 |
| Image from www.tate.org.uk |
The plan worked without a hitch. Every single detail was thought of—the safest route the messenger would take, the sword he would have at his hip, and the fresh horses at every stop and station. Highwaymen and robbers: they should never be left out of a plan if it relies heavily on an important letter getting from somewhere to somewhere else. That’s just common sense—which the friar had in abundance.
I waited outside her family crypt, just as the friar instructed. I waited until every last family member, friend and admirer was gone. Even that poor Count Paris, who loved her too. I did not hate him, for I knew no other logic than to see her, and to love her.
The crypt was cold, and the marble likenesses of her ancestors were dressed in ivy as I approached her seemingly lifeless body on its stone bed. Like a grotesque wedding march with our roles reversed, I walked up to my bride and kissed her and I waited for a good half hour. She started to stir, and she searched for me, “Where is my Romeo?” I answered her, then. Her name like honey in my mouth, I answered her. She smiled and we embraced.
We were free.
---by H.Taotjo, September 2015
After watching Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet and reflecting on the original version... I wondered how less of a tragedy this would have been if the friar was some sort of super project manager. Ugh... I think about work too much.
