Romeo and Juliet

Prologue

"Just look at him, Tybalt. He's miserable and he doesn't even know why. He used to love

parties and fun and girls. Now. . . he doesn't even get drunk anymore."

" Damn, Mercutio. Getting drunk isn't always a good thing. And it's his own fault for

being such an immature lowlife. He was the one who left my cousin.

"He was only seventeen, just a kid. I wouldn't blame him for not wanting to commit. He

wanted to travel and explore before settling down."

" Yeah, and apparently that was an excuse to get away. He didn't love her. He never did.

He was weak and couldn't hang; he listened to his body instead of his heart. She doesn't believe

in love anymore. He's gone and forgotten her completely. Damn you Montagues!"

" Shut up, Tybalt. Get over it. I'm dead, you're dead, we're equal as far as I can see. And

Romeo's suffering. You should be happy. I've looked into his heart, you know. He's missing

her. He's brushed her from his mind because he's afraid He doesn't remember her because she

taught him to love and he feels like failed. He needs love. Why do you think he spent so much

time in Venice? It's the city of love, of marriage. Hell, at least his heart knows it if he's too blind

to see it with his own eyes. What's your cousin up to these days?

" She's working in New York City in some coffee shop. Did you know she wrote Romeo

at least eight times after he left? He never answered. She even sent him a ring. Poor girl.

" He got them though. They're lying forgotten in the corner of his dresser drawer, the one

he never opens because it's broken. The ring's probably in there too."

" How can you love him, Mercutio? He let you drive, and you were underage. He's alive

and you're here, stuck with me for all eternity. Doesn't it just eat you alive?

" The guilt's eating him alive, Tybalt; I intend to do something about that. It wasn't his

fault. I want him to be happy, if I can. He deserves a second chance. As for being stuck with you,

there's nothing I can do about that."

I was dreaming of Venice. It was night, and the reflected glow of the street lamps

transformed the canals into shimmering straits of light. I was standing in my luxurious hotel

room, gazing out the window with my neck craned skywards. The stars were tiny pinpricks in the

heavens and they were singing. As I watched, they began to blur and I was lost in their music,

their songs of romance and fantasies; it filled my head with sweet murmurings. Then I heard the

other sounds. They filtered into my thoughts thickly at first, then clear and razor-sharp and

terrible. It was the shrill screech of brakes, the shattering of glass, and the deafening sound of

silence. Alarms began to sound and ring in the distance, and suddenly they were blaring in my

head, pounding in my brain and I opened my mouth to scream.

BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP! BL- *

I jolted out of sleep and fumbled for the alarm clock. My hand flailed wildly about and

knocked several things off the night stand, including the damn clock. I heard it bounce once on

the carpet and die in mid-BLEEP. I sat up, my heart racing furiously, and I didn't know where I

was. Was that a dream? Am I alive? Where the hell am I? I looked around frantically; my pulse

slowed when I recognized the familiar dark shapes of my room. I relaxed, feeling sleepy and

burrowed into the blankets, curled up into a ball, shut my eyes tight . . . and opened them again.

I like my room dark when I sleep, dark enough that the difference between my room and the

backs of my eyelids is the red winking display of the alarm clock. The curtains were drawn to

create artificial night, but sunlight was pouring in through a gap, shining right into my eyes.

Growling, I threw the covers off and stumbled into the bathroom.

The face that greeted me in the mirror was thin and rugged. I hadn't shaved since

Monday and my reflection was rather stubbly. There were light shadows under the eyes and the

dark brown hair was untidy and flattened from sleeping on my side all night. I sighed, splashed

cold water onto my face and staggered off back to the bedroom. I tripped over the alarm clock

on the ground; it was nine. Time for a morning smoke. I opened the curtains and stepped out

onto the balcony. The sky was hazy and blue and hot. One could almost see the heat waves

shimmer in the air. I went for my pack of cigarettes, but they weren't in my pocket. I went back

into the apartment and checked the pockets of my jeans, but I found nothing. The floor was

cluttered with junk, including my keys, wallet, sunglasses, and watch. Close but no damn cigar.

Where were those #!$&*^ cigarettes!?

[Look behind your night stand, you dumb-ass.] A hollow disembodied voice crept into

my thoughts and I jumped with surprise, but I knew who it was without looking up. A young

man was lying on my unmade bed, hands cupped behind his head. His eyes were closed and he

was humming dreamily. In the darkness behind the night stand I discovered my missing smokes.

