Rosarita and I met on a warm summer day on the hill where we both lived in the countryside a few miles north of Rome. I was on my way to play in the caves that were about a half mile from my home when I saw what appeared to be a young girl dressed like a nun running around in her yard. Something about her caught my attention and I stopped to look. She snuck behind one of the walls of her house and hid for a few seconds and then slowly peeked out around the corner to see if I was still there.
The minute she looked around the corner and saw me waiting for her, she disappeared and then poked her head out once more very slowly from around the corner of the house. I was totally amused by now so when she reappeared for the third time, I waved and said ciao. Realizing I was onto her, she made a mad dash for the other side of the house and disappeared for good. I went onto the caves and played for a couple of hours but kept thinking about the girl in the nun's outfit.
As I walked back home along the dirt road in front of the villa where I'd seen Rosarita playing, I saw a man standing in the yard watering his roses and stopped to have a chat. I introduced myself and asked if that was his daughter I saw earlier and asked if she was she going to become a nun. He laughed and said, "Yes, that's my daughter Rosarita and no, she's not going to become a nun - she just likes to dress up like one." He asked me if I wanted to meet her and I told him I'd like that very much. So he unlocked the gate and let me in and I followed him into the house where he introduced me to Rosarita who was sitting in the living room still dressed in her nun's outfit.
Rosarita's shyness seemed to have disappeared by now and we took to each other without a moment's hesitation. She asked me if I wanted to hear her play the piano so we went upstairs to the piano room where she removed the frock she was wearing and proceeded to wow me with her playing. I too had recently begun studying piano and took my turn at showing off for her, even though I was nowhere near as good as she was at that point. Minutes later we were both sitting at the piano playing a duet of Petula Clark's "Downtown." Mostly however, it was Rosarita dominating the keyboard with me trying to squeeze in a note here and there as I could.
I'll never forget the sound of Rosarita singing Downtown while accompanying herself at the piano. She had a big, strong voice and she wasn't afraid to use it. I'm sure we must have driven everyone around us crazy for years because every time we were at the piano together I made Rosarita sing Downtown. No question about it, that was our song.
I know for sure that I'd never met anyone in my life at that point who was as much fun as Rosarita and our time together was always filled with lots of music and laughter. We became inseparable almost from the day we met and forty years later we can still make each other laugh like nobody else can. Our days as kids there in the idyllic setting of the Roman countryside were filled with all kinds of adventures that went on year after year as we both grew into young teenagers.
It was only recently that I learned that Rosarita had continued dressing up in a nun's outfit for several years after we met, eventually finding a girlfriend who would do it with her. The two of them would wander into nearby neighborhoods where no one knew them and pretend to be real nuns - calling some to repentance and blessing others. Rosarita's flare for drama has always burned brightly and nowhere was it more evident than in her alter-ego nun personality.
Sometimes we put on shows for our families and friends and staged them in an unused lower room of Rosarita's villa. Our audiences seemed to be reluctant to sit still and watch us carry on, but Rosarita was a very convincing stage master and wouldn't take no for answer when the invitation was extended to come and watch us perform.
Both Rosarita's parents and mine gave us complete freedom to be together as often and for as long as we wanted to be. So except for when we were in school, Rosarita and I were always together. On Sundays we would both attend the Mormon services that my mom held in our villa and then Rosarita and I would make the trek down our hill and up another to the Catholic church where she was a parishioner. It didn't occur to me until many years later how odd it was to be attending both Mormon and Catholic services all in the same day. For us, it was just being together because we were best friends.
I don't remember for sure when things became romantic between us as it just kind of evolved out of our friendship. Maybe the romance had always been there because I do remember us kissing a lot and at one point even investigating each other on a more intimate level. The latter took place in broad daylight in the middle of a dirt road somewhere not too far from our homes. It was all very innocent - we both just wanted to know what each other looked like so we stood there in the middle of the road and pulled our pants down and showed each other what was what. I remember thinking, "Oh, OK," then shrugging my shoulders and pulling down my own pants so that she could take a look. I don't remember feeling any embarrassment - I was just curious to know what a girl looked like down there and Rosarita was happy to oblige my curiosity.
Our friendship grew to the point that when my family decided to move back to the States, Rosarita and I couldn't bear the thoughts of being separated and cooked up one elaborate scheme after another so that we could stay together. Plan A was quite simple really. I had been offered a leading role in a movie that was to be filmed that summer in Rome and we got permission from Rosarita's parents for me to stay and live with them until the filming was complete. My mom would have nothing to do with it though and said that no matter what, I was returning to the states when the family did. Being the young drama queens that we were, Rosarita and I put on quite a show of despair.
Needless to say, I was really, really angry at my mom for refusing to allow me to stay and take this coveted role in the movie that I'd been offered. That, coupled with the thoughts of being separated from Rosarita turned me into quite a sullen boy there for awhile.
