Rosie in Bloom

Written by Uncle Pan

It is the beginning of summer. In Houston this means one hot, muggy day piled on top of another, beginning in early April and running through October. Houston really became livable only with the dawning of the Age of Home Air Conditioning. During the daytime the attic fans that preceded AC simply stirred up the hot air, insuring that indoors you stayed well heated. Only in the cool of the night did attic fans offer a modicum of relief. Daytime relief was found only in the outdoors in the shade where if you were lucky you just might happen upon a breeze. And preferably you would seek that breeze with your lips wrapped around a cold glass of ice tea. People survived those sultry days by dressing in as few clothes as they could get away with and drinking lots of liquids, lemonade, ice tea, or what have you. I grew up in those days, somehow I managed to live through them, and now I am living more or less happily ever after in this New Age of the Home Air Conditioner.

My name is Bert. Well Bertrand, but no one but my late mother ever called me Bertrand. Bert Coleman. I'm forty-nine, on the edge of the great 5-0, and in a month I skate over that edge. I was married for twenty years, but my wife died of breast cancer last year. I was quite broken up about it. It just doesn't seem fair for such beauteous and nurturing mammaries to be so susceptible to so terrible a scourge. We as a society have to be doing something terribly wrong these days to have such a killer running amok.

The door bell just rang. Glancing out the window I spotted my neighbor, little Rosie Walker, who lives across the street and two houses down, standing at the door. Rosie is a delightful eleven year old, she grew up coming over here, mostly to see my wife Penny, but also sometimes to see me. After Penny passed away Rosie was an incredible help in seeing me through that god awful period, not by what she did, she didn't do anything in particular, but just by being herself, a diversion and a reminder that there are still good things in this life. It wasn't all hopeless. Being eleven Rosie's body is caught in the throes of puberty with all its trappings, chemical changes, pimples, new growths and shape sculpting going full bore. I'm always glad to see Rosie, she's a breath of fresh air. I opened the door with a flourish.

"Hi, mister Coleman. Would it be alright if I come in for awhile? My mom is going to the beauty parlor, and she'll be there the whole afternoon, and I just hate the beauty parlor. I don't like the smells, their magazines are stone age, and to me the idea that you can buy beauty, or have it shampooed and permed in is completely nuts. Mom said if I could find a place to stay I wouldn't have to go with her." I guess you can tell by that little diatribe that this kid is not the least bit ordinary, she's fiercely original.

"Sure, Rosie. Come on in and make yourself at home. Should I call your mom and tell her you're safely ensconced?" "Naw, she was watching from our front porch when you let me in. She knows I'm here. Are you busy right now?"

"Not particularly. What can I do for you?"

"Well, I have a few questions. About growing up, and my body and stuff."

"Hey, what about your mom? She's the one who's supposed to answer questions about growing up and your changing body. In the first place, she is female as are you. That means you're both gender friendly, having been anointed with similar genitalia."

"Well," she grinned, "that's all very true, but mom is completely blocked when it comes to things like the human body and stuff. She just can't, or won't deal with it. She's so funny. She suggested I take my questions to Mrs. Merriwell, who's my Sunday School teacher. Only Mrs. Merriwell is worse than mom in talking about personal stuff. I would ask my biology teacher, Mrs. Wynter, but it's summer and school's out, and I don't have her home number. I know you're a man and all that, but you've had girl friends and you were married almost twice as long as I've been on this earth. You must have learned some things in all those years."

"You're a little cutie, Rosie. You know exactly how to handle me, with kid gloves dipped in honey. Okay, I'll proceed with the understanding that I'm a man and not really qualified to advise a girl rapidly blooming into maidenhood, but aside from that qualifier I'll do the best I can and be as honest with you as I know how to be. You can go ahead and ask your questions."

"Good. First off why do my little boobies itch every now and then, and what can I do about them?" ......(cont)

.......Read the entire Rosie in Bloom ....written by Uncle Pan.
Copyright © 2007-8 Uncle Pan. ALL Rights Reserved




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This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


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