Shakespeare in the Park
This assignment was from my Rewriting Shakespeare class. For this assignment I had a story that was based off of one or more of Shakespeare’s plays. I choose to do William Shakespeare time traveling and coming to New York and upon his arrival, see a performance of his play Hamlet. Enjoy.
My body quaked with tremors as my vision blurred. I feared the end was nigh and I closed my eyes, waiting for oblivion. I drifted backwards, seamlessly floating, weightless, swimming in the ether of nothingness. Suddenly, I lurched forward, hurtling downward. Surely the afterlife shouldn’t be this fast?
I opened my eyes and immediately was met with the ground. I rose to my feet and before me I saw the strangest things. There were tall, grey structures with large windows. Unusual, large yellow carriages without the horse, or a driver it seemed. There were loud, honking sounds that I couldn’t identify, and people dressed in questionable clothing. The men wore bottoms that resembled countrymen, but their tops were tight with buttons all the way down. The women however wore the most revealing clothing. Some wore what the men were wearing, others wore colorful tapestries cinched close to their figures, tempting me with their ample bosoms and luscious legs.
“Where hast I gone?” I said to no one. It seemed every person either had somewhere to be or simply ignored me. I presumed the latter, for many slowed upon my person, but none stopped to speak. No sense in standing here seeming the fool, I wandered off.
I found myself upon a grassy area with elegant wooden benches strewn throughout, a long cobblestone path cutting through giant trees that canopied the area quite nicely. It was quite peaceful.
Though that peace didn’t last long. Somewhere in the middle of this barren meadow were the sound of voices spouting all too familiar words.
“Get thee to a nunnery!” I heard a strong, male voice bellow.
I followed the words of my Hamlet, and they led me to sloping steps up the side of a hill. The male voice wasn’t dressed as I thought he’d be. He wore grey bottoms that appeared to be made of cotton with the worst stitched knitting for a top, that resembled more of a burlap sack and a knit cap. Standing next to him was a dark-skinned woman, wearing a terrible bronze wig in an oversized wool top with unflattering bottoms that matched the men.
The actor playing Hamlet had finally finished his last line of this particular speech as the actress playing Ophelia stepped forward. Her eyes downcast, her voice loud yet somehow barely above a whisper, she spoke, “At home my lord.” I was enraptured.
I had never seen a player portray Ophelia so cleverly. This actress chose to keep Ophelia’s innocence in her tone and inflection, yet by casting a look downward, she shows her contempt, maybe even her exhaustion with Hamlet. Ophelia has always been portrayed as sickly in love with the Prince of Denmark, but this Ophelia, with her face turned away from him, her shoulders slumped, her still not facing towards him, she looked as if contorted in physical pain. This Ophelia was the embodiment of anguish.
Of course, she still fancied Hamlet. Why else would she allow him to speak to her this way and answer when he inquired about her father. But in this one small gesture, she was telling him and the audience that she was done with Hamlet. Let him cast her aside, she wouldn’t care. She was torn yet being strong at the same time.
“Farewell.” The would-be Hamlet remarked, dramatically turning away from Ophelia, as if he were mimicking her.
“Ha!” I barked loudly.
All eyes suddenly fell on me. This ham of a Hamlet glared daggers at me but this beautiful Ophelia locked eyes with me and I felt our souls align. She was too good to play some lovesick Ophelia to this hack Hamlet. She deserved to be portrayed as a queen, nay, a goddess amongst men. She was unlike any woman I had ever met.
As if entranced, my feet carried me closer to the makeshift stage and sat down on the bench closest to Ophelia. I gestured for her to continue, uttering “My deepest apologies,” for my interruption.
She inhaled fully before straightening her posture and projecting, “O, help him, you sweet heavens!” She threw her hands up in the air, as if to wipe him away whilst looking towards the heavens, pleading.
Hamlet grabbed one hand, tugging it to his chest. Ophelia didn’t so much as give him a glance. “If thou dost marry,” he began but Ophelia was having none of it. She removed her hand from his and crossed the stage from him. Hamlet held out his hand, forlorn as he continued his monologue. Ophelia looked to the heavens again, hands clasped before her. Her eyes met mine for a glimmer of a moment before returning skyward. Hamlet crossed the stage now, gently touching her arm, but she wrenched it away. “O heavenly powers, restore him!” She covered her hands over her ears, putting distance between her and the prince.
