Romeo & Juliet

1.1

I am wearing a red silk dress above a corset that stole the breath from me. My brown hair is slightly lighter, almost like dirty blonde, and is bundled in a ball at the back of her head with lilies holding them in place. My huge nerdy glasses are gone but I can see as clear as day.

I am in a corner of a ball room, hidden behind a tall pillar of marble. Or at least I hope I am hidden. Not well enough apparently.

Many ask to dance and I refuse them all. Actually I want to, but the body I inhabit isn't mine. It is as if I am reliving someone else's memory. This person-not me-says yes and dances with them, one after another.

Finally exhausted, she excuses herself and escapes up the staircase. She stands behind the golden pillar, stealing glances at the floor below. She never really enjoyed these balls; it is her parent's way of flaunting their wealth: inviting the noble and the rich and excluding the poor. It is pathetic and sad beyond words.

But there is a boy who caught her eye. He has dark black hair, almost blue, that is dishevelled, almost as if on purpose for it suits him too well. He wears a black dress suit with a white eye mask, which accentuates his deep, blue eyes. It is a shade she has never seen before, like a mix between zaffre and cobalt blue.

He smiles, returning her stare. Sucking in a gasp, she hides behind a pillar. His smile is so alluring it sucks all the air out of her. She has to lean against the pillar to maintain her balance. Taking a few deep breaths she turns to steal another look at the boy.

But he is gone. She couldn't help it - disappointment filled her. Not that she wants to feel needy, but the boy is a definite eye candy.

"If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this; my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."

She jumps at the whisper against her ear. It is the boy from before. She blushes, feeling the disappointment vanish, only to be replaced by a heart-throbbing awe that steals her breath away. And the curve on his lips clearly showed he knows what she is thinking. Not only that, he is amused by it.

"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much," she says breathlessly, "which mannerly devotion show in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."

He takes a step forward; she takes a step back. The edge of his lips hitches up a bit more. "Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"

"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."

"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do!" He takes a final step forward. She takes a step back, only to be cornered by his body and the pillar. He leans in, whispering, "They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."

She turns to the side. "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."

His finger traces the slight curve of her chin and tilts her head up, looking straight into her eyes. "Then move not while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purged."

He leans in and presses his lips against her. She does not avoid it nor does she stop it. All of her senses concentrate where the two of them connected. If he had not been holding her she might have fainted, feeling dizzy from his innocent kiss.

He pulls away first. It is too soon; it felt like a mere fraction of a second. But she is breathless-and hot. She wants more. "Then have my lips the sin that they have took."

He smiles, genuinely smiles. "Sin from my lips?" he asks innocently. "O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again."

They kiss once more. This time it is longer and less innocent, but more sensual, making her feel things she has never felt before in places she ignored. She can feel him smile; he knows what she wants but he never does what she wants him to do. In fact he kisses her some more, harder, rougher, teasing her. She hates it; she wants more, but for now, his rough kisses are enough.

- - -

Dear Lola,

I dreamt about her again today. Jane (my nickname for this mysterious woman) appeared in my dreams again, living her aristocratic life as the only daughter of a renowned family, dancing in balls, living life as expected from a woman in the late sixteenth century. I could never live the way she does, always needing to live up to her parent's expectations, being raised in the art of a lady, wearing tight corsets that suck the living air out of your lungs, just to be pretty and graceful, in the hopes of attracting a rich, successful aristocrat as a prospective future partner. I've seen her life, the way she lived in my past dreams. Morning after morning without a second break, she's always told the same thing over and over again: "A woman must be graceful and beautiful without a doubt and marry into a rich family. This is a woman's highest calling." In modern-day Canada, saying that would earn someone a bitch-slap to the face, along with a huge fine for sexual discrimination. I could tell she feels the same. Every time I dream about her, there's this numbing tremor in her chest. At first I had assumed it was due to her boredom with her daily routine, but now I know it's because her life, her upbringing, her status - the very things that were considered an honor in her era - are the very shackles that a marionette has on his puppet. She wants more from life, an adventure, just like the one's she had read in her childhood, with the hopes of marrying not because of wealth and statue and power, but because of true love.

Tonight's dream, I believe, is the start of this adventure she dreamed of. Meeting John (my nickname for the mysterious stranger she met at the ball) there is something about her that changed. It's almost as if things are falling into place and the shackles binding her are finally coming loose. Rosy-cheeked, wide-eyed, innocent Jane, did things society would never approve of. She would be prosecuted if they knew what had taken place. But no matter how bad her actions were, they can never erase how good it felt to act as if she were her own person, kissing a stranger she had never met before and falling in love with him at the same time.

But seriously. How stupid can this girl be? Meeting a stranger, kissing him, falling in love with him, and all in a span of an hour? That's not even remotely love. It's more like she's looking for some spark her life and this dude's mysterious character just happens to be it. I understand the want for some adventure, but you don't need to go through half of what she did to be on an adventure. You don't need to fall in love to be on an adventure.

Why am I even dreaming about her? I have nothing in common with her. I hate her naivety, her stupidity, her simple-mindedness. I don't live the life of an aristocrat. I don't hold steamy PG-13 make out sessions with random men I meet in parties. I'm just a normal seventeen-year-old living a typical high school life, sleeping in class, staying awake all night, barely getting eighties.

I'm no one special.

I'm just ... me.

Till the next dream, Julia C.