Romeo and Harriet

This is an excerpt from a longer manuscript that I'm experimenting with reshaping into a short story. Like everything else on this blog it's being edited.


To mother, the prospect of committing suicide in front of a large audience was quite glamorous, but I like breathing. To me acting meant long hours of rote memorization all for the priveledge of standing on stage forgeting it all. Mother, however, knew I was destined for the stage, and as an involved parent felt duty bound to suggest that instead of study Romeo and Juliet we act Romeo and Juliet. She didn't even begin to realize what a chamber of horrors she'd created for me until I offered to really kill myself instead of acting. Even then the play must go on because, of course, she had sets being constructed and costumes being designed and she was trying to convince the civic theatre to host us for free.

At most I wanted to be prop mistress, but my mother's ambitions and vigorous support precluded such a backstage post. My audition was so bad that it created a terrible difficulty for my English teacher. He solved this problem by assigning us all two roles, the first one we were to be prepared to fill the day of the production, the other we were to understudy. He said it was so that we'd be engaged with more of the text, but everyone knew it was so that Jean could be Juliet and mother could save her dignity.

Preparing for two roles that two other people were preparing for meant I didn't have to be there at all if I could work up a fortuitous illness. To that end I "studied" my lines in the damp and sought out runny noses to keep me company. I did manage to learn my lines, for though I didn't share Shakespeare's love of the stage I delighted in his keen eye for life. The true love and crazy foolishness it inspired absorbed me in spite of myself.

Matt was Romeo, of course. I'm sure an understudy was dutifully chosen, but everyone forgot about that immediately. Whatever Matt did, he did. There was no thought of him shirking and no disease could have been enough to stop him from adding another great accomplishment to his incipient resume. Of all the boys I knew he was the last one I'd have chosen to be Romeo, and yet he played the role so well I found myself forgetting who he was. I shouldn't have been surprised, nothing Matt did was second rate.

With the compromise of my not quite being Juliet and not quite not being Juliet my mother's courage had returned and she was in her element, organizing parent volunteers, coaching student actors, and overseeing the endless details she created for herself. Though we both knew I was hoping for malaria, she coached me for Juliet and kept blindly encouraging me that I was really the better actress. She felt justice had been denied, but justice had prevailed. Jean's luminous glow had all the boys panting after her, and she loved the stage.

Have I mentioned I didn't? It was strange, my mother would have given up a lot of things to shine center stage while all I wanted was to be in the back overseeing the details. Quietly we began to appreciate each other's misery and to be kind to each other.

Despite my best efforts and several ugly mosquito bites, malaria did not set in. I was doomed, but at least I had only the priest's part to play. My mother was genuinely disappointed for me. She was sure I was the best Juliet and it hurt her not to show me off. I have to say that while center stage is not a place to be envied during rehearsal, the night of the performance is another reality entirely. With all the sets in place and the lights adjusted and the costumes fitted, I secretly regretted my brown cowl and the runny nose that was all I'd manage to contract.

Matt and Jean were in their glory. As eighth grade productions go, this was a masterpiece. The mayor, Matt's dad, suggested we reprise key scenes at the town's annual festival, and so, the play went on. Perhaps escaping Juliet so easily lulled me into a false sense of complacency or perhaps, I'd discovered a latent lust for center stage, but I gave up my efforts to contract a serious disease. I began to enjoy the play and the language and the excitement. Mother's involvement had indeed addicted me to the Immortal Bard. I was exploring his work and growing rapidly as a result. Whatever the reason, I failed to notice the tell-tale signs of illness in my friend and when the call came that Jean was unable to perform there was no need for me to fake symptoms.

"You'll be fine." my mother assured me her eyes glazed with visions of my glory and success. "I did the same thing right before the Pageant of Learning." The Pageant of Learning had been my mother's shining moment. She had been chosen to embody wisdom in a production for, what else, the town festival.

Feverish, I tried to remember my new lines. I reviewed the scenes and then my true doom announced itself to me. I was going to have to kiss Matt Mason on stage in front of the entire town. Not really, Mr. Clause, our teacher, had taught us stage kissing, which lessons I had dutifully watched, but refused to participate in. The role of the priest had suited me well in that regard. A holy panic produced fresh evidence of my unfittness for the stage, but with mother, the show went on.

We arrived excessively early to be certain I was properly rouged and corsetted. Mr. Clause ran me through my lines. Mercifully he decided to skip "the scene" in return for my promise to do my best. He was crushed by the loss of Jean and certain nothing could damage the production further. I had no idea he was so wise.

The play itself is largely a blur in my memory, raw panic, a dizzying swirl of color and faces, and then it all comes shockingly clear. We were on the stage. I was doing a decent job, and then he just did it. He just started saying the wrong lines. He started doing THE SCENE. He knew we weren't doing THE SCENE. What was he doing? What was I going to do? I started saying the lines. He kept going. I kept going and then, then he kissed me. No stage kiss, he kissed me! Right on the mouth. I was shocked. I slapped him and stormed off the stage to tremendous applause. My picture made the cover of the Chronicle. Mother wasn't very pleased, but my father bought several copies. I decided I needed to contract tuberculosis.