CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - BURYING ROMEO
Dearest Nurse, I attended a very unexpected funeral today.
“Hey, mom. I have a question for you.” I said through my car’s speakerphone while on my way home from a hike with Mercutio. “How far away is your meeting on the 24th?”
Lady Capulet is flying in this Wednesday. She does this from time to time. The primary purpose is a series of business meetings on the West coast, but we always sneak in as much hang time as we can.
“Oh, the flight’s an hour or so. I’ll be back in the evening in time for dinner.”
“But how long is the drive?” I asked, probing. This caught Lady Capulet off guard.
“Why? You want to drive me?”
“Yeah!” I chirped. “I thought a road trip might be fun.”
“Sure!” She said, excited at the prospect. “It’s about four hours each way… but wait a minute. Isn’t that the day you’re supposed to meet up with [Romeo]?”
I sighed. I had been waiting for this.
“Mom… I’m not going.”
“What?”
Romeo’s reaction to the Juliet Anonymous Project and all that had transpired over that 48 hour period, had rocked me. Granted, I had reached out prematurely, but it had still been almost four weeks since we had last spoken. Since we agreed we would put in whatever work was necessary to open the doors for one another. The fact that Romeo’s life still seemed rife and chaotic, that he had gone from old car to no car, and that he was still avoiding the subject of whether or not he had broken things off with Rosaline, seemed like a very bad sign. Yes, he had asked for the final week to give himself “time to get his shit together” before seeing me again, but what would a week do? Really?
Not only that, but he said he was still confused. Feeling bad for what had happened… and everything about those statements irritated me. Yes, things were hella confusing when our worlds collided again like two asteroids slamming into one another at light speed. But now? The fuck was there to be confused about? This is Juliet, we’re talking about, Romeo. Get your shit together. And you’re feeling bad? For what? Kissing me? Having sex with me? Having feelings for me again? It didn’t matter how I tilted the picture, there wasn’t a single angle that looked good to me. And regardless, I couldn’t handle the thought that those few interactions we had, moments I had kept close to my heart all these weeks, were ones he regretted. Nope. No. No fucking way. If that’s where he was and if that’s how he felt, there would be no need for me to show up on Friday. Because I already had my answer.
And strangely, the minute I decided things with Romeo were over, I could suddenly breathe. I felt the sun come out, and a cool breeze on my skin. A warming in my heart and a settling of my stomach. It was over. I could relax now, move on, and you know what? It’s probably for the best. Because the truth is, dear Nurse, I still haven’t told you the whole truth.
“Are you vaccinated?” I asked Romeo that Friday night at the rooftop bar.
“No.” He said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh my god.” I said, rolling my eyes. “You’re an anti vaxxer, too?”
“Not an anti vaxxer. I’m just anti this vaccine.” He said, referring, of course, to the COVID vaccine. I could feel my partially digested Impossible Burger roiling in my gut.
His reason, much like every other marginally educated COVID vaccine refuser, is that it was developed too quickly. And though I didn’t say anything at the time, this line of reasoning absolutely exhausts me.
Romeo has an iPhone and is married to his AirPods. But does he ever look at the history of technology? The fact that the first phone ever was made one-hundred-and-fifty years ago? That in our teens, the idea of being able to see someone you were talking to was unfathomable? Let alone carrying around a super computer in your pocket that can not only listen and obey commands, but can fucking talk back to you? A tiny, wireless, brick can do all of this, and now you can jam these two, tiny bubbles into your ears and control all of these functions with just the sound of your voice. Think about it. That’s fucking insane.
But does Romeo question this? Does he look down at his phone with fright and apprehension? Does he plug those two, mysterious white baubles in his ears thinking about what the ramifications could be years down the road? The potential damage that could be caused from technology there is no way he fully understands?
No. You want to know why? Because the exponential advancements made my Apple, and pretty much all tech companies in recent years, are evidence of science working. We like it. It makes our lives easier, and we have come to expect it.
