Wonderland

A Retelling of Macbeth

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream,
Lingering in the golden gleam,—
Life, what is it but a dream?

-Of Alice In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll

--

From above, a washroom. Two girls stand before a mirror. They check their reflection.

Girl 1: I can’t believe Veronica did that, I mean, what was she thinking?
Girl 2: I never thought she could be so cold. (leans in to check mascara)
Girl 1: I always knew it. (confidently, purses lips) Didn’t think she’d have the guts to do it right under Lyssa’s nose.
Girl 2: She won’t be able to show her face at Manchester again.
Girl 1: (voice drops to a whisper) I hear she got her dad to transfer her to Bishop.
Girl 2: (wrinkles nose) Catholic school.
Girl 1 / Girl 2: (look at each other, unison) Ew.

Fade out

Everybody here has a story. The days were strictly scheduled, with a specific time for everything. Dinner, breakfast, lights out, breaks, group therapy, visits with the doctor…I don’t know how many times I heard Straw tell her runaway story at our group sessions, or Lit, her constant talk about her fascination with blood. There were fifteen girls on our ward, hair unkempt, and faces devoid of make-up. We lived in a simple place, the metal beds bolted to the floor, the chairs plastic so we would not be able to create any sharp edges with them. In comparison to Manchester Prep, this was paradise. Looking around, I could not fool myself with lies. The locks on the doors are a testament to what I did, and a reminder to everyone else what they had done to get themselves in Ward C. The doctors said it wasn’t my fault, that it was difficult for me to distinguish truth from fiction, reality from dreams. I do not tell my stories to the other girls because what I did was more than harming myself, or running away from a problem. I deserved the slanted, harsh light, the medication, the lack of privacy, and I should be punished.

Fade In

From behind, washroom. Two different girls standing beside a trashcan and the sinks. One has her arms crossed, the other twirls a strand of hair around her finger.

Girl 3: Veronica got what she deserved.
Girl 4: It was so low of her to kiss Rick, but to sleep with him, god, does she have no self-respect?
Girl 3: Yeah, like for sure, can we say slut?
Girl 4: But Bethie was so nice though. She calmed Lyssa down and stopped her from freaking out at Rick.
Girl 3: (snorts in laughter) And see how it turned out, Rick’s dying to come back. Lyssa deserves better than that jerk.
Girl 4: (thoughtful) I wouldn’t have planned it out that way. Beth’s so smart. She’s in all honors classes.
Girl 3: And pretty. Sandy told me that Frank told her that Max wants to go out with her.
Girl 4: The football player?
Girl 3: Soccer, I think.
Girl 4: (giggles) Hot. (they laugh together) Beth’s sooo lucky.

Toilet flushes in stall behind them, they look at each other. Exit.

They talk about high school hierarchy in books, on TV shows. Maybe all of the hype only strengthened the hold of us girls on the crowd, especially in our private school where one was accepted either because of money or influence, sometimes both. It was of utmost important to keep up an image, better clothes, better books, better friends. It was an endless ride of ups and downs, where a wrong word could land you in the dog pile, where all of the not so pretty or rich kids were.

We were sophomores that year, not too high on the chain, but from the beginning Lyssa had already staked her claim for queen. Lyssa Duncun, yes, Lyssa, not Alyssa or Nyssa or Lisa, but Lyssa. Listing her claims to fame would take ages. Five foot four, brunette, star athlete, perfect smile, boys lining up to be on her arm. The clincher: Homecoming Queen for her sophomore year, unheard of for the junior/sophomore dances. Great things were expected for her then. It was just hard to dislike Lyssa, who was on the debate team, social awareness club and most of the athletic teams. She was also friendly, hated harassing the freshmen, and volunteered at the local pet shelter. Voted Junior Representative on the student council at the end of sophomore year, it was clear who was on a higher level than the rest of us.

After Veronica slept with Rick, Lyssa’s steady boyfriend since freshmen year, Michelle informed the entire school of what she did the very next week. Michelle said it was out of her supposed loyalty to Lyssa, but everyone knew it was because Michelle could never keep a secret. Lyssa had been constantly bursting into tears at lunch hours in the washrooms, and it took several of her friends to comfort her. I was part of that inner circle.

