The Coming of Rosie the Fox
1
Peter had a friend, named Mike, from his past days as a rough and tumble young man, drinking and having hours-long conversations with other artists. Eventually I met all of these men and Wow what a group–no problems with mixed races, genders, individual opinions on art. They all drank heavily. So when I entered the picture the group could immediately see that I was “different” from the few women with whom they hung out. I’m not a drinker–this isn’t coming from any feelings of morality–my system doesn’t handle alcohol well. I was more shy then and I didn’t talk much. But on Saturday afternoons we’d go down into central Philadelphia to their bar/art gallery and I liked just standing around and watching and listening. Mesmerized by the freedom, the loud R & B music they had playing all afternoon, and everyone dancing, not always with a partner… You just stood up and danced.
Then I got pregnant with Michael and as my belly swelled these men centered on me. I was a goddess to them. They sat me up on a high stool and wanted to touch my belly. Now a lot of women would hate this, I am sure. But I’m not like those women. I loved how reverential they were to me; they made me feel like a queen of fertility. These men were not like tamed animals, following all of society’s rules; they had a raw quality about them that I truly loved to see and feel. Also they looked at Peter with more respect than ever. Here is “Pete” who had been so wild, drinking everybody else under the table, having actually found a “good woman,” bought a house, and was going to have a child of his own Very cool indeed. What does this have to do with “Rosie?”
lgmwriting 