So, I wanted to do a continuation of THIS story I did, where the prompt was to use the sentence “Rossamund was a boy with a girl’s name”… and then I did.
Simple enough, I think.
This is set far into the future, beyond its prequels middle school setting, and I hope you enjoy 🙂
Anyone but Rosa
He turned, smiling, and accepted the pat on the back as Rudy slid past him to the bus. His rucksack was full to bursting, same as Jackie’s, and he shared a look with Monroe. He and Monroe had packed the suggested amount of clothing for the trip, had packed the weather-specific pieces in the fairly full suitcase the four of them were sharing… and they were likely the only ones who would be able to travel comfortably on their hitch-hike around Scandinavia.
“Ross, why do you still let him call you that? Why do you still go by that nickname?”
He shrugged, and helped the driver get their suitcase into the storage compartment, handing over his backpack and then Monroe’s.
“That’s the thing about nicknames… they tend to stick.” Sadly. Tragically.
He’d gotten used to it.
“Mundy, get in the bus already! I’m not sitting next to tuna breath over here!”
He’d also gotten used to Jackie. She had a unique way of addressing people, in that she never used their actual names.
He did end up sitting next to her on the bus, and so got the honor of listening to her snore for most of the ride.
He sighed, and looked over her head out the window.
He thought it would likely be confusing for any friends they met along the way… because what would they call him? He had so many names to choose from.
His parents called him Rossamund, as that was the name they put on his birth certificate; from that Jackie called him Mundy, and through that nickname his classmates (including Rudy) stated calling him Tuesday, and later in college he was known primarily, as Monroe called him, Ross.
He was a man of many names…
But, Rossamund, Ross, Mundy, or Monday, at least he was consistent in his personality.
Jackie, once she’d moved on from her identity of the Tomboy of the class, had jumped from protest to protest, each cause greater than the last, with the latest being the injustice of feminazi’s trying to say tampons were Anti-Feminist.
She was currently very against feminazi’s giving feminists a bad name.
Rudy had shed his quiet-boy skin from middle school and had reveled in how genetics had favored him, finding sports more challenging and more extreme to throw himself into… it occasionally meant he also found various things to throw himself off of, the higher the better, and this trip was his way of trying to find himself.
He wanted to be able to throw himself entirely into his occupation, and to do that he had to settle on one thing.
He could only hope that finding himself didn’t turn into Rudy getting the rest of them lost.
He wasn’t terribly worried though, as Monroe had everything in their trip planned out, maps and back up maps on hand and in backpack and in pocket…
From what he’d gleaned, Monroe had been a bit of a bully as a child—a fact, he supposed, that would likely explain why he was so sensitive to his various nicknames. Now he was the very definition of a gentle giant, but once upon a time he’d likely have been one of the boys to make fun of him for having a girl’s name.
He’d met Monroe in college, sharing a room and then an apartment with each other… Monroe didn’t understand how he could introduce himself as Rossamund, offer the option to call him Ross, and be entirely fine with a manic girl crashing into their dorm calling him Mundy, and another guy shouting out for him, for ‘Tuesday’, across campus.
“Look, if they’re bothering you,” he’d once started, concerned and protective and likely thinking back to his own days of bullying, but he’d waved him off.
“I have a strange name, for a boy, and there are worse things to be called.”
He always remembered that. There were worse things to be called.
When signing things, he always signed his full name. He signed Rossamund, because at the root of it, that was who he was.He didn’t think he’d changed all that much
Ross was from Rosaamund.
Mundy was from Rossamund.
And, strange as it was, Tuesday was from Rossamund as well.
Okay, it was from Rossamund after taking a side trip through the mind of a dozen thirteen year olds, but the origin was there all the same.
Now, he looked out at the passing landscape, down to the blur of faces alongside the road, and wondered what other nicknames he would get here.
He was looking forward to it, actually, what different people with different languages would do with his name… because as ‘bad’ as any of them could end up being, there was always something worse.
Because Rossamund could be Ross, or Mundy, or even Tuesday, but he would never, ever again allow himself to be Rosa.
So, hope you enjoyed that, and look forward to more fiction 🙂
I’m looking forward to the next prompt 🙂