It was pure luck that I was the one in her English class when we were discussing Romeo and Juliet. I just knew, as friends did, that she was about to bawl again. Getting a pass and ushering her to the washrooms was no big deal, since our attendance record was pretty good. I told Lyssa to get a grip, that this was only making Rick feel superior. This surprised her, since she had gotten nothing but sympathy from the student population, but I was tired of sympathy. I didn’t want to follow her to washrooms anymore and listen to her cry, while Rick shoved his football buddies around and chortled about his lay.

That was how I replaced Veronica and established the status of best friend of the most popular girl in junior year.

Two girls, Nadine and Beth, walking down the street. Afternoon.

Nadine: So how have you been lately? I haven’t seen you around in a while.
Beth: (guiltily) I know, I know, I’m sorry, but I’ve been really busy with school and all.
Nadine: Yeah, no problem.
Beth: I’m glad you understand.
(Three girls walk towards them)
Nadine: Hey, do those girls go to our school?
Beth: (Pause) They all do. (Low voice) Hannah, the one in the middle, is probably the most popular girl in Manchester.
(Nadine nods)
Hannah: (smiles) Hi, Beth, right?
Beth: (surprised) Yes.
Girl Friend #1: We heard about how you helped Lyssa.
Girl Friend #2: And we’re totally impressed. Lyssa’s way of handling it, well… (winces mockingly)
Girl Friend #1: …leaves much to be desired. But we were looking for you today.
Beth: You were?
Hannah: We think that you should try for queen.
Beth: (doubtful) As in…prom queen?
Girl Friend #1: (giggles) Like yeah, what kind of other queen is there?
Girl Friend #2: Yeah! We’ll put in a few good words for you this year, and next, you’ll be a shoo-in.
(Hannah puts an arm around her)
Hannah: It’s almost guaranteed.
Beth: But I didn’t even make it onto Homecoming court this year.
Girl Friend #1: (confidently) We’ve got that taken care of. (Eyes slide over to Nadine)
Girl Friend #2: And you, my friend. (Turns to speak to Nadine) Big things are coming for you too.
Nadine: (sounds almost bored) Like what?
Hannah: (steps closer to her) With the right hair, and more stylish clothes, you could be a model. I have a company you should try. (fishes around her bag for a card, hands one to her. Nadine takes it and stares down at it uncertainly)
Girl Friend #2: Hell, if Bethie here doesn’t work out, you will probably be queen.
Nadine: (looks up) Why do you care about us? We’re juniors. We don’t even know you.

Hannah laughs, links arms with her friends. They walk away.

Homecoming arrives every February of the school year. The student population selects its court the final week of school before Christmas holidays. I was nervous the day the name of the final court was being posted, simply because I wanted what Hannah said more than I ever admitted to myself. Lyssa, as part of the student council, had already seen the final list, and said sadly that my name wasn’t on there. I knew Lyssa would keep me informed if there were any changes. Her close friends knew she had a soft heart. She was just unable to lie, and she was forgiving of anybody who did lie to her. It irritated me sometimes, how she could be perfect. She was almost saint-like, and the thought of her getting what I wanted sawed at my mind.

The list was posted right after school, and a large crowd had already gathered around it. Valarie Hawkwood cheered and did a celebratory jig in the hallway with her friends. Ophelia Ames walked away with a smile. I was afraid to look at the list, with its neat rows. The names were small, and insignificant, and I felt the crowd push me towards the front. I scanned the list. Lyssa was first, and head of Court, but that was a given. Valarie, Ophelia, Tina and…I saw my name in black and white. Elizabeth Inverness. I felt my vision blur, the world swirl around me. Congrats, Beth! Way to go, Bethie! The words danced around my head, surreal.

Lyssa swept in, parting a sea of her own congratulations. She was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt for their final basketball game later on that night, light brown hair tied back in a simple ponytail. After hearing the news, she grinned and hugged me, but her forehead was slightly creased. That’s odd, she said, I could have sworn your name wasn’t on the list this morning. She shrugged then, and beamed, hugged me again. Her happiness was so genuine. At that moment, I hated her.

Beth’s room. Beth is sitting on her bed, talking on the phone to Nadine.

