Falling for Hamlet

2



“Did the queen take you out for ‘girl time’?” Zara asks as a picture of Ophelia and Gertrude in front of Elsinore’s most notoriously expensive shop is projected.

“Sometimes.”

“What did you two talk about?”

Ophelia blinks a few times and then her mouth curls into something resembling a smile. “I’ll never tell.”

Zara leans in. “I guess a girl has to keep her secrets. But, just between us, did you talk about Prince Hamlet?”

Ophelia winces almost undetectably but then flips her hair. “What do you think?” she asks as she reaches for a glass of water. Her hands shake slightly, and she spills a few drops on the armrest of the couch.

Zara seems not to notice and winks at the audience.

“Gertrude may dress you up and welcome you at her table, but she’s not your mother and you’re not her child.”

I turned away from my reflection, letting my new dress slip to the floor.

Laertes continued. “You can never have what they have. You can never be rich, like they are. This whole thing with Hamlet can only end in disappointment.”

I picked up the dress, threw it across the plaid couch as if it didn’t cost a month of my father’s salary, and stomped toward our kitchen. “Laertes, I’m aware of all that. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Sometimes I think you are,” he said while following me.

“Nice.” I scowled. “It’s a dress.”

He slid onto a bar stool at the kitchen island. “It’s not just a dress. Every time that woman gives you something, there is a reason behind it.”

“That is not true.”

“If you broke up with Hamlet—you, and I mean you crushed him—do you really think she’d invite you the next morning for tea and shopping?”

I shook my head, knowing he was right.

“Be careful, that’s all I’m saying.”

I handed him a soda before slumping on the kitchen island and asking, “Where were you last night?”

“Movie. I heard Hamlet leave around two.”

I had to concentrate to swallow my tea.

“What if Father saw him?” he asked.

“He didn’t.”

Laertes shook his head. “You shouldn’t trust Hamlet. This thing you two have, it’s like… like a violet.”

“A violet?” I asked.

“Yes, a violet,” he overenunciated. “Sure it’s beautiful and perfect, but it can’t last. This is a diversion, nothing more.”

“Nothing?” I asked, my blood starting to heat.

“No. And even if it was, let’s say he loves you now… do you really believe he has a choice in who he marries?”

“Marries? Laertes, no one is thinking of marriage.”

“You’ve been together on and off for, what, two years?”

I nodded as I counted.

“In another few, you’ll be at an age where people do think about marriage.”

The thought was too foreign to me.

He continued, “Let’s say you do stay together. You know Hamlet can’t make any major decisions alone. And he certainly can’t choose the daughter of an employee as his queen.”

“But—”

“I know you’ll say he loves you, but if something goes wrong, what’ll happen to your reputation? Worry about that, Ophelia.”

“My reputation? Jesus, Laertes, exactly what century do you think we live in?”

“Have you seen the tabloids? You think there is no such thing as public shame these days? You’re so naive.”

“Shut up,” I said, walking toward the dress I had cast aside.

“Very eloquent,” he retorted.

I spun around, annoyed as much by his implying that I was stupid as by his calling me naive. “You are such a hypocrite. Are you saying you’ve never treaded on the primrose path of dalliance?”

“On the what?”

I was enjoying one-upping my brilliant brother. “I asked if you’re telling me you’ve never screwed around.”

“You and those poetry classes.” He sighed. “Of course I have.”

I lifted my hands in a grand “touché.”

He added, “But never with someone famous.”

I dropped my arms and threw myself onto the couch. I hated that he was always right.

He sat next to me and said, “I worry about you. That’s all. Mom’s gone, and Dad’s, well, Dad. You have no one to say these things to you. I’m telling you, Ophelia, this thing with Hamlet can only end in disaster.”

“I know it’s been rocky, Laertes, but I actually love him. I don’t know how to be without him.”

He sighed and said, “Then we have a problem,” and sympathetically stroked my hair.

Before I could knock his hand away and tell him to cut the crap, the elevator dinged, and out stepped our father.

Laertes whispered, “We should talk more about this later.”

I shoved a pillow over my face and groaned. I didn’t need another father. My first father was frustrating enough. And why couldn’t Laertes just let me be happy about Hamlet?

My father said, “Ah, Laertes, come with me into my office, my boy. Before you go back to school, I would like to have a word with you.” Laertes stood heavily, bracing himself for one of my father’s wisdom-filled lectures, and winked at me. My father, down the hall already, was still talking and did not notice. I stayed hidden until the door to the study was closed. Then I ran back to my room to text Hamlet about going out that night.

Francisco: Our records show that Gertrude took you shopping. Quite a bit, actually.



Barnardo: Seems odd.



Ophelia: Gertrude was odd. And manipulative.



Francisco: So she took you shopping to manipulate you?



Ophelia: Yeah.



Barnardo: She punished you with expensive dresses. Scary.



Ophelia: No, she took me with her to get information about my life and about her son.



Francisco: And you went along with it?



Ophelia: It was part of the game.



Barnardo: And it was fun to have expensive things.



Ophelia: Yeah.



Francisco: And a mother for a few hours.



Ophelia: That’s not how it was.



Barnardo: Oh come on. Every girl needs a mother.



Ophelia: Not one like Gertrude.