Hamlet recited his next monologue, with Ophelia wrapping her arms around herself, trying to comfort herself, perhaps steel herself against Hamlet’s words. And when he finally ended his speech, Ophelia peered upon him, a look of confusion and simmering rage. She crossed the stage, closing the gap between them, getting in his face, fingered jabbed in his chest.
“O, what a noble mind is here overthrown!” She dripped with sarcasm. She was on a roll. Finger prodding the Prince of Denmark backward as she spoke each line. “And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,” she practically shoved him. “That sucked the honey of his music vows.” She laughed dryly, shaking her head before sighing, placing her hands on her hips. “Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,” she continued. She finished her monologue and exited the stage.
I stood to my feet and applauded her. The best performance I had seen yet, wherever I was. This Ophelia was captivating. She lured me in but didn’t make me pity her. She almost made me feel for Hamlet with how harsh she was with him. But if I were being frank, this Hamlet was all surface, no depth. This actor didn’t do this role justice and didn’t deserve to play the Prince of Denmark. But Ophelia, whenever I got a chance, I’d have to write a play about her.
“May we help you?” The horrible actor playing Hamlet addressed me. I ignored this. I may not have known where I was in this strange place, but I knew enough to know he was of little consequence.
Thus I turned to the amazing Ophelia. We locked eyes and I could see her bosom heave. Whatever this was between us, she felt it too. I approached her on the stage and extended my hand. She placed her delicate fingers in mine and every nerve ending in my body twinged with excitement.
“Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled / Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart; / My body is the frame wherein ‘tis held / And perspective it is best painter’s art.”
I hadn’t recited a sonnet in a long time but it felt good to say. These last few years, I had been wasting away, waiting for my demise, praying for death to be swift and peaceful. But now, I was lit with this fire in my belly. A fire I hadn’t felt since my youth.
“Pretty words but that doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.” Not-a-very-good-Hamlet spoke behind me but I kept my focus on the lovely Ophelia.
“And your name would be?” I pulled her hand to my lips and gently placed a kiss upon it.
Her dark cheeks blossomed with a crimson color, as red as a rose. She lowered her gaze for a moment before a swirl of greens, golds, and hazel stared back up at me. She smiled before replying, “Sabrina Bellafonte. And you are?”
Ah, Italian, just like my Anne. My Anne had left me some time ago, and with her any reason for living. My wife tried to soothe my melancholy but she only made it worse. I had resigned myself to death, praying it take me sooner rather than later. But now, I had an opportunity to live again, truly live and maybe be a better Shakespeare than ever before.
“Interrupting,” The horrible Hamlet broke through my reverie. “We already have our Shakespeare and we’re not holding any more auditions. So—“
So they were holding auditions for someone to play me? How interesting. I would like to see who could do me justice. Odd, that they would need a Shakespeare for the play Hamlet.
“Benny!” the dark goddess chastised him. It was quite a sight to behold. She was just as commanding of herself as she was playing Ophelia. I wondered if she channeled this tenacity into her performance? Hopefully I’d get the chance to ask without this Hamlet poser known as Benny.
“Well, we have!” He fired back at her. “Who even is this clown Bri. Are you—“
“Now is not the time or place for this Benjamin. We’ll talk about it later. Why don’t we break for the day and come back tomorrow,” she said to him. Then to me she spoke, “Maybe I can help you rehearse your lines for the audition.”
The way she said the word rehearse made me believe we wouldn’t be doing that. Then she took my hand in hers and led me off the stage.
“Where are you going?” This Benjamin called after her.
“To rehearse.” She threw over her shoulder as we made our way from the flowerless meadow. Much like her portrayal of Ophelia, she didn’t give him a second glance.
Just like my Anne. She’d become cross with me and never give me so much as a look as she either stormed off or slammed a door in my face. It was exhilarating as was this Sabrina.
“I take it he is your lover?” I inquired. Not that it mattered. She was leaving with me and judging from her performance, she was over him.
I didn’t know why this filled me with such rage. I barely knew this girl and yet I was letting her lead me around. It wasn’t as though I knew my way around this strange place. Plus, I needed somewhere to stay and maybe Sabrina and I could . . .
“Benny is nothing to me,” she cut through my thoughts.
