“Ha!” says Ravi, standing at his seat. “I think it’s the opposite, Oedipus. It’s unfortunate, believe me, but actually you love women. You especially love your mommy and you’re jealous that another man has finally won her heart. Poor Hammy. You thought maybe now that Daddy’s gone it would be Junior’s turn. So transparent. Baby wants booby again. Well, I have news for you. Mommy’s boobies belong to someone new.”
“That’s gross,” says the girl behind us, who plays Gertrude.
“Hey,” says Ravi, turning around. “Don’t talk to me about it. Talk to my man Sigmund Freud. Oh yeah. Hamlet loves his mommy. He’s destroyed by guilt. Sexual frustration drives us all mad. Mad, I tell you. Mad.”
Ravi sits down and throws his arms around me.
“Please don’t hug me,” I say.
“Sorry,” says Ravi.
“Well, I want to say something Hamlet should know,” says Fish, still staring across the stage at The Monk. “Even though he acts crazy sometimes. And even though we can’t be together anymore, I’ll always have feelings for him.”
“You will?” says The Monk.
“Yes,” says Fish. “Because I will always care about this brooding boy. And I will hug him and pet him and call him Hammy.”
“Awww,” says The Monk. “You called me Hammy. Now you don’t have to go to a nunnery. Come here, Ophelia. Hamlet misses your big fishy kisses.”
“Yay,” says Fish, who skips into his arms. He dips her backward and kisses her cheek noisily and dramatically.
This bothers me. I stand up again.
Ravi pulls me down again. “Easy there, lover boy,” he says.
Donna Pruitt claps her hands to stop the nonsense. “Enough,” she says. “We need to get back to work. Quiet in the house.” Then she stands between Hamlet and Ophelia. She takes their hands.
“Hamlet,” she says. “Are you crazy in this scene or are you sane?”
“I don’t know,” says The Monk. “I think a little of both.”
“Okay,” she says. “Tell me about what you are trying to accomplish.”
“I want Ophelia to think I’m crazy so she won’t suspect that I’m planning on exposing my uncle Claudius for the murder of my father.”
“Why don’t you want her to know what’s on your mind?”
“Well, I’m confused. I don’t know if I’m ready to be brave and take action, so I figure it’s better to keep her at arm’s-length while I’m trying to make up my mind.”
“Okay, now tell me about the madness.”
“Well,” says The Monk, “I’m grieving over the death of my father. I’m furious with my mother for marrying my uncle, Claudius. And then there’s all the stuff the Ghost of my father told me.”
“What did the Ghost tell you?”
“He told me he was murdered by my uncle and that he wants me to seek revenge.”
“So the Ghost’s words propel you forward in this scene,” says Donna Pruitt.
“Yeah,” says The Monk. “They’re driving me. Pushing me to do things.”
“Then the Ghost’s words need to be the heartbeat behind everything. You need to feel them in everything you do. Like a rope, pulling you. Did you feel the Ghost just now when we ran the scene?”
“No,” says The Monk. “I wasn’t really thinking about him. I was thinking about Ophelia.”
“Try again,” says Donna Pruitt. “Make it real.”
“Hey,” calls The Monk, squinting into the audience. “Max. Get the hell up here. Help me feel the Ghost.”
“I’m not in this scene,” I say.
“It’s okay,” says Donna Pruitt. “Come on up. Let’s see what happens.”
I walk up the stairs and stand onstage with The Monk and Fish.
“Hi Max,” says Fish.
“Hi,” I say.
“What do you want him to do?” asks Fish.
“I don’t know yet,” says Donna Pruitt. “Let’s play the scene again. But this time I want the Ghost in there somehow. You all figure it out. And the rest of us will watch.”
“Boo,” I mutter to The Monk.
“Action,” says Donna Pruitt. She peers at us with shining eyes.
We start the scene again. Now when Hamlet recites the “To Be or Not to Be” speech I am standing near the curtain watching him. My eyes are on him every moment. When he begins talking about whether death is different from sleep, I take a step forward, I reach toward him. He doesn’t turn around, but I know he can feel me, especially as I move closer to him as he kneels on the stage to say his lines, and then pretty soon I am kneeling behind him. I wrap my arms around him. I rock him. He turns and speaks his lines to me, gazing up at my face, and then I kiss him on the forehead and I let him go.
