaining about the cold when it goes under seventy.”

“Under seventy?” he shook his head in disbelief. “How can the sixties be too cold for you? That’s perfect weather.”

“The only reason you think that that’s perfect weather is because you were raised in North Dakota and weren’t spoiled from birth with sunny skies and warm temperatures like most Southern Californians are.”

“That is true.”

The pair lost themselves in conversation for another hour. Their conversation wasn’t stimulating or exciting, it was incredibly random and sometimes childish but they enjoyed one another’s company.

When they reached The Acosta home, Roscoe was still trying to decide whether or not he was going to kiss Ella but thankfully for him, Ella initiated a soft kiss on the lips which left him wanting more.

Roscoe pulled in for more but Ella kept her lips sealed, she was just giving him a taste.

“Night Roscoe,” muttered Ella against his lips.

“Night, Gabriella.” Roscoe cleared his throat. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” answered Ella before she walked inside.