Crushed but not defeated, we moved onto plan B which involved Rosarita returning to the states with us. This time we did our homework, going first to one set of parents and then to the other with all sorts of well-thought out rationalizations for why this would be such a good idea. Much to our surprise, the plan was met with approval from both Rosarita's parents and mine. We could hardly believe our good fortune - Rosarita was returning to the States with me and we wouldn't be separated after all.
As Rosarita and I were standing in her bedroom one day talking about what she should bring to the States with her, I asked her something about Tampax and was she was going to bring those too. She looked at me kind of funny as she had not yet reached menarche and didn't quite know what I was talking about. So we sat on the edge of the bed while I explained to her what menstruation was. She was interested in what I was saying but because it wasn't her reality yet, it didn't seem all that important to her. We both agreed that she should ask her mom about it and the decision was made that some napkins would be included in Rosarita's suitcase just in case. As fate would have it, Rosarita had her first period shortly after we arrived in the States and I remember vaguely something about an, "I told you so."
A few weeks before we were to leave Italy, Rosarita and a bunch of us boys were horsing around at the bottom of the steps to our villa when things got out of control. My twin brother Steve and his buddy Peppino decided to pick Rosarita up by the arms and legs and carry her off somewhere. One of the guys picked her up by the arms from behind her back and snapped her right arm in two near her shoulder. Rosarita ended up in a cast that went from her waist all the way to her neck with her arm lifted up and away from her body.
It was a horrible turn of events that for a few days threatened to ruin all of our plans for Rosarita's coming to America with me. We both cried a lot but in the end, the decision was made that Rosarita could go ahead with her plans since everything was already in place for the trip and her ticket had already been purchased. And besides, with Rosarita and I carrying on like Sicilian widows at a funeral, our parents had little choice but to give in. It was that or listen to us sobbing night and day.
What was really tough as it turns out, was Rosarita not being able to play the piano anymore. As persistent as she was though, she found a way to contort herself at the piano just enough so that she could get the fingers of her right hand down to the keys and still make something happen. I had started playing the accordion by that time and so our music went on in spite of Rosarita's new handicap.
A few days before it was time to leave for America, my mom and I went over to Rosarita's parents place to say goodbye. As we stood there in the living room, Rosarita's mom walked over to a painting that she had done many years earlier, lifted it off the wall and handed it to my mom. It's a large, Renaissance style painting done in ink on wood of women in long flowing gowns playing various musical instruments. My mom had long admired the painting and now it was hers. For the past many years it has hung on the wall above my piano and is one of my most cherished treasures. I'm looking at it now as I write this story.
It was no mystery where Rosarita inherited her artistry from. Her mother, Daniela, was a stunningly beautiful woman who had been a popular singer in her day as well as a gifted artist. Daniela's mother was a Peruvian beauty who inspired in her daughter and granddaughter a love for the arts and a passion for music. I remember that once in awhile Rosarita and I would pull out an old 45 and play one of the songs that Daniela had recorded during the war. By the time I met Rosarita in the early sixties Daniela had long since retired from anything resembling a career as a singer but we did manage to convince her to sing for us on occasion. Somehow this picture of Daniela in the mid-forties ended up in my possession and I've always kept it safe among my treasures.
We arrived in America late in the summer and while visiting at my uncle's place in Florida, we received a phone call that my grandfather had died. I remember seeing my mom talking on the phone and then falling apart as the news of what had happened began to sink in. She hadn't seen her dad since we left for Italy many years earlier and now he was gone. Her grief permeated everyone in the family and the fun, happy days at my uncle's suddenly drew to a halt.
Early the next morning my folks loaded us all into the Volkswagen camper and we began the long and un-air conditioned drive across the southern United States in order to get to Idaho in time for the funeral. Fortunately, the massive cast Rosarita was carrying around had been reduced to just an arm cast a few days earlier and the trip was much more comfortable for her than it would have been otherwise. It was somewhere along the way during this trip that Rosarita and I experienced our first real sexual desires for each other.
We were in the back of the camper late one night while my mom was driving and the rest of the kids were asleep all around us. Rosarita and I were hugging and kissing and it was the first time that I remember feeling the urge to be inside of her. But as much as the desire and the willingness was there, we were afraid that mom would figure out what was going on and we'd get in a lot of trouble. So we made do with a lot of frottage and let it go at that.
We traveled night and day and Rosarita and I had a lot of time in the back of the van to be close to each other while everybody else slept or dealt with their grief. I mostly remember the long nights lying in the back of the van in each other's arms, kissing and rubbing and feeling really good. Our dream of being in America together had come true. We were in love and we were together and that's all that seemed to matter.
We arrived in Idaho the day of my grandfather's funeral and my first experience of seeing all of my cousins and aunts and uncles again was in a mortuary with everyone crying and sad. I can only imagine what this must have felt like to Rosarita who knew nobody and spoke only a few words of English. I was really all she had in this strange new world she'd just stepped into and for awhile it was fine - we had been best friends for a lot of years by now and our companionship was strong and comforting to us both.
But something changed.