Well guess what, Romeo? The exact same thing is true for the COVID MRNA vaccine.
Vaccine hesitancy isn’t new. Back in the late 1700s, Queen Maria Theresa of Austria had a daughter who was disfigured by smallpox. She almost died from it herself. She became determined to see that none of her subjects had to suffer the same fate. So, when she heard about this mysterious thing called a smallpox vaccine that showed promise in England, she made damn sure her people could have access to it, too. But to her shock, many in the Austrian Empire refused. I mean, after a couple hundred years of snake oil salesmen, I guess it makes sense. Also, unlike now, no one knew what a vaccine was. With all the fatal perils of an eighteenth century existence, it makes sense that folks wouldn’t love the idea of shooting themselves up with cowpox pus just to see what might happen.
But Maria Theresa, as devoutly religious as she was, had deep faith in science. And so, to persuade her people, she had her two youngest children vaccinated as proof of its efficacy. And what happened? Her kids were great and never got smallpox. And as we know, slowly but surely, the smallpox vaccine became standard practice.
The first smallpox vaccine took a few years to develop. That’s it. And that was in 1796. Is it so fucking out of this world that over 200 years later it would only take a year to develop a vaccine against a respiratory virus that appears to have been man-made to begin with? Is it, really? Because, if you ask me, once again, that is just fucking science working. And if you don’t see that, you can just re-read this chapter, because I don’t have time to explain it to you again.
To clarify, I don’t hate people who aren’t vaccinated. Not even a little bit. But do I think those who are choosing to be unvaccinated for this reason are lacking in knowledge and education? Absolutely. Absofuckinglutely.
But, as I’ve mentioned ad nauseam, at the time, I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship with Romeo, or to take on a reluctant student. I wanted him to fuck me.
“I’m not going to tell you what to put in your body.” I said, straddling Romeo that fateful Wednesday afternoon. “But if we’re going to mess around, you have to get tested regularly.”
He rolled his eyes at suggestion, but agreed.
“And, I’m sorry, but if it ever comes down to meeting my children, there’s no way you can be around them if you’re not vaccinated.”
In spite of the fact that I was naked, sans a lacy black bra, I knew this wasn’t sexy talk. I did, however need to lay this out. Not only do I feel strongly about this, but even though Paris and I are no longer together, there’s much we will always be faithful to each other about. Top of the list? Never putting our girls’ health at risk. Physical or emotional. No matter what.
“Okay…” He said, as if I was nuts. “I had COVID, you know. I had some body aches, but that was it. It was fine. Your kids would be fine if they got it.”
Oh no you fucking didn’t.
Little tip for anyone out there who might be thinking about getting involved with a single parent. Never, ever, EVER endeavor to advise them on how to care for their children, or attempt to school them on the possible effects of a virus that has killed four and a half million people and counting. Dearest Nurse, I had to fight every instinct in me not to slap him. And you think you might want to be a parent some day? You can just fuck the fuck right fucking off.
“And he was super unclear about whether or not he’s pro choice anymore.” I said to Tybalt over dinner a week ago, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. “And with what’s happening right now, I don’t think I can deal with that. I just can’t.”
I haven’t written about it, Dearest Nurse, but what's going on in Texas has reduced me to tears many times. I’ve had an abortion, as I’ve mentioned. And no, it wasn’t rape and it wasn’t incest. It was purely consensual, and guess what? Shit happens. No one likes abortion. Come on, people. It sucks to varying degrees for everyone that has to have one. But is it a necessary right? One that levels the playing field for women, and vastly improves the quaity of life for both individuals and society as a whole? Yes. Absolutely. And will you stop abortions by outlawing them? No. The only thing that is going to happen is that women are going to die. That’s it. Bottom line. I fucking hate guns, but am I stupid enough to think that outlawing them is going to stop people from getting shot? No fucking way. The illegal, gun blackmarket would explode, and then we’d be in a whole world of vastly shittier shit than we’re in now. But see, that’s how I am able to think. And you want to know why? Because I’m an educated fucking liberal with the capacity to see both sides, and find my own truth, rather than one that has been prescribed for me.
