Complacent Dreamers

All B****** are the same. Except Blondes

October 15, 1988

I hid behind Marshall as we weaved through the crowded hallways of Lincoln. My pink, mesh backpack, hung loosely from my back and I felt eyes on me. "A'ight this is Mr.Henry's English class." I shuddered at the name. Mr. Henry. It better not be the Mr. Henry that kissed my mother full out, two days before her passing. I walked in and yea it was him alright. Marshall took his seat in the back and I wanted to glare at Mr. H all day so I took one in the front. I was scared to death looking at all these people who I didn't know. There was a blonde sitting in front of Marshall who looked decent to talk to. But on the side of me sat a girl with black hair. Her eyes were almost the color of her toned hair and her lashes stretched widely from her eye lids. She had the peachiest skin and she just had this whole inviting look to her, like she could be a 'true' friend.

"Hi. I'm Bella." She smiled widely at me and shook my hand. "Jeanette. Are you new here or something. I've never seen you in this class?" I nodded and we pulled our hands away. "My dad and I moved to Detroit yesterday. Family issues." She giggled under her breath and Mr. Henry walked in. "Oh! Isabella?" He said when he saw me. I was just as surprised and I nodded. "Well it's nice to see you again. How's your father?" He asked sitting at his desk. "He's fine." I muttered. The last time I saw him was at the school in a coaches uniform so seeing him in a suit was definitely different.

"How does he know you?" Jeanette asked leaning in. "More family drama. I'll explain at lunch." She nodded and he began talking about none other than my favorite poet. After he got done with that he made us watch Romeo and Juliet. I remembered this from top to bottom mainly because I read it in third grade. The way he described the characters in this was beautiful and it portrayed a story. Jeanette was biting her finger nails and almost in tears. My other classmates were half asleep and Marshall was leaning in his chair staring at girls. Typical teenage boy. He's only in eighth grade, as am I, but was that a reason to not pay attention to a beautiful work of art of the such?

"I'm going to ask the class to say their favorite part in this. You have to say every word from that particular section and go into character. Marshall Mathers...you're up." He walked to the front of the class and everyone watched intensely, including I. "Um...When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;

And these, who often drown'd could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun." I was captivated, he was actually listening. Next was Jeanette, then this girl named Bailey. They either did Romeo or Juliet's part, I got more out if it though personally. Everyone did their favorite parts and then it came to me. My favorite part was fairly long and I hoped I didn't bore but this was my fav.

The part Juliet kills herself for her love.

"It's kind of long." I muttered, looking down at the ground. "It's okay Bella. I remember you were always good at this kind of stuff." Mr. H said. I smiled at him and took in a great deal of air. "Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I'll call them back again to comfort me: Nurse! What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come, vial. What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then to-morrow morning?

No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there. What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, Because he married me before to Romeo? I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not, For he hath still been tried a holy man. How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!

Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault,

To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? Or, if I live, is it not very like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the terror of the place,-- As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones Of all my buried ancestors are packed: Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,