Applause.
“Amazing,” says Donna Pruitt. “But stop the applause. I want them to stay in this space. Keep the scene going.”
Ophelia enters.
“Stay with Hamlet, Ghost. Now. Do it.”
Fish comes onstage barefoot with the love letters. Her eyes are wild.
Hamlet moves from my embrace and goes to her, but we are still attached as though there is an umbilical cord between us. When I pull, he leans back. When I push, he stumbles forward. He falls into her arms. He teases her. He rants about her beauty and her honesty, he pulls her toward him, but then I push my arms into thin air and he pushes his arms against Ophelia and she is suddenly thrown across the stage. And now she is lying crumpled, looking back at him, her eyes filled with hurt. “O, help him, you sweet heavens … O heavenly powers, restore him!”
I will, dear girl. I will.
He chastises her, creeping over to her, petting her hair for a moment, then kissing her neck, hard, as though he wants to hurt her. She tenses up and draws away. Then, feeling my fury behind him, he turns from Ophelia to gaze at me, terrified to see the ghost of his father, who has been with him this whole time.
We are a triangle, me and The Monk and Fish. I back up and Hamlet comes toward me. I walk backward off stage right, pulling my hands as though I have a rope that is tied to his neck. Hamlet stumbles forward and then trips as though shackled and then, finally, gives up and follows me, stumbling, his eyes blazing. Ophelia is left alone onstage, weeping.
“Brilliant,” says Donna Pruitt. “From now on this is how I want it to be.”
TRIANGLES AND OTHER THREE-SIDED POLYGONS
After rehearsal, we all head to The Monk’s dorm room to play truth or dare. February has cast its shroud over the frozen campus and we slap our arms and legs to keep our blood moving. The crows jeer at us from bare trees. We hurry down the path to the dorm and push our way into the building, windows fogged from the heat inside. We climb the stairs, throw open his door, and pile into his room like clowns in a clown car. Then we dump our coats in the corner and thaw ourselves. The Monk sits on his desk with Ravi at his feet. Me and Smitty and Griswald push off a swirl of towels and books so we can fit on the bed, and Fish curls up on the floor with a pillow. Thomas A. Trowbridge the Fourth watches us from his desk on the other side of the room. Everyone ignores him except Griswald, who nods to him and then looks away.
“I have a surprise for all of you,” says Smitty.
“Ooh,” says The Monk. “I love surprises. What did you bring?”
Smitty unzips his backpack. “Contraband,” he says. He takes out a wrinkled paper bag.
“Did you bring drugs into this room?” says Thomas.
“Not drugs,” says Smitty, winking. “Tea.”
“What’s so good about tea?” I ask.
“We’re gonna smoke it,” drawls Smitty.
“What does it do to you?” I ask.
“Absolutely nothing,” says Smitty. “But it tastes yummy.”
“Smoking is bad for you,” says Thomas.
“Not when it’s herbal,” says Smitty. “This is Lemon Zinger.”
“Putting any smoke into your lungs is bad for you, no matter what it is,” says Thomas.
“I don’t think a
nyone asked for your opinion,” says The Monk.
“It’s not my opinion. It’s a fact.”
“Well, no one asked for your facts then.”
“Children,” says Smitty. “Stop fighting.” Smitty shakes a plastic Baggie out of the paper bag. Then he takes a pack of rolling papers from his pocket and tries to make cigarettes, but he’s all thumbs. Lemon Zinger goes everywhere and nothing stays rolled up.
“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” says The Monk.
“Shut up,” says Smitty. “I’m doing my best.”
Griswald is laughing so hard at Smitty that his Mohawk vibrates. He reaches across me, slaps Smitty’s hand, swipes the plastic bag and the rolling papers, and begins making joints like a pro, folding the paper in half, sprinkling in the tea, licking the edge, and rolling it up. He is fast. He works with deft and nimble fingers. It takes him a while, but in the end he has seven of them. Griswald kisses his fingertips like a chef and smiles at us.
