The Cult of Romeo

XVI. Juliet or Calpurnia or Ophelia

Act 2, Scene 6

Khaleel walked the edge of the pavement like a tight rope as his body swayed back and forth in the wind with his dark curls tousled and cheeks tinged pink. His arms were poised, as though ready for flight and every step was dramatic. 

When I told Khaleel about the words on the table, he seemed unbothered. In a way, I understood the flippancy. Burton Abbey was known for the drama department and the number of thespians who came in and out of that classroom who could have written Shakespeare's words was too many to count. 

Still, it put me on edge. When you'd had as many threats as I had, not much was enough to ease the anxiety. 

The rain had held back long enough for the clouds to turn an angry grey over our heads and the sweet melody of birds was somewhat comforting. I'd walked this way many times before with many different people and it was a journey I'd mapped out in my head well.

Burton Abbey Boarding School was located in the middle of nowhere with only a small village nearby. We passed the towering trees, walked along mostly empty roads and finally began to see the steady flow of locals as they finished work and returned to their homes. 

Khaleel's eyes were wide as he inspected everything around us. When the village children rushed past on their bikes, bringing with them boisterous laughter and a gust of wind, he gasped. 

"Do you come here often?" Khaleel wondered, finally falling back into step with me. 

"We haven't had much time lately." 

The cafe was one we cherished. It was one of those rare times that Beatrix and I got to escape the boarding school.  Where we could sit and drink tea and pretend we weren't students in an elite boarding school. We were hidden in plain sight, in a world where Shakespeare's quotes weren't painted onto the forefront of our brains and the village was free reign to explore. 

A warm glow emitted from the cafe, framing the building as a safe haven against the murky skies and cold air. The warmth immediately hit my face when we stepped inside and the silk that draped from the windows and tables created a soft atmosphere in the air. 

We ordered from the counter and the owner shot me a welcoming smile. Beatrix was already there and reading a script aggressively whilst her lips moved to murmur under her breath. It was a sight I recognised well, especially on days near to the shows. 

I greeted my best friend while placing my steaming mug of tea onto the table. Beatrix looked up and pushed her braids behind her ear. Her body thrummed with stress and she smiled uneasily at us both. 

"You shouldn't let D'Angelo mess with you," I said, "you know the words already." 

She ran her hands down her face. "I know, I know. I just can't help myself. He's reblocked the whole thing to be completely different and now I don't know where I start and where Juliet or Calpurnia or Ophelia ends. It's just- it's getting in my head." 

I frowned at her desperation. I was pretty sure it wasn't just D'Angelo that was stressing her out but the thought of this being Elijah's memorial too. While the pair were never together in real life or particularly good friends, they were close enough. They were close in the sense that every time we did a play, they were cast as a pair. Elijah as the handsome lead, Beatrix as his beautiful love interest. Their characters often died, but they died together. 

Now, Elijah had passed but it was real life and Beatrix couldn't do anything about it. There was no closing of the curtain, or rewrite in the script. Elijah was gone and gone forever. I feared that Beatrix had lost a part of herself that night too. Watching her friend die, not knowing whether it was real or fake. Not knowing when to slip out of character. It was difficult for Beatrix to leave behind her characters after finishing a play and she carried a piece of them around with her long after the final bow.