Rome & Julie

Prologue

Reading Romeo and Juliet is like watching your favorite television show rerun, where you're an omniscient bystander.   You, for the most part, know everything that's going to happen, while the ignorant, poor characters on the screen do not.  You can yell and scream, saying, 'No, Dr. Baker!  She's lying and cheating on you!', but no matter what, your protests are going to have no effect on the predetermined, irreversible outcome.  For example, Romeo thinks Juliet is dead, so he kills himself?  Then Juliet wakes up, finds Romeo dead, and kills herself?  What?

As I finished the terrible and borderline offensive story, I was lost deep in my thoughts, and I felt irritation itch under my skin. Sure, the story of the star crossed lovers is one everyone knows and finds romantic and tragically beautiful, but I personally thought it to be outrageous and, quite frankly, stupid. Shakespeare should have been at least a little more realistic when it came to love and dying. I would never kill myself over some random guy I'd met only a day before. And when it truly came down to it, who really would? Humans are far too selfish creatures for such noble acts.

I closed the book and set it on my bedside table, looking up at the ceiling as a deflated sigh passed through my lips. What was Shakespeare thinking when he wrote Romeo and Juliet? Even The Taming of the Shrew? I wouldn't let some guy tame me. That sounded beyond despicable. His ideologies about the relationship between men and women were absolutely moronic.

"Julie, honey? Your lesson starts in ten minutes." There was a faint knock on my door as my aunt's soft, kind voice floated through it, ripping me from my irrationally livid thoughts.

"Okay. Thanks Aunt Maggie." I inhaled a deep, steadying breath, and let it out with a sigh. What could I do about Shakespeare? Nothing. He'd long been dead and gone. And what was I left with? That unfinished, horrible ending.

Spectacular.

Sitting up in my bed, I rubbed at my tired eyes. I'd been up all night rereading that stupid play. Trying to understand Shakespeare's meaning and motivation, to no avail. Sure, there was the shock factor, which I supposed brought in a crowd who wanted to have their hearts ripped in two by watching a tragedy. Even still. There was no true understanding why he would end it like that, but hey, it was his story, so he had every right to finish it the way he wanted.

I wondered what it would've been like to be Juliet in that tale, and in love with Romeo. Especially at the age of thirteen. How would it feel to have forbidden love, and it be so important that you feel impelled go against everyone and your parents' wishes? I wouldn't know. Mostly because of the fact that I lacked actual parents to obey. And also because I tried to obey my guardians at all times possible. It wasn't that I did it in spite, but that they deserved it.

My aunt and uncle had taken me in at a young age when my parents died tragically in a car accident. Cliché, maybe so, but sad, immensely. I was young—too young to understand its meaning and cry about it—so Maggie and Robert were practically my real parents. I strongly felt that they deserved my obedience and kindness for their compassion.

I stood up, and gathered my books for school. Maggie home-schooled me—could she be any more of an angel?—and was an excellent teacher. Reading Romeo and Juliet was not part of her lesson, however, but something about that story had me rereading it week after week. As if the next time I read it, the ending would happen to be different and satisfy me. Which I knew was impossible. But hey, I bet the Capulets thought Juliet ever falling in love with and marrying Romeo was impossible. And that happened despite everyone's protests.

"Jules... honey? You're late." Maggie opened the door this time, looking so nice and clean that I couldn't help but give her a smile. I'd lost myself in Romeo and Juliet thoughts again.

"Sorry. I'm just getting my things together." Maggie gave me an all-knowing look, but backed out of my room nevertheless. I frowned, knowing that my thoughts would have to be diverted to schoolwork for the moment, but later, when I sat in bed, they'd stray, and once again, I'd pick up that tattered, addicting, unrealistic book.