If my name was William and I wrote a play about revenge,
I would have written less about Hamlet and more about Ophelia.
I imagine Ophelia to be the kind of college student who stays
in her dorm on Friday nights. On Friday nights are parties
where homework exists only as hallucinations, half-forgotten
by young bodies that wash themselves together with things
they were taught to say no to. They analyze my play,
not with techniques and thoughts but with their tongues—
downing lines like liquor: the sharp burn explained
as foreshadowing or a missed metaphor, something
about premature regret or the cruelty of enjoyment.
Romeo and Juliet at the party turn their backs on their parents
and skinny-dip in the community pool as the only unit
among uncrucified stars. Hamlet, forced to go by his uncle
who yelled at him to cheer up, says no to everything,
wearing black and trying to call his ex-girlfriend. Ophelia,
who went to class in the morning even though her father died,
is too busy hallucinating on homework to even write
down her own name. I try to tell her that right now, she is nothing
but a device to flesh out a man who doesn’t actually love her,
but she’s only half-listening. By the time Hamlet sticks his feet
into the pool and stops sneering at the lovers, Ophelia notices
those five missed calls. Friday nights are for showers,
but Ophelia goes to take a bath. The manuscript of my play
follows her footsteps, collecting behind her like the small death
of a star. She skinny-dips in the tub, sinks deep, and never turns
off the faucet, if only to keep the glassy look in her eyes.
Her naked legs stare at her and she stares back, reading all of Hamlet’s
I loved you nots¹ that criss-cross down both her thighs and rise
from the rest of her. I think she would keep a bottle of antiseptic
next to the soap for nights when she wrote him down. She opens
this bottle slowly, still staring at her legs and where they melted
into a star-crossed secret. Thinking about how he said no to her
but called her five times, Ophelia lifts the bottle’s lip to her lips,
makes out with it, drinks rubbing alcohol on a Friday night.
Footnotes
1. The phrase "I loved you not" is found in William Shakespeare's Hamlet in Act 3 Scene 1 Line 118.
Works Cited
Shakespeare, William. Hamlet. Ed. Jeff Dolven. New York: Barnes & Noble., 2006. Print.