Smitty swipes the cigarettes back from Griswald. “Show-off,” he says, and then he hands out cigarettes to each of us like they are dollar bills and he is our uncle. Smitty reaches in his pocket and takes out a lighter.
“Don’t you dare light up in this room,” says Thomas.
“Careful or you’ll exhaust yourself with all this self-righteousness,” snaps The Monk.
“You’ll set off the fire alarm,” continues Thomas. “And then we’ll all get in trouble. This school happens to mean something to me. Okay? If you’re going to smoke, do it somewhere else.”
The Monk gets up from the desk and opens a window.
“Problem solved,” he says.
Smitty lights our cigarettes.
“What am I supposed to do with it?” I ask him when he comes to me.
“Just suck in,” says Smitty.
I do. It is revolting. The smoke burns my throat and my lungs. But Smitty loves his. “Mmm,” says Smitty. “Lemony.”
“You’re a lunatic,” says Fish.
“I’m a daredevil,” says Smitty.
“That’s why I love you,” says The Monk.
Ravi and Thomas roll their eyes.
“Smitty,” says Fish. “Truth or dare.”
“Dare,” says Smitty, taking another drag on his tea.
“I dare you to kiss Thomas’s foot.”
Smitty looks over at Thomas’s bare feet and wriggles his eyebrows.
“I don’t want him to kiss my foot,” says Thomas. “That’s totally unsanitary. This is a really bad game. Please don’t involve me.”
Smitty walks across the room to Thomas. Then he kneels down in front of Thomas like he is going to propose.
“Please don’t,” says Thomas, but before Thomas can jerk away, Smitty grabs Thomas’s foot with two hands and gives it an enormous sloppy kiss.
Thomas screams and kicks Smitty in the face. “Don’t ever do that again,” he says. “That was horrible. I’ll probably never recover.”
Smitty wipes his mouth and returns to the bed, grinning.
“My turn to ask,” says Smitty. “Thomas. Truth or dare.”
“I’m not playing,” says Thomas.
“Oh, you’re playing. Come on. It won’t be as much fun without you.”
“Well, okay,” says Thomas.
“Truth or dare,” repeats Smitty.
“Truth,” says Thomas.
Smitty narrows his eyes. “Okay. Here’s one. Did you snitch on The Monk?”
Thomas doesn’t say anything.
“Did you tell Administration that he was driving after curfew?”
“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t,” says Thomas.
“No,” says Smitty. “You have to tell the truth. You chose truth.”
“Well, dare then,” says Thomas.
“Kiss Ravi,” says Smitty.
“I’m not going to do that,” says Thomas.
“Okay, then truth.”
“Tell the truth, Thomas,” says The Monk. “For Christ’s sake stop being such a pussy and tell the frigging truth.”
Lemony smoke rises into the room.
Thomas looks from one of us to another, trapped.
“I don’t have to do this,” he says finally. “I’m leaving. Have fun burning out your lungs. I hope you all get cancer and die.”
He is not aware of the irony.
Thomas puts on his socks and shoes, gathers up his books, and marches out of the room. He slams the door behind him.
We all stub out our tea except The Monk, who keeps on smoking.
“Exit stage left,” says The Monk.
“I think you guys were mean to him,” I say.
“Give me a break, Friedman,” snaps The Monk. “He’s lucky I don’t make his life a living hell.”
“Maybe you do,” I say.
The Monk takes a long drag of his tea and blows smoke into the room. Ravi, still sitting on the floor in front of the desk, leans his head against The Monk’s leg and The Monk lets him do it, patting him absently like a dog, but then he realizes what he is doing and he stiffens and shifts so that they are no longer touching. Ravi reaches for his leg again but The Monk shoves him with his foot.
“Dude,” he says. “You’re freaking me out.”
“Sorry,” says Ravi.
“Ravi,” says Fish. “Truth or dare.”
“I don’t think so, small Fish,” says Ravi, frowning. “Not today.”
“Please?” says Fish.
“No,” says Ravi. “I’m not in the mood.”