“Well, maybe you can soften up his views a bit.” Tybalt had said. “I mean, he changed once. Why can’t he change back?”
I should mention that Tybalt is really rooting for Romeo in all this. And that does mean something. After all, she’s literally the only person in my world that has actually met him. Granted it was sixteen years ago. But in spite of her enthusiasm for the two of us reuniting, this particular statement made me feel very, very tired.
And not because the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I had rehearsed long arguments with him in my mind, finding ways to turn his conservative ideology on its head and throw it back at him. I mean, the innate hypocrisy on that side of the aisle is so obvious to me that I thought, surely I can show him how profoundly stupid it is to align yourself with a republican subgroup directly associated with white supremacy, hate mongering, and the purposeful spread of misinformation. I mean, how hard could that be?
But there was one fact I couldn’t ignore. Romeo had made a point to look me right in the eye and let me know just how much his new affiliation meant to him.
“It’s taken me a long time to get here.” He said that night on the roof. A tacit warning that he was not, in any way, going to change.
And if I’m being honest, I don’t want to fucking change anyone. I have two kids, a full and exciting career that takes a lot of energy. I also have a company, a new lease on life, and a whole world to explore. The last thing I need is another fucking fixer-upper in the shape of an obstinate man in my life. After all, I spent over a decade trying to fix Paris. If anyone is going to get that kind of attention from me at this point, it’s my kids and my damn self.
But that wasn’t the worst thing Romeo said that night…
“And I will try and change your mind about things.” He had said, directly after his statement about all the work he had put into becoming a conservative.
I know, I know. I should have told you about this a long time ago. But, dear Nurse, what would you have thought of me? I guess I should ask what you think of me now… But I did tell you I hear what I want to hear. The thing is, I did hear this. I heard it loud and clear. I just didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t.
The Romeo I knew would never have said anything like this. The Romeo I knew was crazy about me. Made me feel like nothing I could do or say would be wrong - aside from asking him to marry and commit his life to me. But I knew where the boundaries were. He had set them very clearly and respectfully, and once that was out there, he just adored me.
I’m what people call “exotic”, “hot”, and sometimes “scary”. High cheekbones, feline eyes, and a defined Roman nose. I like the way I look for the most part, but I never felt hot or scary. Like I said, I think I’m Zoey Deschanel. That’s how I feel on the inside, and a part of me always regretted that no one ever saw me that way. No one, except Romeo.
“You’re so cute.” He used to say to me, even when I was flustered or having a bad day.
“No one has ever called me that before.” I would say.
“Well, you are. I think you’re cute.”
I loved this about him. He wasn’t perfect, but he saw me the way I saw myself. At the time, it didn’t seem like there could be anything better. And now, that same person wanted to change me.
And it’s not just the political differences, dear Nurse. There’s a lot I have noticed about this Romeo that I don’t like. Things this Romeo does that my Romeo would never do. Like lie to a girlfriend, for one.
There’s a world where Romeo might have told Rosaline what happened between us by now, but at the time, when she saw my name come up on his phone last month, not only did he lie to her, he actively begged me to be his accomplice.
She saw some text messages.
All we were doing was flirting over text messages.
Please ignore her on social media.
I need time to think
Minutes later…
I told her we never saw each other
Minutes after that…
Please help me with this.
I’m so sorry.
And then…
We can’t communicate till I figure this out.
I’m sorry for anything she may do on SM.
She saw what you wrote to me while I was still sleeping this morning. But please help me.
Finally followed by…
She found you. I think she messaged you. Just ignore it. Please. And we never saw each other.
