trapped. I was both in the middle of things and left out of them, and it was a place I was quickly growing to hate. But what could I do? Listen, don’t pretend you have an answer. You weren’t there.
Francisco: What’d you think of the hasty remarriage?
Ophelia: Not my business.
Barnardo: Bull. You were against it. We have the phone records.
Ophelia: Fine. So what if I was? Did it change anything?
Barnardo: Yeah, it helped you get Hamlet to want revenge.
10
Zara leans in to Ophelia. “We hear Hamlet started acting very strange after the wedding.”
“People like to talk.” When Zara lifts her eyebrows, Ophelia concedes, “Well, he was under a lot of pressure. Especially from Claudius.”
“Was he crazy?”
“That’s a loaded term.” Ophelia recrosses her legs. “Um… I will say he wasn’t quite himself.”
In the days following the wedding, Hamlet said he didn’t want to be anywhere near his mother or Claudius, but he also insisted that he didn’t want to go back to school. He refused to go outside into the world, because he didn’t want to be followed or questioned or photographed. And as discreet as people within the castle were supposed to be, they were more curious and watchful, too. So during the day, he hung out in my apartment even when I was in class, creating a kind of half-life for himself.
When I was with him, I spent most of the time worrying about how troubled he looked and how little he would speak and what “bad thing” he was planning on doing. I asked a couple of times, but he wouldn’t answer. I tried to go back to my routine, staying in the art studio after school and going to swim practice. But when I wasn’t with him, I worried even more and was totally distracted, so my coach kept yelling at me, and my art teacher, Ms. Hill, just stared with silent concern, which isn’t exactly good for the creative process. I couldn’t miss practice, since the end of the season was fast approaching, so I dealt with the shouting, but I decided to skip studio time and paint at home. But every time I got there and picked up the brush, all I could do was stare at Hamlet sprawled across my bed and think, What are you going to do? What are you going to do? Needless to say, I accomplished little.
My father did not notice Hamlet’s constant presence, or else he would have insisted on a change or at least offered his thoughts on the matter. Things had been so busy following the wedding, what with the shift of power and the flurry of requests for interviews and appearances by the royal couple, that he had not noticed what was happening.
Gertrude finally asked my father to ask Hamlet to leave our home. My father, taken by surprise, stormed into our apartment and began lecturing Hamlet, who was watching an infomercial about tall ladders. (I had wandered away out of boredom, as we neither needed a tall ladder nor did I understand how an entire hour could be filled by discussing a ladder.) As soon as I heard my father, I ran back in from the balcony where I had been sketching, only to hear Hamlet say, “Got it, Polonius. No need to go on.” He stood, zipped up his black hoodie (his uniform at that point), and reached out a hand to me.
I followed, and my father cleared his throat. “Dad, I’ll come back later. I’ll cook you a special Sunday dinner.”
“I believe Gertrude wanted to speak to Hamlet alone,” he advised.
Hamlet interrupted, “Then Gertrude can say so herself!”
“Hamlet!” I admonished.
He softened his tone and said, “If she wants me so much, she’ll have to deal with Ophelia being there. I really can’t be left alone with my mother right now. I don’t trust myself.”
My father looked apprehensive but nodded in agreement.
We found the newlyweds in the office of their social secretary. Gertrude fluttered over and kissed Hamlet in greeting. His arm tightened across my back, but he said nothing.
Claudius called out, “Son, how are you this bright afternoon?”
“Son?” Hamlet spat. “I don’t think we’re ready for that.” Hamlet turned to leave, pulling me behind him, but Claudius’s words stopped him.
“Fine. Then, Hamlet, how are you this bright afternoon?”
“Too much sun, if you ask me,” he answered sharply.
Claudius tsked and asked, “Why is a dark cloud still hanging over you?”
I wished I hadn’t followed Hamlet upstairs, but I squeezed his hand to try to