Nadine: (her voice is clear and distinguishable) Wow, so you actually made the Court?
Beth: Yep. I was surprised.
Nadine: I’m happy for you.
Beth: The impossible has become the possible. (laughs) Hey, I might even be prom queen one day. (sarcastically)
Nadine: (serious) Maybe. I wouldn’t doubt it now.
Beth: It was probably just a joke. (tries to sound lighthearted) A fluke.
Nadine: …Bethie? Do you think I could actually be a model?
Beth: (face changes, but voice stays the same) Of course you can, Nadine. You’re my best friend, I believe in you.
Nadine: I’m not really thinking about it, it’s a stupid thought. (giggles) Best friends forever.
Beth: (crosses her fingers behind her back) Best friends forever.

Fade out.

I wanted to prove Hannah wrong, that I had not a chance of becoming queen. It was because Homecoming Court was the access to Prom Court, and Prom Court meant Prom Queen. The system was different for seniors, only students on the Prom Court could get the position of King or Queen, but Homecoming was free for all votes towards anybody participating. I also wanted to prove Hannah right, because it validated my existence, that I was more than ‘Lyssa’s best friend’. To be noticed, like Lyssa, her beauty and radiance within my grasp. It wasn’t enough to be near her sunlight anymore, I needed to break out of the orbit. I wanted to become master of my own universe.

Last day of school. Beth is walking down the street, dressed in a thick jacket. It is winter, her boots crunch in the snow. There is only the sound of her footsteps and the occasional whine of the wind. She sighs, her breath is seen in the air. She does not notice Tristan, leaning against a telephone pole up ahead. When Beth almost passes him, he stands up straight.

Tristan: Hey.
Beth: (glances behind her shoulder, footsteps slow before resuming her pace) Hello.
Tristan: (grinning)

You shalt be
What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature.
It is too full of the milk of human kindness
To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great,
Art not without ambition, but without
The illness should attend it. (steps quicken to catch up)

Beth: (fearful) What the hell are you on, you freak? Don’t touch me or I’ll scream.
Tristan: (stops abruptly) Oh, Bethie. Temper, temper.
Beth: (stops too) How do you know my name?
Tristan: What play was it?
Beth: (confused) What play was what?
Tristan: What play was it? The one I just quoted?
Beth: Are you a drama geek or something?
Tristan: Nah. I’m your fairy godmother.
Beth: (laughs in spite of herself) You can’t be serious.
Tristan: (spreads arms) I am, baby, I’m here to give you the world.
Beth: (sputters) Riiiiight. (moves away)
Tristan: (turns somber) Don’t you remember me, Bethie?
Beth: (stops again, looks at him) No…
Tristan: (sad) We went to elementary together. Grade 2, Ms. Synn’s class, remember?
Beth: No, I don’t. Sorry.
Tristan: I’m here to change that. (touches her cheek slowly. She flinches. His arm drops back to his side.) Anyway, I moved back here, I go to Manchester Prep now.
Beth: So do… (She cuts herself off. She bites her lip, worried)
Tristan: (laughs)

Your face, my thane, is as a book where men
May read strange matters.

Beth: …
Tristan: That’s your assignment, Cinderella. Find out what the play is. I’ll be waiting for you outside of your house tomorrow morning.

Tristan walks away, whistling. Beth stares after him.

I remember wanting to be prom queen so badly, the feel was almost an ache eating away at my insides. It was an opportunity for me to be vain, and look down at the people who used to laugh at me in elementary. A few of them hovered around the edges of the crowd now, hoping for acceptance. I never quite mastered the art of cutting words, of saying things that sounded like they were compliments but were an insult for the intended.

Tristan was quite adept in the field. With his dark brown curls, ridiculously long lashes framing gray eyes, one would think he was another pretty boy. His handsome appearance hid some of the strange thoughts going on within. He coached me in just what to say to make people step back, eyes wide, while everybody around talked on, oblivious. It was the ability to influence, the taste of it so sweet it overcame the nauseous feeling that crept in afterwards. He sat behind me in most of my classes, somehow elbowing out the previous inhabitants of those seats. We became masters at speaking to each other with me staring straight ahead, him whispering over my shoulder. The teachers had no idea what was going on, and Tristan would tell witty little stories that made me giggle. The girls stared enviously sometimes, and why wouldn’t they?