A sudden warmth spread through me, filling me with glee at the thought of distracting her from this Benny. Ha! A would-be-Hamlet indeed. He was no Prince of Denmark or the prince of anything for that matter.
We had stepped back into the maddening noise of this world and walked towards all the fast moving carriages. She held out her hand and yelled, “Taxi!”
Soon one of the yellow carts stopped in front of us and she opened the door. “Get in.” She gestured to me.
I was skeptical to say the least. What was this contraption? It moved independently without a horse and moved rather quickly. What propelled it forward? And how did it stop on its own? Was it safe was the real question?
“It’s fine, silly.” Sabrina giggled, tugging my tunic, drawing me closer to this outlandish thing.
I hesitated slightly until I saw her big, beautiful eyes batting at me and swallowed my fear. The glowing sensation of our souls colliding propelled me forward, sliding me into the seat next to her. She leaned over me and closed the door.
“I don’t know why Benny won’t let you audition. It’s not even his call to make,” She said once we were safely inside, folding her arms over her ample bosom. “Fred’s the one you gotta talk to. He’ll be here tomorrow to review everything. You can meet him then.”
“Fred is the director?” I inquired.
“Not really. He owns the production company that’s putting on the play. We don’t really have a director,” she informed me.
“Where to?” A voice from in front of us spoke. This was the first time I had noticed anyone else with us. But we had a coach driver, my wife and I, so surely that practice hadn’t gone away from man.
“Oh, 111 Lennox,” she told the driver, then turned to me. “So, what’s with the getup?”
“Getup?” I repeated.
“Your clothes.” She indicated to my garments.
Realization dawned on me. She thought I looked peculiar. I suppose I did in comparison to her, Benny, the driver and everyone else. If only she knew how odd she appeared to me. A woman wearing trousers. It wasn’t unheard of, but one only did such a thing when doing some laborious task or trying to prevent the male gaze.
I had been around long enough to know not to ask such a lady of her dress. But I was curious about some things.
“How did you come about this company? Playing Ophelia?” I gestured to her person.
“Nah uh.” She wagged a finger in my face. “Answer my question first, then I’ll answer yours. And we’ll take turns.”
“Very well then.” I nodded in agreement. “If I tell you the truth, will you promise to believe me?”
“It depends on what you tell me?” She cooed.
It was a delicious sound. As I was sure of some other sounds she could make. I even chuckled to myself, elated but I needed her to understand. “If you don’t promise, I can’t tell you.”
“Why all the secrecy? Just tell me.”
“I’m afraid if I tell you, our time together will abruptly end and I do not want that.”
“Okay, then don’t tell me. About that at least.” She pondered for a moment. “Why do you want to be in the play?”
“I don’t.” I simply answered.
“Then why did you come to the park?”
“I . . . got lost in your performance.” She didn’t seem to believe me, so I continued. “I got lost and wandered around until I came across your beautiful performance.” I chortled. “Actually, it was your Hamlet’s poor portrayal that lured me but once I saw you up on that stage, heard your words, felt your presence, your soul, I had to stay and watch.”
Her face softened and I could tell she was melting at my words. Normally I’d dress up my speech to flatter or impress her, but I meant every word of it. This woman was truly remarkable and she deserved a better Hamlet than this Benny who performed earlier. It was nothing but a glory hound, seeking his moment in the sun, dousing out other’s flames.
“That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She reached for my face, placing her soft, smooth hands on either side and pressed her lips to mine. My hands instinctively wrapped around her midsection, pulling her close to me until our bodies melded into one.
She tasted of something sweet, fruity and fragrant. Her lips were plump and powerful, moving in tandem with mine, yet sucking the breath out of me. Her tongue licked my bottom lip and at first I was confused by this. It had been so long since I felt a woman’s embrace, but quickly I caught on and opened my mouth, allowing her access. I ripped that god awful wig from her head, releasing tendrils of auburn silk and ran my fingers through it. If this were oblivion, never let me leave.
Suddenly, my body began to quake and everything became hazy. I held Sabrina tighter but I could already feel her slipping from my grasp.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I heard her speak but I had already lost sight of her.
“If only we had more time. Goodbye you beautiful goddess. Know that Hamlet doesn’t deserve you. He never did.”
And I was gone.
