The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series)

by Georgina Guthrie

  “It’s not surprising that there’s such a varied reaction to the play and differing opinions about who is most deserving of pathos,” I argued. “The psychology of the characters is central to the plot, but we don’t get a clear idea of what’s going on in their minds because of the lack of soliloquy.”

  “Oh, yeah. I never really noticed that,” Neil mused.

  “We don’t have the same benefit of constant dramatic irony that we have when reading Hamlet or Macbeth, for instance,” I said. “You may think you understand a character’s thoughts and motivations, but you can’t always be entirely sure. We can either assume the characters’ words are true, or constantly distrust their veracity, which isn’t a pleasant notion. This, of course, is the way relationships work in life.”

  Aubrey held up her hand as if she were flagging down a taxi.

  “Let me understand this, Daniel. You’re basically saying that in life we should give people the benefit of the doubt, because otherwise we’d all be going around mistrusting everyone all the time. Am I following?”

  Holy fuck. Is she serious? If I survive this hour, it’ll be an act of God. I picked up my pen and tapped it thoughtfully on my notepad.

  “I suppose that’s a valid interpretation, Miss Price. Unfortunately, sometimes people do things to make it quite clear that they haven’t been deserving of that leap of faith. I’m reminded of your words earlier in the semester about King Duncan. Look what happened to him.”

  She expelled her breath in a huff, muttered something to Julie, and crossed her arms in irritation. I was fairly certain the whispered comment had been about me, but I couldn’t let that distract me. Around the room, her peers were beginning to look at her with confused expressions. Did she have no regard for the fact that we were in a room full of other people? I forced the discussion back to the play.

  “Anyway, our interpretation is bound to be based on our prior experiences. I find that with a play like this, my understanding of the theme differs every time I read it, depending on the frame of mind I’m in.”

  “But you’re on Antony’s side, right?” Shawn asked.

  “Well, I don’t know if it’s as easy as taking sides, but I can understand his predicament,” I clarified. “Here’s a man caught between doing his duty and devoting himself to a woman. It’s an age-old dilemma.” I glanced at Aubrey. “He seems to know that being with her will bring him grief—”

  “But he can’t stay away from her. He loves her too much,” piped up Neil. “There’s that line he says—I don’t remember it. She’s, like, fishing for a compliment or something, and he says something. It’s near the beginning. Daniel? Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yes, I think I know exactly what you mean. Give me a second.” I turned quickly to the first scene. “Ah, here it is. Cleopatra asks for an assurance of how much he loves her, and he says, ‘There’s beggary in the love that can be reckoned.’ Is that the one you meant?” I asked.

  Neil nodded, but seemed disinclined to comment further.

  “That’s a significant line, I have to admit. Anyone have any thoughts?” I asked, looking around the room.

  Julie’s hand flicked up. “Well, he’s saying that love that can be calculated or quantified is meaningless or lacking true value,” she said in a sad voice. “Essentially, he’s telling her that his love for her is so great that it defies measurement.”

  “Precisely,” I said. “He can’t even articulate the depth of his feelings for her. So we shouldn’t be surprised that he’s prepared to sacrifice everything. And incidentally, that’s not a flippant decision for someone whose honor and reputation mean everything to him. This, essentially, is Antony’s psychological conflict. Cleopatra distracts him from his duties, and yet he’s unable to give her up. He simply can’t reconcile his clashing values.”

  And, fuck me, do I ever identify with that feeling.

  Across the table Shawn was frowning.

  “You disagree, Mr. Ward?” I asked.

  “No, I wouldn’t say that, but it seems like a hell of a lot to give up for a woman’s love.”

  “Again, it’s all about what we bring to the table. A reader who’s been prepared to make enormous sacrifices to secure someone’s love would not find his actions incomprehensible,” I pointed out.

  Aubrey expelled another loud sigh. Against my better judgment, I decided to call her on it. “Something to add, Miss Price?”

  She narrowed her eyes. I could almost see her synapses firing.