I glared at him and he grinned. I snatched them up and stormed out to the balcony to light up,

slamming the glass door behind me. He sprung off the bed like a cat and slipped after me, not

even pausing to open the door.

I was leaning against the rail staring up at the sky. Mercutio stood a couple of feet away

and watched me with unblinking grey eyes; I squirmed under his gaze. He was dressed entirely

in black, except for his belt buckle which was silver and engraved with the letter M. I returned

his scrutiny, taking slow drags on my cigarette. With his black hair, silvery eyes and classic good

looks, he was pretty much the same Mercutio I remembered. An wild, immature sixteen-year-

old. Death had mellowed and matured him only a bit. In the ten years since the crash, his injuries

had faded to nothing. The scar on my back and my guilt had not.

"So how have you been doing? It's been a while. . . thanks for giving me a warning this

time." The last time Mercutio had visited, he'd scared the hell out of me; it was night and he

grabbed me. I freaked out because all I saw was a pale hand attached to my arm.

[ I've been good. Yesterday I saw the hottest girl but she didn't so much as look at me.

That hurt. But I've been reading old Superman comics, and I still say he can kick Batman's ass.

I'm hungry! What you got to eat?] I laughed. Mercutio was always hungry, especially for cherry

slushies and hot dogs. Food had been his weak spot. . . but then, so had alcohol, drugs, and girls.

"It's not like you can eat anything anyway. You wouldn't even be able to hold food in

your hands," I told him.

[I know. Damn.]

We stood there for a while, gazing past the skyscrapers to the World Trade Towers in the

distance. The sun was warming up now; though it was early, little beads of sweat were forming

on the back of my neck. My cigarette was almost gone and I considered lighting up again, but

resisted. My mother always told me that cigarettes were unhealthy and addicting, and I believed

her. Yawning, I took a last puff, tossed the butt over the balcony rail, and went back inside.

Mercutio drifted after me and plopped down onto my bed again. It was nine-thirty and I had a

job to get to. I reached through him and began to put the blankets in order and fluff the pillows.

[Stop that. You know I hate it when you do that. It feels like someone's knocked the

wind out of my lungs] he whined.

"Yeah, it feels real nice to me too. Like I just plunged my hands into a bucket of ice

water. If you don't like it, move your lazy butt." He got up and looked around my room. It

wasn't too bad for the apartment of a young single 27-year-old man. Messy, but not disgustingly

so. There were some clothes scattered around; two of my dresser drawers were broken and

unable to open. There was a writing desk, a CD player, a bed, and a night stand, but that was

about all. Mercutio walked into my sitting room and I heard a soft whoosh. He had jumped onto

my huge beanbag; it was originally blue but now swathed in duct tape and sporting a dull shade

of silver. The TV clicked on, a laugh track sounded, and he was off, giggling hysterically. I

shook my head, pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed my wallet and house key and headed for

the door.

Mercutio suddenly appeared and wordlessly handed me a silver ring. It had small snakes

engraved into the metal, ornamented with eyes of emerald or some other green stone. It looked

vaguely familiar, but the memory it sparked was too foggy to see.

"Where'd you find this?" I asked him. He was standing with his hands rammed in his

pockets and looking slightly shifty.

[Um. . it was under the bed. I saw it when you were looking for your cigarettes. I thought

you might like to have it.] He smiled and inspected his fingernails with great interest.

I held the ring in my palm. Its weight was comfortable and strangely appropriate. I

slipped it on my finger and turned to Mercutio.

"Thanks. I've got to get to work now. You gonna come or stay here?"

[ I think I'll chill here for now. . . you got a Nintendo? Just kidding. I'll probably just

watch television. I hear "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure" is on. Have fun.] He disappeared

and I heard a soft whoosh again. I left. I was a bike messenger on the streets of New York, and

now late for work

"One double latte, extra milk, heavy cream, no cinnamon!" Juliet scrambled to fill the

order, mentally checking off what needed to be done. She turned this way and that, monitoring

the coffee machines, adding the milk and other ingredients, and narrowly missing being knocked

over by a worker as busy as herself. She set the cup on the counter and awaited the next order.

The Coffey Shoppe was tucked into a row of buildings on Escalus Boulevard. It was

quaint and small, painted pleasing tones of periwinkle and white. A large plate glass window

filled the front wall and offered a view of Central Park. Juliet liked working here; the store was

always a whirlwind of activity. The air always smelled of cinnamon and vanilla, chocolate and

coffee, incense and pastry. On slow days she would sit behind the counter on a tall blue-velvet

stool and watch the musicians and striving artists, the students and businessmen and bohemians.