He leans his head back against the desk.
The game becomes more twisted over the next several turns. The Monk makes Griswald take off his pants and stick his bare butt out the window. Fish makes Smitty give her a huge, red hickey on her neck. Smitty makes Fish go into the closet, take off all her clothes, and cluck like a chicken. Fish makes The Monk grab his balls. The Monk makes me rub Smitty’s belly as though he were a Buddha. Then it’s my turn.
“Fish,” I say. “Truth or dare.”
“Truth,” says Fish.
I take a deep breath. “Are you and The Monk a couple?”
Everyone freezes. Even the tumor.
Ravi closes his eyes.
“Are we a couple?” Fish asks The Monk.
The Monk doesn’t answer.
Fish turns back to me. “It’s complicated,” she says.
“Yes or no,” I say.
“It’s not really a yes-or-no answer.”
“Yes or no,” I say.
Fish takes a deep breath. “Yes,” she says. “I guess the quick answer is yes.”
“Okay.” I nod and I keep on nodding like some kind of deranged bobblehead. Inside, my body feels cold and I have to hold myself still so that I won’t shatter right there in front of all of them. Fish watches me, wide-eyed. Then she puts her shoulders back and holds herself taller.
“David,” says Fish, “truth or dare.”
“Dare,” says The Monk, taking one last drag of his tea before throwing it out the window. “And make it good. I’m in the mood for a big one.”
“You want a big one?” asks Fish.
“Yeah,” says The Monk. “Challenge me.”
“And you’ll do it? You promise?”
“Anything for you,” says The Monk.
Fish stands up. “Come over here,” she says.
The Monk grins and saunters over to her. Ravi puts his head in his hands. Fish gets up on her tiptoes and The Monk bends down and they kiss, tenderly at first, and then more roughly. I want to leave the room. I want to get out of here and wipe the image from my mind, but I promised I wouldn’t ever run away again. When the kiss is over, Fish looks up into his eyes.
“Are you ready for the dare?”
The Monk pushes a stray lock of her hair back behind her ear.
“Yes,” says The Monk.
Fish takes a deep breath.
“Okay,” she says. “Here’s your dare. I want you to end things with me.”
“What?”
says The Monk.
“I want you to look into my eyes and say, Felicia, I think we should start seeing other people. And then I want you to kiss me on the forehead and set me free.”
“I don’t want to do that,” says The Monk.
“You said you would do anything I wanted.”
“You want this?” asks The Monk incredulously.
“Yes,” says Fish.
The Monk takes a breath and then lets it out. He looks down into her face. “Felicia,” he says, “I think we should start seeing other people.”
He kisses her on the forehead for a very long time.
He closes his eyes and stoops down to rest his cheek on the top of her head.
And then he lets her go.
BIRDS TO THE SLAUGHTER
Outside the kitchen window, the snow swirls, illuminated beneath the streetlights. It scatters from the snowdrifts like mist rising through the night. I sit at the window and watch the slow cars. Their headlights shine beams of snow. No matter how old I am, I always feel excited about a snowstorm. There’s something in the air that changes, something you can taste in the back of your throat, an orange glow in the sky, and even though I’m snug and warm inside the kitchen, I can still feel the pillowed hush of snow outdoors each time I breathe.
When I was in elementary school, I used to pray for a snow day. All night long I would wake every few hours and run to the window to check the streetlight to see if its beam still illuminated falling snow. Then I’d check the roof outside my window to guess how many inches had fallen. If, by midnight, the snow had already made a white hood, like the back of a large white turtle, chances were pretty good that there would be no school and I could spend the next day doing all the things I loved: sledding, making snow dragons, snow forts, and best of all, eating Mom’s gourmet maple-drizzled snow cones.
Grandma rises from the kitchen table and stands behind me. She puts both of her hands on my shoulders and watches out the window with me. Then, absently, she begins petting my hair with her warm, smooth hands the way she used to do when I was little. I lean my head back into her hands and close my eyes.
There is a click.
“I got it!” says Dad putting his camera back on the table. “That was a good one. The light was perfect. Oh, you two are going to just love that.”
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