  “Well, a minute ago, you said you weren’t taking sides. But that was fairly undisguised admiration for Antony as far as I can tell.” She sat upright in her chair and crossed her hands in front of her. “Do you think Cleopatra really loved him?”

  I wasn’t sure if she was baiting me, but I carefully kept my comments within the scope of the play. “I don’t deny her feelings for him, but I can see how readers might second guess her motivations. The way she handles Antony involves a degree of changeability and opportunism which may make her seem capable of betraying him.”

  All eyes were on us again. As we bandied ideas back and forth, I was reminded how much I loved intellectually sparring with her. Even in a state of conflict, we seemed to be connected by an invisible current. Everyone else in the room faded into the background.

  Not surprisingly, Aubrey had a rebuttal at the ready. “Personally, I think she adores him,” she claimed. “After he’s died in her arms and she says, ‘The odds is gone, and there is nothing left remarkable beneath the visiting moon,’ well, to me, that exemplifies the depth of her love.”

  She never ceased to amaze me, again quoting directly from the play without even looking at her book. And she was right. That was one of the most heart-wrenching lines in the play. I wanted to shake her, rail at her for giving up on me. And in that moment, my heart betrayed me. I actually felt sorry for her.

  She seemed to have talked herself out. After holding my gaze for a moment, she lowered her eyes. I’d lost the thread of the discussion entirely, staring down the table stupidly. Luckily, Julie stepped in to fill the silence. “It was such a waste,” she observed. “You have to wonder what possessed either of them to behave the way they did.”

  I recovered my equilibrium and picked up on her comment. “That’s part of Shakespeare’s genius. Here we have characters, like people, acting in response to a multitude of motivations. Readers might not be able to discern the reason for their behavior. What I find myself doing is wondering whether the characters themselves even understand why they’re behaving the way they are. Their psychological crises make them seem most human.”

  “Well, they both frustrate me,” Julie said, looking at me boldly. “I’d like to take their heads and bash them together to knock some sense into them.”

  Was it possible that Julie had now moved beyond the printed page and started talking about real life as well? If so, that meant she knew exactly what was going on between Aubrey and me. I had to bring this to a close. Comments were beginning to cut a little too close to the bone for my liking.

  “Again, that’s the mark of a great writer, I suppose—to be able to elicit that reaction from you.” I collected my papers and flipped through to find my Othello notes. “I sense we’ve only skimmed the surface on these issues. I’ll be sure to tell Professor Brown what kinds of questions and themes have come up, and perhaps he’ll be good enough to include some of these relevant quotations on next Friday’s identification test. Now, sorry to rush things along, but we should spend some time discussing Othello before you go.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aubrey move, packing up her bag. She whispered something to Julie, grabbed her things and made a speedy departure, mumbling something about an appointment. I didn’t buy it, but I wasn’t about to stop her. Shawn Ward waved and smiled. She didn’t acknowledge him. As she closed the door soundly behind her, another uneasy silence settled over the room.

  “Well, let’s turn to page three-forty-six in our anthologies and rake ou
r friend Othello over the coals, shall we?” I said with a grim smile.

  The sound of rustling pages broke the tension, and little conversations broke out around the room. Shawn and Vince debated the reason for Aubrey’s sudden departure. Vince proposed that she might be getting her hair done in preparation for some event later tonight. Shawn didn’t look convinced, claiming he wasn’t surprised to see Cara and Lindsay away, assuming they’d probably gone to a day spa, but that he didn’t think Aubrey was the type.

  I feigned interest in my notes, letting them ramble on for a couple of minutes, eavesdropping shamelessly and wondering if Julie would offer them—and me, for that matter—an explanation. She didn’t, which left me wondering what event was taking place that would require an appointment at a hairdresser’s. Was Aubrey going to this event with Matt? Envy burned through my chest, but it was neither the time nor the place to indulge jealous preoccupations.

