All I wanna do when I wake up in the morning is see your eyes,
Rosanna, Rosanna.
I never thought that a girl like you could ever care for me,
Rosanna.

All I wanna do in the middle of the evening is hold you tight,
Rosanna, Rosanna.
I didn't know you were looking for more than I could ever be—

In 1982 Toto was top-chart for five consecutive weeks, only losing out to "Don't You Want Me" and "Eye of the Tiger". I was seven years old at the time and that song played on the radio all hours of the day. I only know that because the babysitter I had was in love with it. I remember she would sing the lyrics word-for-word, take me by the hands, and we'd shimmy to it together in her living room. Shelby McIntyre used to call me a little rockstar. I really liked her.

I went to Shelby's house after school almost every day. My dad worked a lot, and he didn't like the idea of leaving me home alone. He found Shelby on a bulletin board in some pizzeria, called her up, had an interview, and made arrangements for us. On her end she was getting a pretty good deal; six dollars an hour for her trouble. I never was much trouble. Most of the time, we'd be sitting quietly doing our homework. She never got annoyed whenever I asked her for help on any math problems. If she did, she never showed it. Shelby was nice that way.

I remember Shelby had big blond hair and pretty brown eyes. Her hair was usually tied up and I never saw her without massive hoop earrings. She always smelled of fruit and hairspray. I asked her how old she was once and she said, "Hey, didn't your mama ever tell you it's not nice to ask a lady her age?" she was joking of course, but when I told her I didn't have a mama, she got quiet. Then she knelt in front of me and sadly said, "I'm sorry, Willie." she told me she was seventeen. A whole whopping decade older. Apparently my dad neglected to mention my motherless-ness to her (for good reason though, I later learned).

Once Shelby had friends over while she was watching me. Her friends, dressed in similar fashions, came clamoring into her house—gabbing like teenage girls do. They all stopped dead in their tracks when they saw me sitting at the foot of one of the couches, doing my spelling homework.

"Oh, don't worry about him," Shelby said quickly to her friends, "He won't be a nuisance."

One of the girls quipped that she needed a toke and made a fuss that she couldn't, "not wit a little cumstain in here."

"Jackie!" Shelby hissed. It was alright; I was too young yet to understand teenage lingo. Jackie's vocabulary was lost on me. Shelby turned to me, "You didn't hear that, Willie," then to Jackie, "You can't light up in here anyway! It'll smell, and my parents'll hand my backside to me! If you gotta do it, for Pete's sake, go outside."

"Why can't your folks be as chilled out as mine? They don't care if I smoke."

"My parents aren't stoners, Jackie."

"Fh. Whutevah."

Shelby sighed, dropping her arms, before gesturing toward the kitchen. "Y'all can help yourselves to some juice if you want."

"No beer?"

"Juice," she repeated firmly. Shelby's friends disappeared from the room, and my sitter drew close to me. "I'm sorry about that, Willie. My friends can be jerks sometimes."

"Why are you friends with them then?" I asked. It was an innocent enough question, but it seemed to set Shelby back on her heels.

"...I don't know," she finally answered, "I guess I just got in with the wrong crowd and I'm having trouble finding my way back out."

I didn't know what to say to that, but Shelby pressed a kiss to my forehead. "You're real sweet, Willie, you know that? ...We're supposed to be working on a school project together. Here, why don't you stay in my room, that way we don't disturb you?"

She brought me up to her room, a small but lively space. The walls were peach, and lined with crooked posters of various boy bands I didn't know or care for. There was a cork board on one wall, pinned with various things like phone numbers and memos. Her one dresser had a large mirror on it, adorned with all kinds of jewelry and feathery trinkets. I saw soccer trophies on a different dresser. She asked me to pardon the mess, asked me if I wanted anything to eat or drink, and then left me to my own devices. I knew better than to go snooping, but I did take my time scoping everything that was readily visible to me. One of the photographs I saw was a picture of her parents. I never got to meet them; Shelby's dad worked late hours and her mom was barely ever home, what with business trips constantly stealing her off. Shelby's dad was a tax accountant, her mom was a business representative for Conair.

After I satiated my curiosity enough, I resumed my homework. About a half-hour after it got dark out, a funky smell reached my nose. I wasn't sure what it was at first, but then I reasoned that a skunk had cut one outside. The window was open, so I closed it. Some ten minutes later, I heard a muffled, "What the fuck?!"

It was my dad's voice. Startled, I went back to the window and cracked it open. I heard a quick scream—Jackie.

"Oh no you don't, you little-!" My dad was pounding on the front door with his fist. I saw Jackie struggling to escape my dad's grip on her arm. She managed to finally wrench herself away, and she booked it, long, dark legs flying her down the street and out of sight. My dad spun back on her with a shout, but she was long gone. He turned back to the door and jarred it open. I pulled my head back inside and listened to a great racket downstairs. I heard some screaming and my dad breaking Hell on their backs. I heard him using Shelby's phone to call the police. Then he came upstairs for me.

The door opened, and I saw my dad, red in the face.

"Get your shit together and wait in the car."

I didn't dare ask questions. I scrambled to pack my bag and scurried down the steps ahead of him. I was out the door but dad hadn't followed me out. My foot kicked the blunt that Jackie had tried to stamp out under her heel. I sat in the car for almost ten minutes before the police arrived. Red and blue lights flickered and flashed all around me out in the street, and I ducked my head as two officers in blue strode past me on the sidewalk. I watched them knock on Shelby's front door, and even though I didn't fully understand what was going on, I could only think about how much trouble she was in. I knew long before my dad would say the words that I wasn't ever going to see Shelby McIntyre again.

Another ten minutes later, my dad finally emerged from the house. I dreaded each footstep that brought him closer to our car, even though I was pretty sure I myself wasn't in any trouble. He opened the driver's door, climbed in, and keyed the ignition. Neither of us said a word.

Five minutes into the drive, he switched on the radio.

"Not quite a year since she went away-"

My dad punched the off button so hard that it cracked. I watched, rigid in my seat, as he shook off his hand, clenched a fist, and clamped it hard back on the wheel.

"Billy, I swear to god if you ever touch a blunt, I'll fucking kill you."

That was when I knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that the monster ate up my dad and took his place.