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Authors: Suzanne Selfors
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part in the play but she's at work behind the scenes. It's her hatred that fuels the war between the two households. It's her hatred that ultimately kills the young lovers, in my opinion. But I'm not very objective when it comes to mothers.
"What happened to you?"
"I was robbed."
She narrowed her eyes. "Is that why your gown is torn and muddied? Did the robbers molest you? Is your virginity still intact?"
My virginity was not a subject I wanted to focus on. Look, it's not that I was embarrassed by my virginity. Given the choice, I would choose to wait until someone loved me and I loved him back and we made a commitment to each other and all that good stuff. Then I'd have a decision to make about my virginity. But I hadn't even come close to having to make a decision. You see the difference?
"They didn't molest me," I answered nervously. She made me feel uneasy, standing so close, her bony frame towering over me. "But they took my traveling cases."
"Those clay-brained Montagues shall be punished for robbing you. I shall speak to my husband when he returns. I think hand-severing and eye-gouging are in order."
Gouging Benvolio's beautiful eyes? "Oh, that's not necessary."
"Not necessary?" She frowned. "Even though you come from Manhattan, you are required to loathe the Montagues to the same degree that every other member of this family loathes them. We shall have our revenge against the Montagues. Mark my words. We shall have our revenge."
I nodded. I didn't want to argue with her. It would be so nice if I could keep this a happy dream.
She curled her upper lip as she inspected my costume. "I cannot allow you to be seen in that dress. Every Capulet woman holds the family's reputation on her shoulders. Those shoulders should always be clean and stylish." She drummed her fingertips together. "I have ordered all the women to nap before the party, but I have been informed that we are out of beds. Therefore, you shall nap in Juliet's room."
Nine
***
"Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under ' t."
L ady Capulet glided down the hallway. My subconscious had formed her well. A bit of the Wicked Witch of the West in her long, pointy face. A bit of Cruella de Ville in her bleached hair with roots so dark it looked like someone had dumped coal on her head. And a bit of my own mother in the topic of conversation -- the family name.
"Above all, the Capulet reputation must be kept intact," she said with pronounced seriousness. "Our appearances, our manners, and our goals must be cohesive. The Capulet name must stand above all others as it always has. We are Capulets. We are Verona."
We are Wallingfords. We are theater. Lady Capulet walked with long, exaggerated strides and I followed like a bridesmaid keeping time to a painfully slow rendition of Troy Summer's hit ballad "Girl, You Are My World." Drifts of powder had accumulated along the nape of her neck. I couldn't remember having experienced such minute details in a dream before. Like the way the coldness of the stone floor made my feet ache, even though I wore slippers. Or the way my frayed hem tickled my ankles. Who dreams, like that? And who dreams in real time, because it certainly seemed that way? I felt hungry and I needed to pee, which couldn't be good because when you need to pee in a dream, you either wake up or you wet the bed. I didn't want to do either. I wanted to stay in my dreamworld, at least until Clarissa finished the performance. Maybe longer. If I fell into a coma, say for a week, maybe Reginald Dwill would find someone else for his DVD.
Lady Capulet pointed to a tapestry as we glided past. "Have you ever seen such a magnificent Capulet crest? My daughter's work. So loyal and obedient is my daughter, Juliet. She is so dear to me."
So dear that you sold her to the highest bidder.
She wrenched her neck and cast me a suspicious look. "Where is your mother? Why did she not come with you?"
Oh no. I didn't want Veronica
"What happened to you?"
"I was robbed."
She narrowed her eyes. "Is that why your gown is torn and muddied? Did the robbers molest you? Is your virginity still intact?"
My virginity was not a subject I wanted to focus on. Look, it's not that I was embarrassed by my virginity. Given the choice, I would choose to wait until someone loved me and I loved him back and we made a commitment to each other and all that good stuff. Then I'd have a decision to make about my virginity. But I hadn't even come close to having to make a decision. You see the difference?
"They didn't molest me," I answered nervously. She made me feel uneasy, standing so close, her bony frame towering over me. "But they took my traveling cases."
"Those clay-brained Montagues shall be punished for robbing you. I shall speak to my husband when he returns. I think hand-severing and eye-gouging are in order."
Gouging Benvolio's beautiful eyes? "Oh, that's not necessary."
"Not necessary?" She frowned. "Even though you come from Manhattan, you are required to loathe the Montagues to the same degree that every other member of this family loathes them. We shall have our revenge against the Montagues. Mark my words. We shall have our revenge."
I nodded. I didn't want to argue with her. It would be so nice if I could keep this a happy dream.
She curled her upper lip as she inspected my costume. "I cannot allow you to be seen in that dress. Every Capulet woman holds the family's reputation on her shoulders. Those shoulders should always be clean and stylish." She drummed her fingertips together. "I have ordered all the women to nap before the party, but I have been informed that we are out of beds. Therefore, you shall nap in Juliet's room."
Nine
***
"Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under ' t."
L ady Capulet glided down the hallway. My subconscious had formed her well. A bit of the Wicked Witch of the West in her long, pointy face. A bit of Cruella de Ville in her bleached hair with roots so dark it looked like someone had dumped coal on her head. And a bit of my own mother in the topic of conversation -- the family name.
"Above all, the Capulet reputation must be kept intact," she said with pronounced seriousness. "Our appearances, our manners, and our goals must be cohesive. The Capulet name must stand above all others as it always has. We are Capulets. We are Verona."
We are Wallingfords. We are theater. Lady Capulet walked with long, exaggerated strides and I followed like a bridesmaid keeping time to a painfully slow rendition of Troy Summer's hit ballad "Girl, You Are My World." Drifts of powder had accumulated along the nape of her neck. I couldn't remember having experienced such minute details in a dream before. Like the way the coldness of the stone floor made my feet ache, even though I wore slippers. Or the way my frayed hem tickled my ankles. Who dreams, like that? And who dreams in real time, because it certainly seemed that way? I felt hungry and I needed to pee, which couldn't be good because when you need to pee in a dream, you either wake up or you wet the bed. I didn't want to do either. I wanted to stay in my dreamworld, at least until Clarissa finished the performance. Maybe longer. If I fell into a coma, say for a week, maybe Reginald Dwill would find someone else for his DVD.
Lady Capulet pointed to a tapestry as we glided past. "Have you ever seen such a magnificent Capulet crest? My daughter's work. So loyal and obedient is my daughter, Juliet. She is so dear to me."
So dear that you sold her to the highest bidder.
She wrenched her neck and cast me a suspicious look. "Where is your mother? Why did she not come with you?"
Oh no. I didn't want Veronica
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