  I pulled myself together and launched into Othello. We spent the next twenty minutes trying to figure out why Iago was such an ass and why Othello had been so quick to believe his lies about Desdemona. More people contributed to the discussion this time, but Julie remained silent throughout, deep in thought. I avoided making eye contact with her and almost leapt out of my seat with joy when I saw that it was time to wrap up for the day. How many more Friday tutorials were there? Five? Six? Surely this would get easier with time.

  Barely holding myself together, I collected my things and waited for the room to empty. My mouth was dry, and my heart was hammering. Keeping control of that tutorial had been one of the most taxing challenges of my job thus far as TA, and I wasn’t convinced I’d done a terribly effective job at that.

  My bag packed, I glanced up to see Julie still standing by the end of the table, watching me pull on my coat. She looked as though she had something to say. I gazed at her, waiting for her to speak.

  “Aubrey wanted you to have this,” she said. She dropped a plastic bag on the table, and then she quickly turned and walked out of the room.

  I rubbed my face in frustration. Yep, she knew. How was I going to make it through the rest of the term? Grimacing, I headed for the door, picking up the bag and jamming it in the side pocket of my laptop bag. I dared not look inside now.

  I took the stairs two at a time and raced out the front doors of Hart House, trying to shake off the anxious tension the last two hours had provoked. Could Aubrey have been any more pointed with her comments? Why did she have to be so goddamned sharp? I thought I had the ability to mind-fuck people, but today I’d met my match. God only knew what would have happened if she’d stayed for the discussion of Othello.

  I reached the crest of Hart House Circle, nearing my car which was parked in its usual spot in front of University College. As I topped the hill, I realized I had company.

  Matthew Miller.

  What was he doing here? And why the fuck was he leaning on my car?

  Chapter 26

  Then Shall He Mourn

  Then shall he mourn,

  If ever love had interest in his liver,

  And wish he had not so accused her,

  No, though he thought his accusation true.

  (Much Ado About Nothing, Act IV, Scene 1)

  MATT GLARED AT ME AS I STOPPED in front of him.

  “Matt. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Oh, I just thought I’d come and pay you a little visit,” he said. “I knew Aubrey had a one o’clock tutorial with you over here. I was going to try to track you down, but then I saw your shiny ol’ Beemer and figured I’d wait here for you instead.”

  He smacked the side of my car with the palm of his hand as he spoke, and I seriously considered doing the same to his head.

  “Mind telling me what this is about? I’m assuming you didn’t come all the way here to clean my car door with your ass?”

  “Oh, I have no desire to clean your car, but I am tempted to clean your fucking clock,” he said, taking a menacing step forward and clenching his fists at his sides. I dropped my bag on the ground with a thud, adrenaline ripping through my veins.

  “Well, how incredibly junior high of you, Mr. Miller. Are we waiting for some of your pals to show up to cheer you on?”

  “Don’t talk down to me, Grant. If you’ve got any sense in that thick skull of yours, you’ll listen to what I have to say and drop the pompous act.”

  “I’m all ears. Go ahead,” I said, crossing my arms. It took every ounce of self-control not to grab him and smash his head through the windshield. I wasn’t accustomed to such primal anger.

  “I came to tell you that if you hurt Aubrey again, I’ll fucking kill you. No questions asked,” he said levelly.

  “Now that is quite a threat. Why on earth would I hurt Miss Price? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I was trying to remain nonchalant.

  “Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about,” he said, voice dangerously low.

  I sighed. “Listen, why don’t you quit playing games and tell me what this is about, because I assure you I have no clue what you’re trying to say.”

  He crossed his arms, his posture mirroring mine. “All right. No games.” He narrowed his eyes. “I happen to know that you and Aubrey are close. Probably closer than a TA and student are supposed to be.”

  I flinched internally but tried not to betray my panic. Had Aubrey sold me out? Fuck, this was not good. What this guy could do with that kind of information! I could be on my way to being well and truly screwed.