At the time, I was horrified. Again, Romeo wasn’t perfect. He worked in porn, for fuck’s sake, and, like anyone else, has made a lot of mistakes in life. But he was never a liar. Never. In fact, he was brutally honest, sometimes to a fault. What he said could be painful to hear, but at least you always knew where you stood.
I told him as much via e-mail that day. That I wasn’t sure I wanted to know whoever this version of Romeo was. But when he made it clear he was leaving Rosaline for good, I let it go. She had shown herself to be a loose canon, and maybe there are some people you just can’t be honest with…? Right…? Plus, I hadn’t really had sex with Romeo yet, aside from his first, guilt-ridden attempt, so my mind was clouded. It shouldn’t have been, but it was, and apparently it took until last Friday afternoon to clear it up.
“Mom, the [Romeo] I knew would never block me for calling at an inconvenient time. I mean, that’s horrible.”
“You blocked him first!” Lady Capulet fired back, her voice coming in crisp and far too clear through my car’s speakers.
While I maintain that me telling Romeo I was going dark and then blocking him is far different than Romeo saying he was going to call, then not calling, and then blocking me, she did have a point.
“He’s begged you numerous times to talk, [Juliet]. He just wants the time you said you’d give him.”
Do I wish my mother was just fully, 100 percent on my side all the time? Yes. Yes, I do. But she’s not. This is not her role in my life, and even though I hate it sometimes, this is why I need her.
“So what? You want me to show up just to hear him out?”
“Yes!” She said, emphatically. “I’m really surprised at you right now.” Oh no… here we go. “You always said you were going to finish this.”
“Finishing the Juliet Anonymous Project doesn’t necessarily mean showing up, mom.”
“Of course it does.” She said, and then sighed. “Look, you know I’m not [Romeo’s] biggest fan.” She’s not. Like I said, she still calls him Mr. Porno, and despises the fact that he voted for Trump even more than I do. “But I still think you owe it to him to hear what he has to say. You owe it to yourself. And if you don’t show up, it’s because you’re protecting yourself.”
I laughed out loud. There was a time, probably only a few weeks ago, where this statement would have royally pissed me off. Especially coming from my mother. I mean, who likes being called out? But at this particular moment, after this particular month, while engaging in this particularly enlightening project, I loved it. My mother was doing her job, once again. Not only being the amazing mother she is, but playing both the roles of herald and mentor in the hero’s journey of my life. Just when I was completely settled on my decision about the 24th, enter Lady Capulet to shake things the fuck up. I mean, what would this final act be without her?
But if one thing has become clear over the past month, it’s that the Romeo I am now dealing with, is not the boy I left sixteen years ago. He’s just not. And when I got in the car this morning after dropping off the girls with Paris’s mom, I was overwhelmed with sadness. Mourning, really. Because I had come face to face with the fact that no matter what happened with Romeo from this point on, the boy I loved was never coming back. It was irrefutable. The boy who lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw me. The boy who took pains to learn every inch of my body. The boy who cried when I left him, called me “cute”, and saw me for who I wanted to be, was gone. And no matter how much I wished, or heard what I wanted to hear, I would never see him again.
Back when I was in that equity production of Romeo and Juliet in Hollywood, every single performance, when Romeo would discover my “dead” body and start his weeping and blubbering, all I wanted to do was sit up. Fuck the show. Fuck the ending everyone knew was coming, and fuck Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet deserved to be together, didn’t they? I would fantasize about leaping up, grabbing Romeo’s hand, and running off stage with him. I could hear the gasps from the audience. Maybe even screams of delight. Finally, after hundreds of years, Juliet had flipped the script. The Capulets and Montagues would enter, finding their children’s bodies gone, and Romeo and Juliet would finally get their happily ever after.
I never had the balls to do it, and now I’m really glad I didn’t. Because, dearest Nurse, the truth is, Romeo always dies.
People grow. They experience life. They have kids, shitty marriages, and careers. They get cancer, become radicalized, and have shittier relationships. They accumulate fears, inhibitions, and find loads of ways to complicate their lives. Sometimes they get better, sometimes they don’t, but. they. always. change.
