a plane by week’s end. Maybe that’ll do him some good. And if not him, then us.” He signaled to the driver, who opened the door for him.
My father came over and tried to put his arms around me. I yanked my body away from him and stumbled down the street.
Ohgod ohgod ohgod, what had I done? How could I have been so stupid? How could I have hurt him like that? I hated myself more than I ever had, more than I ever would. I knew at that moment that I was no better than his mother or Claudius or Rosencrantz or Guildenstern. In fact, I was worse, because I still loved him and, despite what he said, I knew he still loved me, and I chose to hurt him anyway. And if there was a breaking point for him, I had to guess this was it. I wanted to scream or curse or weep or all of the above, but there were people watching, and I didn’t want my reaction to become news. As I ran away from my father, I wished I could erase every second of the last ten minutes. No, the last few months.
“What’s wrong? Ophelia, why are you crying?” asked Laertes.
I couldn’t stop myself long enough to tell him. I leaned against an office building’s cinder-block wall, looking through my tears at the end of the deserted alleyway. I hoped no one would come around the corner.
“Is it Dad? Are you hurt? Ophelia, what is it?”
“I… I…” I kept sobbing. I shouldn’t have dialed his number. I wanted to confide in him and had calmed down before I hit Send, but as soon as I heard his voice, I fell apart again. “It’s nothing,” I managed finally.
“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” he replied, but it was enough of an answer for him to stop asking questions.
“I did a really bad thing to Hamlet.”
“Speak of the devil,” Laertes replied. “He’s on TV. And so are you. And Dad. What’s going on? Why is Hamlet screaming? Has he completely lost his mind?”
I couldn’t believe it was out there already. The speed with which life became news mystified me. It was so fast, I couldn’t even comprehend what had happened—and I was there. I didn’t know how to explain it to Laertes. It was too much, and I couldn’t admit what I did. I was embarrassed for myself. I was embarrassed for our father. I was embarrassed for Hamlet.
But Hamlet’s words stuck in me like a needle. “You shouldn’t have believed it. I never loved you.… No matter what you do, this will follow you. You will never be able to undo it.”
Aching all over, I moaned, “I hate Hamlet.” Yes, I hated him for how he acted. Even before he realized what was happening in the car, he had hurt me with his indifference and then his accusations. But, no matter what he had done and said, I hated myself more for my part in what had followed.
Laertes paused. He had heard me say that I hated Hamlet so many times over the years. The first few times he had believed it and had become invested in my upset. Then he got used to the ups and downs and tried to stay relatively uninvolved.
“Can you come back?” I asked. “Things are so… I need you.”
“You never need me,” he answered. Probably realizing that since I never did need him, it must be bad, he added, “Listen, it’s a really busy semester. I can’t just leave. But call me anytime you need, okay? Anytime. Five times a day if you want.”
I slumped against the wall, my stomach aching even more. “Okay.”
I wouldn’t call him. I reached out that once, but I would go back to dealing with things on my own. Straightening out and ignoring the pain, I checked to make sure my face was dry and set out to find a cup of coffee.
As I walked, I texted Horatio:
i thnk i jst put the finl nail n th coffin. find H.
Barnardo: Glad you weren’t my girlfriend.
Ophelia: Thanks.
Barnardo: With friends like his…
Francisco: I know, right?
Barnardo: “I put the final nail in the coffin.” How can you explain that away?
Ophelia: It’s an expression.
Francisco: Or proof of conspiracy.
Barnardo: We think you asked Claudius and your father to get into that limo with you.
Ophelia: I asked? You don’t know anything about anything.
16
“People say Hamlet grew very paranoid. Was there any reason for it?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Everyone he thought he could trust