  “And before you jump to conclusions, Grant, she didn’t volunteer this information. I practically had to wring the truth out of her. She was having a weak moment. Otherwise I’m sure she wouldn’t have said anything. But really? I didn’t need her to confirm it. I’m not stupid. It wasn’t hard to figure out. I’ve been piecing this whole thing together for a while now.”

  I swallowed dryly but said nothing. Did he honestly know everything, or was he bluffing? And if he did know, was he now playing the part of the jealous new boyfriend, threatening me to stay away from his girl? Is that what this was about?

  “Don’t feel like you have to confirm or deny anything. That’s not why I’m here,” he said. “And for the record? I don’t give a good goddamn whether or not you’re supposed to be together or what the rules are. It’s none of my business. I don’t even think it’s all that big of a deal. You might think you’re all important with your fancy car and your arrogant airs, but you’re not a prof. You’re just a TA for Christ’s sake.”

  You don’t understand, I wanted to say. If only you knew what was at stake here. But no, I hadn’t even told Aubrey the precariousness of my position. Of all people in the world to confide in, Matt was not the one. I did my best to remain non-committal. “Go on. I’m listening,” I said.

  “I don’t care about the lines you’ve crossed or whatever. If I did, I’d be at the English Department offices right now instead of standing here talking to you. What I do care about is Aubrey. She’s been a mess since Tuesday, and she’ll probably kill me for coming here and telling you this, but I’ve never seen her so messed up over a guy. She’s a strong girl—not a crier. But this week? Not good, man.” He looked at me quizzically. “I have no clue what she sees in you, but she must see something ’cause you completely knocked her on her ass with your fuckery.”

  Another unwelcome flicker of sympathy licked at my conscience. I wanted to continue feeling hurt by Aubrey’s betrayal, but his account of how she’d struggled through the last few days rattled my cage. How in the hell did he think he had the right to call me out for my so-called “fuckery,” though? I was the victim here, wasn’t I? I wasn’t the one who’d been dry humping someone else in a bar.

  Did I dare speak frankly to him?

  “Listen. I’m not going to pretend I’m comfortable talking to you about all this, but I see there’s no point in continuing to deny that Aubrey and I are…were…close friends,” I said, selecting my words with infinite care. “She tru
sts you. She cares about you. I know your loyalties rest with her. But after what I saw you two doing on Tuesday, I don’t see how you think you can come here and try to make me feel like shit. Does she expect me to turn a blind eye to her conduct?”

  “Her conduct?” Matt snorted. “You’re talking about what you thought you saw happening at the Madison? I don’t remember much—I was wasted. I showed up there, and Aubrey had to take care of me. Apparently she had to hold me up. If she hadn’t, I would’ve ended up on my ass. So when you arrived, that’s what you saw. And she tried to follow you, and then she tried to text you—wanted to explain what had happened—but you ignored her. And you know what? As usual, she didn’t take anything out on me. Somehow she and Julie got me home in a cab. I could barely stand up, never mind walk.”

  I stared at him dumbly. I couldn’t reconcile what he was saying with what I’d seen: The two of them tangled together, his arms around her, his face buried in her neck, her leg between his knees, one hand in his hair, the other caressing his back. And Julie had been there?

  “You have no idea how much I want to believe you, Miller, but what I saw was way more than Aubrey propping you up, man.”

  He laughed cynically. “You know what you saw, Grant? I’d just seen my ex making out with another guy, and I was spinning. I’m sure even you can understand that. Aubrey was there for me, as always. She was consoling me. If someone needs her, she’s there. If that threatens you, man, you’d better walk away right now.”

  “Are you telling me nothing happened between you two on Tuesday night?”

  “Nothing but Aubrey being a great friend. If you think there’s more to it than that, you’ve hatched it in your own fucked-up imagination.”

  The truth behind his words struck me with a suddenness that took my breath away as the details of his story clicked into place. I sighed heavily, rubbing my face roughly.

  “Ah, fuck. I can’t believe this!”