This amazing new world that I'd just stepped into was overwhelmingly exciting and fun. There were lots of cousins I hadn't seen in many years and lots of things to do. Things unfortunately, that Rosarita wasn't able to do because of the cast on her arm. For several months we stayed at my grandpa and grandma's house on the farm where my mom was born and raised. My cousins lived nearby and we were always jumping on the horses and taking off for rides into the back forty. Rosarita would stand there with tears in her eyes as I took off with my cousins and it wasn't long before she became a distant silhouette on the horizon; rarely ever able to go where I was going.
When we went hiking up into the Sawtooth mountains, Rosarita couldn't go. When we took off on the horses, Rosarita couldn't go. When we went swimming in the canals, Rosarita couldn't go. It seemed like no matter what I wanted to do now, Rosarita couldn't do it. Suddenly a space opened up between us and she was left behind. Far, far behind with only my mom to keep her company. The local paper did a write up on this talented young girl from Italy who had moved to Idaho with the Clark family - but the picture that accompanied the story told it all; the sadness in Rosarita's face in that picture spoke to her loneliness and to her betrayal by a kid that she'd loved and been loved by so much.
In a final moment of insult to injury, I jumped onto my horse one day and went racing off with my cousins as I shouted back to Rosarita in Italian: "Why don't you just go back to Italy if you're so unhappy here."
She took me at my word and began making arrangements that night to go home. She'd been with us there in Idaho for six long agonizing months - alone and abandoned and missing the life she'd had back in Rome. She said that she wanted to go back to Rome to continue her musical studies - something which she was unable to do there in Idaho of course, so it became the perfect excuse to leave. I knew in my heart though the real reason why she was going home. My new life as an American boy had left me changed, distracted and with little room in my heart for the girl I'd brought back with me from Rome.
My mom drove the two of us down to the airport in Salt Lake City and we arrived the night before the flight was to leave. With time on our hands and no one to visit, we decided to go see a movie. Rosarita and I wanted to see The Sound Of Music so mom dropped us off for our last date together and she went to see Alfie by herself. We sat in the dark theatre holding hands - Rosarita's cast was gone by now and I remember how thin her arm felt there leaning up against mine.
In retrospect, I think It's pretty amazing that my mom had the grace to allow us one last evening together alone. I think she'd always known and understood how much we loved each other and was probably more sad than either of us were that Rosarita was returning to Italy.
My world had changed, suddenly and unexpectedly and though I was still very fond of Rosarita, I didn't know how, as a young teenager, to keep her close to me. My last memory of Rosarita from that part of our time together was of us leaving the theatre together, wiping the tears from our eyes. I don't even remember saying goodbye to her the next morning when she boarded the plane for Rome.
As a ten year old kid I stood on the dirt road that wound its way past Rosarita's home and watched her pretending to be a nun. I was as instantly drawn to her as she was to me. And I've been standing here all these forty years since, watching in fascination as Rosarita manages to entertain and charm everybody who walks by. She has been and still is, a formidable presence in my life.
As we sat at the piano making music together a couple of years ago in Rome, I realized how precious Rosarita is to me. The beauty of her face and the warmth of her laughter have been a continuous source of happiness to me over what is nearly a lifetime now. Outside of my family, she's the person I've known and loved the longest. Nobody else even comes close.
We've long since reconciled any pain that I caused her way back when. Our love for each other is way too strong to be affected by the follies of our youth and we've continued to build on a friendship that is as precious to us now as it was when we were kids growing up in Rome.
Rosarita and I were born just a couple of months apart in the fall of 1953 - she on September 11th and me on November 11th. As we both approach fifty this fall, we trail many loves and spouses behind us, each of them loved by and known to the other. It's been amazing to me how close we've managed to remain over the years even though we've spent long periods of time apart. Each and every reunion makes it feel as though no time has passed at all in between and the friendship just keeps getting stronger and deeper and more beautiful.
I don't know how to describe what friendship is. I just know what it is by having lived it for so long with Rosarita. I know that the sound of each other's voice is something that lights us up inside. I know that all it takes to get us laughing is a silly little grin because there is so much that is understood between us that words are all but unnecessary. I think Rosarita and I share more in our smiles and our quietness than we do in our music and our incessant chattering. If ever two people understood each other, it's surely us.
It would be easy to think that we should have been together as lovers. But life has dealt us a different hand than that and we've been content to play it as it is. I sometimes feel a great melancholy when I'm away from Rosarita, wishing that we lived closer so that we could have more time together. As it is, we've had a rich and wonderful friendship over the years and are always in each other's hearts no matter how much time and distance separates us.
When Rosarita was living with us in Idaho my mom taught her to answer the phone by saying, "Gillette residence. Rosarita speaking." But when the caller proceeded with the conversation in English, Rosarita would simply hang up the phone because she didn't have a clue what they were saying, much less know how to answer them. Mom would ask her who called and Rosarita would say, "I don't know. I don't speak English."
Today, nearly forty years later, Rosarita will toss the words "Gillette residence, Rosarita speaking," into the middle of a conversation somewhere and we both fall down laughing. Maybe it's in the way she says it or maybe it's just because it's Rosarita saying it - I don't really know.
I just know I love hearing her say it.