Everybody was so relaxed and carefree; it was calming to just sit among such people and absorb

their spirit. Being able to satisfy her caffeine cravings was just a bonus.

Juliet loved New York. She had moved here when she was seventeen and had met with

trouble early in her life, but after ten years, her heart was mending.

Juliet glanced out the window. The temperature was still muggy, but clouds were

beginning to gather on the horizon. There would probably be a light summer shower later in the

day. She sighed and got back to work.

A dog was chasing me, a damn dog with long white teeth. And he was catching up! My

legs were pounding furiously and luckily there were no letters threatening to spill out of the bag.

I knew the streets of New York well and took a couple of sharp turns and looped around; I could

hear the dog barking behind me, but it was fading into the distance. I slowed my pace and

relaxed. This was the life for me! I loved being free and out in the open, being able to go

wherever I wanted and meeting all sorts of people. I had just delivered my last package and was

free for the day. It was seven but still pretty light out and starting to drizzle lightly. As the bike

skidded to a stop at a red light, I felt an unfamiliar pressure on my hand as I squeezed the brakes.

I looked down at my finger and saw the ring. Funny, I hadn't felt it or noticed it that much before

now. I brushed the thought away and meandered through the streets, watching families walk

towards Central Park and thinking.

I rode up Stratford Avenue and locked up my bicycle in the garage of Greenwich

Apartments. My apartment was up two flights of stairs and I climbed them quickly. When I

stepped into my apartment, music was blaring from the radio. In my head, a voice was singing

loudly and terribly off-key and it wasn't mine..

[I said do you speak-a my language? He just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich!

And he said, I come from a land down under where beer does flow and men chunder, can't you

hear, can't you hear the thunder? You better run, you better take cover !!] Mercutio was lying on

my bed and listening to 80s music.

"Shut up!" I yelled. "You could never carry a tune when you were alive, you sure as hell

can't now that you're dead." He looked at me with accusing eyes and levitated till he was floating about six inches above the mattress.

[ I'm thirsty. Let's go get some espressos. I wanna get out of this apartment.] He stood up

and turned off the radio.

" Okay, okay. Even though you can't even drink coffee and I don't know any shops that

make a decent espresso."

[There's a store called The Coffey Shoppe over near Central Park. I heard it was really

good. Let's go try it. It's not that far away. You can ride your bike.]

"Yeah, sure," I grumbled, suddenly feeling grumpy at the prospect of going out in the

rain even though I didn't care two minutes before.

I found myself riding my bike through New York yet again, with Mercutio gliding next to

me. The street was full of cars, and he grimaced each time they passed through him. It was kind

of neat, watching the front end of a car emerge from his stomach. I turned onto Escalus

Boulevard and Mercutio pointed out the coffee shop. It was small and cozy, painted tasteful

shades of light blue and white. We walked in and I looked around. It was pleasant enough, with a

large window and round wooden tables. Many people were seated around the tables, chattering

lightly and laughing. I perused the coffee menu while Mercutio floated high above my head.

The ceiling was made of looking-glass and everything below was reflected from a birds-eye

perspective. It was actually pretty fascinating, but he was staring up at it with annoyance.

[Hey Romeo, is my hair all right? I mean, it's not messed up or anything from those

damn cars? I can't even see my own reflection!!]

I ignored him and stepped up to the counter to order. The girl behind the counter was

busy fixing an order, but it was soon my turn. She turned around and I got a good look at her for

the first time. She was about five inches shorter than me and slender, with dark brown hair cut to her shoulders. Her eyes were green and she wore little makeup besides lip gloss. She wore jeans

and a shirt with a blue apron proudly proclaiming "The Coffey Shoppe" in white letters. Silver

hoops were in her ears and on her finger was a unusual ring in the shape of a serpent. It was

curled around her finger with its tail in its mouth. I must have been staring at her because she

looked at me rather impatiently.

"Can I take your order?" she asked me. Her nails drummed nervously on the counter and

were painted bright green.

Where had I seen her before?! She looked so familiar, but I couldn't place her in my

memory. She looked like. . . no, but it couldn't be. Juliet had brown eyes, not green. And this

woman looked so tired for being so young. She looked at me again and I decided I'd better order

something. Anything.