As much as I wanted to believe I could leave Paris and run back into Romeo’s waiting arms, that’s just not possible. Not possible because Romeo - my Romeo - doesn’t exist anymore. He died a long time ago. And if I’m being honest, it was the moment he told me he didn’t want to be with me anymore. The second he broke my young, vulnerable, twenty-two year old heart. I knew it then. It’s why I never went back to him. But somehow, until this very moment, I had forgotten that.
And so, without even thinking, I left the playground, and headed west. I went to Gyu-Kaku on Van Nuys boulevard, our one-time favorite restaurant. I let the tears fall as I remembered our dinners there. Sacrificing what little cash we had for a delicious meal when all that mattered was each other. And then I kept on driving. Past the bar on Hazeltine he used to take me to. Past the apartment on Hatteras he had moved into after we had broken up… or was it Kitteridge? And before I knew it, I had reached Vose, the street that ran between his old studio and the Sepulveda one-bedroom we had shared.
With a strange sense of purpose, I went into our old Jon’s supermarket and headed for the flower section. I grabbed the most beautiful bouquet I could find. A thirty-dollar bushel of dark, red roses, sprinkled with baby breath and cherry hypericum, and marched it down to the register.
Once outside, on the bright, September streets, I put on my sunglasses, and headed not for the apartment we shared, but for the building in which Romeo had lived when we first met. Where I had stayed with him for that magical few weeks after my apartment deal got cocked up and I had nowhere else to go. Before he got into porn and I became sexually insecure. This was where Romeo and I had found one another. Where we cooked together. Where I finally beat him at darts. Where we played truth or dare in the hallways. And where I had broken things off, only to realize I was in love with him, and came running back. That’s where my Romeo lived. Where I loved him most. And where I finally said goodbye.
I could still remember the floor he lived on. The irony not escaping me, I found his old balcony, now strung with the same faux vines and twinkle lights that adorn the walls of Friar Laura’s living room. And on the ground just below, I placed the roses.
I don’t know if anyone noticed me, dear Nurse, but if they did, they saw a thin, young woman, with hands on the hips of her 70’s style bell bottoms, shuttering with involuntary tears. I didn’t mean to cry. I promise I didn’t. I don’t mean to cry now, either. Because as sad as it is, it’s also profound. It’s release. And I need to go through it. But I can’t help but be so fucking sad that my Romeo is dead. I told him right there, out loud in the middle of the street, that I’ll love him forever. And I will. That boy was a fucking dreamboat. But he’s gone.
But if Romeo always dies, dear Nurse, then Juliet does too. I’m not the same girl who lived with him in that studio. The girl who tried her damndest to be okay with his we’ll-date-as-long-as-its-fun philosophy. Or even the girl who was wide open to all of life’s possibilities. I know what I want now. And as much as I tried to wrap my head around a world in which I was in a committed, monogamous relationship with Romeo, or would even consider having a child with him, that’s not what I want. And, just as Romeo has worked to change his ideology, I’ve worked hard to get to where I am too. I don’t want to be fixed. Not by Romeo, or anyone else.
So, right now, I have no idea what I’m going to do come Friday. I really don’t. I don’t want to not go because I’m afraid of what he might say. That’s not me. Not now. I’m bigger and braver, and much fucking cooler than that. But if I don’t see a future with this Romeo at all, I’m not sure what the point is in taking the trek. That seems misleading and false…
But whatever decision I make, I now feel like finally, after all this time, my eyes are clear and open. Any relationship with Romeo will not be a continuation of anything. I don’t know this Romeo, and he doesn’t know me. It would be as new as what’s going on with Plays Scrabble. And all I can say about that, is so far, Plays Scrabble seems to have no desire to change me.
Only time will tell, dear Nurse. I still have an awful lot to think about. But I promise, when I do make a decision, you’ll be the first to know.
Sincerely yours,
Juliet