Note: many people have written letters to Juliet from The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet over the years, and that is what Abigail is doing.
I was over my friend's house when we started arguing about the stupidest thing we could have been arguing about: whether or not she should cut her hair really short, like a pixie cut. My first response was one word: why? I didn't particularly like the idea, mainly because all of my guy friends were very insensitive and made fun of people for the smallest of changes. Cutting her hair would have definitely set off their radars and she would have been made fun of almost immediately. Her parents wouldn't have had the best reactions, either. I knew that for a fact.
I wouldn't have cared if she cut her hair, of course, but I didn't want her to go through that pain from those idiots. She told me that it was worth it, that she didn't care if they teased her or called her names or beat her up, but I didn't agree with her. I thought that she might wholeheartedly think that, but once it happens, I feel like she'll have second thoughts.
She kicked me out of her house after our voices stared raising, which was justified. I left, and walked to the old antiques store not too far from my house. It's old-timely and dusty smell always calmed me down, and I was friends with the owner who was one of three employees, and who normally worked during the day.
I entered the store and sighed, releasing some of the bad energy within me along with my breath while also grabbing the attention of Ed. I looked around, noting that he had probably seen me walk in, and I found my friend dusting off an old journal. "What's up, Russell?" he asked me.
"Nothing much, Ed," I brushed his concern off as I picked the journal up and brushed through it, dropping a small piece of paper in the process of doing so.
Upon picking it up, I saw that it was addressed to a person named Juliet. Curiosity always got the best of me, so I started to read it.
Dear Juliet,
I know you cannot really do anything about this, but I figured that I would ask for your advice since thousands of people have done it already. It seems that you're the love expert, and I am in a desperate time.
Juliet, my tale is very different from yours, but there is one similarity: both of us are in pain. Yours might be a little more physical - after all, you stabbed yourself, but the mental torments we've both put ourselves through (yours over whether Romeo's love is real, mine over whether my love is real) are the same.
Just like you have, I've pondered things late at night and feared what would happen. I relate more with Friar Laurence in regards to my fear of people finding out the wrong I've done, except we've both done wrong, Juliet. You love your enemy and I love a girl society has told me I cannot love.
You faced danger at every turn, with your father finding out your secret. My family doesn't know of mine, but I cannot keep them in the shadows. I can no longer suppress my love for her and keep it hidden, and even if society hates us, we'll face it together, as having someone to go through it with you is better than facing it alone.
I face rejection. I face being disowned. I face prison time and possibly death. But you know all about the first two, as your father rejected and disowned you for not agreeing to marry Paris at first. How did you cope with it, with the fact that your own blood could look at you in such a way where they thought you weren't related to them just because of what you are, what they made you to be? My world would crumble, but it is already crumbling, so I do not have much else to lose after I tell them.
After all, we are in a war that we will not win anytime soon, a war of people against love. Hopefully, the people who come after my time will fight enough that they win, but I do not expect a complete victory in my lifetime. I will fight, though, and will try to win at least one battle. I will try to win for love.
Right now, however, I am standing next to a well, the only one that my village has. My love uses this well just as much as my family does, and losing privileges to this well by the government is only the start of what could happen once my secret is known. But I have two coins, the only two coins that I have ever accumulated. One, my grandmother gave to me, and the other I found on the street when walking to my father's workplace. That is one of my favorite days of my existence, not only because I was lucky enough to find a coin on the streets of a dirt poor village, but because that day was when my love and I first met (I accidentally bumped into her right after I picked up the coin because I wasn't looking where I was going). With these coins, I wish for myself, and I wish for my love. She told me to wish for some sort of happiness and acceptance, not for us, but for all people as a whole. She wants people to live in harmony, but I do not think that will come true without the help of some miracle, so maybe this well is a good start. As for me, I do not have any stamps to send this letter to you in Verona, so I wish for this to reach you somehow, for other people to see it. Let the wind take it. Let the wind determine if my story spreads. The wind is not any more reliable than the stars, anyway.
Thank you for reading this, and I hope that this wish works and that you get to write back someday, possibly with advice as to what I should do after I tell my family. I wish you the best.
-Abigail
I gasped a faint gasp that only I could hear. "Ed," I said, "where did you get this?"
Ed looked over to the journal and the letter I was referring to and just shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know. It's been here since my dad took over the store. No one seems to want to buy it."
I gave the letter and the journal a sad glance. Her wish never came true.
"How much is it?" I asked.
"It's free if you tell me what's bothering you," Ed bargained.
I sighed again, knowing that I didn't want to talk about it, but I spoke anyway, "I started a war with my best friend."
"What did you say?" he gave me a long look, a look saying that he knew I messed up, as all boys do.
"She wanted to do something that I thought was drastic, and I asked her why. She-"
"-Russell," Ed cut me off, "never disagree with a woman. Any words that suggest a different opinion about something they care deeply about are fighting words. Those words start wars that last for decades, wars with little battles that always refer back to the reason the war started."
It was silent for awhile, and I gazed down at my feet while mumbling, "I have to go apologize." I looked up at him and said, "I'll see you, Ed."
I left the store with the determination to apologize to Lily, but first, I had one priority. I went home and put the letter I "bought" into an envelope and put a stamp on it. I addressed it to Juliet in Verona, Italy, and put it in my mailbox while raising up the little flag, signaling that it had mail that needed to be taken somewhere.
I walked to my friend's house in a slow shuffle, suddenly really anxious and not as determined as I was before. But I thought about Abigail's letter, and how she was fighting a war that she couldn't help but fight - she was only being herself in a society that would not accept her. My war could easily be solved because it only contained two people. Her war had everyone involved.
I got to Lily's modern-day house that was an ugly shade of yellow. She always told me that it reminded her house of urine and that she hated it, that one day, when she was older, there was no way she would have a yellow house. Either way, I walked up to her door and knocked on it three times, as I always did.
I heard shuffling behind the door, which was probably her pacing while deciding on whether or not to answer it. I was once again looking at my feet, but I heard the door open and I looked up, seeing Lily there in tears.
I stepped closer to her and held my arms out, engulfing her in a hug. I then spoke the only peaceful words I knew, the only words that could end a war in my day and age. I whispered to her, delicately as to not provoke her and to let her know I was sincere, "I'm sorry."