" Sorry. . . yeah, may I have an espresso, extra dark with cream and cinnamon?" She

turned and began making my order. I felt Mercutio watching me, but he remained silent. I

fidgeted and ran my fingers through my hair. She finished and entered the price. I reached out to

get the coffee.

"That will be. . ." She stopped in mid-sentence. She was staring at my hand that was

wrapped around the cup; at the ring in particular. Her green eyes rose to meet my brown ones,

and we knew. I felt a surge of hope rise up in my chest and the same time a voice in my head

whispered [Oh, shit.] It was my own voice for once, not Mercutio's.

"Romeo?"

"Hi, Juliet. . . how are you?"

"I get off work in about ten minutes. Can I talk to you then?"

"Sure. I'll wait for you outside."

I turned and left with my cup of coffee. I managed to get through the door without

humiliating myself and began to walk down the sidewalk, leaving my bike where it was,

drinking my espresso and scorching my tongue. My hands were shaking slightly and I was dizzy

from thinking so hard. Rain was falling lightly ,but it was slowing.

[Where do you think you're going?] I jumped; I'd almost forgotten about Mercutio. He

was walking beside me, cool and collected. I was a nervous wreck.

"Oh my God, did you see her? It was Juliet, Mercutio, it was really her! I never thought

I'd see her again and here she was in New York all this time. I've got to sit down." I was

babbling madly, not quite sure of what I was saying. We went to the park and I sat down on a

bench.

" Mercutio, I love her. I really do. I was stupid and young and naive and foolish and I

didn't know enough of love and I didn't mean to hurt her and what if she blames me for

everything and I fee all guilty and-"

[Romeo, shut up. It'll be all right. Just take your time and explain to her what you feel.

She'll understand.] It actually made sense. The rain had stopped.

We walked back to The Coffey Shoppe and I was waiting when Juliet came out. She

looked at me and I followed her across the street to the park. We sat down on a bench and no

one spoke. She broke the silence first.

"What have you been up to since you left home?"

" I went to Europe for a year, saw the sights. France, Italy, Greece. Then I moved here

and started up again."

" I moved to New York when I was seventeen and studied medicine at UNY. . ."

" Juliet, I'm really sorry about all this. I was young. . . we both were. We got married for the wrong reasons, and the strain was too great for me. I know I was weak, I was stupid, and I

just couldn't hang. I've been all over Europe, I've done so many things, and seen so many sights,

but I realize I never was really happy without you. . . ." I can't believe I said that! That was so

cheesy. Arrgh.

" I'm not going to say you didn't hurt me. You did. A lot.. I loved you. I thought we were

going to live happily ever after like in the fairy tales. I was wrong.. When you left, I thought it

was because I wasn't good enough. I thought that every love I had would end this way, in

devastation. And in that way, I was stupid and too young and not ready. But it was my first

relationship, and I bounced back . I loved you and I'd like to think I love you still. Just give me

time."

"Can you tell me in all honesty if there is any hope for us? For a relationship to work

out?" Juliet gathered her things and rose . She smiled at me, but there was no laughter in her

eyes.

"Anything's possible, Romeo." I listened to her shoes clatter as she crossed the street and

got into her car. She drove away, and I finally stood up. I turned the ring on my finger and stared

into space.

[So. . . . . ?!] Mercutio popped up next to me. He was grinning madly and his eyes were

twinkling. [How did it go? Huh? What did she say?]

"There's hope yet for us. She needs time. I just pray time is on my side." We rode back to

the apartment in silence. I unlocked the door and let myself in. Mercutio was already inside.

[ I'm going to leave now. I'm tired. I'll see you later.] He walked out to the balcony with

his hands in his pockets.

"Wait. I want to thank you for giving me the ring. I know what you were doing. At least

now Juliet knows I exist. She can forgive me. I can't tell you how relieved I am. Thank you."

[ If Juliet can forgive you, you can forgive yourself and be unburdened of guilt. I know

you think that it was your fault for the car crash. You were drunk and you let me drive while you

slept in the back because you thought I was sober. The thing is, I was drunk too. I thought I

could handle it, but I lost control. And now I'm making up for my mistakes.] Mercutio was

standing on the balcony. The night sky was dark and with his black clothes and pale skin, he

looked more ghostly than I've ever remembered seeing him. He disappeared with a muffled pop.

Epilogue

"So, is everything good with Romeo? Did Juliet take him back?"

"She needs time, but I think the outcome looks good. I'm starving!"

" You know we can't eat anything anyway."

" I know. Damn."