As much as I would like to believe I was close to him, he was a puzzle to me. He refused to spend time with my friends and I at our lunch hour, preferring to leave campus to go places that I was not invited to. He said he hated communal gatherings, or useless small talk. I was incapable of changing his mind. Try as I may, I could not recall his face from Ms. Synn’s class. The picture of that year was lost, tossed out with the drawings and writings that we made in that sunny classroom at Parkdale. I avoided Nadine, the only person that could tell me if Tristan actually existed back then. I did not trust the others, because they would tell me lies to gain favor into our group, and I for one, was beginning to be annoyed by social maneuverings, just like he was. He would pass us at certain times, whispered a few select phrases into my ear before walking off. I would watch him, long legs in black jeans, navy jacket unique to his sense of style. My friends had to wave their hands in front of my eyes, to say Earth to Beth? before catching my attention.

He was essential to my life after a while. One day when he didn’t show up in front of my house in the morning, I was sick with worry. What if a car hit him? What if he fell down the stairs? When he came running up, apologizing, dimple showing when he saw how concerned I was. Trust me, Bethie, I would never desert you. Somehow he kissed me and I kissed him back, and then we walked to school hand in hand. It happened out of nowhere, mid-January, like lightning from the sky. And for once, I could believe in everything.

Tristan’s house. Living Room. Tristan and Beth sit on the couch.

Tristan: (murmurs) Don’t you see how alike we are? How very much the same?
Beth: Mm. (draws closer to him)
Tristan: We both want the same thing. We want a place in the world, somebody to see us as we really are. We want power, love, is that so bad of a wish?
Beth: (sighs) I won’t do what you’re asking.
Tristan: (surprised) What? (pulls away, looks at her)
Beth: You’re asking me to kill my best friend.
Tristan: (hugs her close again) No, no, no…only to give her a little scare.
Beth: What?
Tristan: (voice hardens) Don’t chicken out on me now, Bethie. (softens, kisses her hair) I just want you to be happy, that’s all. You’re so much more than Lyssa.
Beth: (whispers) Am I that ugly?
Tristan: (mumbles)

Was the hope drunk
Wherein you dressed yourself? Hath it slept since?
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale
At what it did so freely?

Beth: What?
Tristan: Nothing. (smiles) I keep on thinking about when we first met. When I talked about the play that you didn’t figure out yet.
Beth: (rolls out) I hate drama.
Tristan: I’m shocked. (sarcasm)
Beth: Fine fine. Quote something to me again, from that play.
Tristan: (prepares self dramatically)

From this time
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard
To be the same in thine own act and valour
As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that
Which thou esteemest the ornament of life
And live a coward in thine own esteem,
Letting “I dare not” wait upon “I would”
Like the poor cat in the adage?

Beth: (shivers) Sounds kind of creepy.
Tristan: It’s supposed to be. Here’s a creepier one. (speaks in a whisper into her ear)

I see thee still,
And on thy blade and dugeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before. There’s no such thing.
It is the bloody business which informs
Thus to mine eyes. Now over the one half-world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtained sleep.

Beth: (pushes him away) Ok, ok, stop. I’ll do it if you’ll stop quoting from that stupid play.
Tristan: You’ll do it. (pause) But I won’t stop.
Beth: Fine. You sound kind of sexy when you say your stage voice anyway.
Tristan: (chuckles) Oh, do I?

Fade out.

Perhaps it was a bit of post-January madness, end of winter withdrawal. The approach of Homecoming, the frenzy of the Court, Ophelia driving everybody mad with her orders. I felt a tightening in my chest as the day approached…tighter, tighter. I was wound up, a spring, ready to uncoil, snap out like a jack-in-the-box. Tristan coached me, went through every step of that fateful day with a seemingly endless patience.

Homecoming was two days after Valentine’s Day, following end of semester examinations. I flitted through studying for finals without a care, heart flip-flopping on more important things, none as trivial as getting good marks. Tristan was more attentive as the day approached. His low voice was what I heard every night before I fell asleep, a baritone murmur. I thought up a lot of ‘if only this happened…’ or ‘I would be the luckiest girl in the world if it weren’t for…’ To dwell on dreams was madness, but to have Tristan dangle them in front of my eyes, the picture oh so real, made it feel like almost a certainty. And Tristan loved me, didn’t he? Didn’t that make it right to please him?

Beth’s House. Her Room. Sleeping bags are strewn around the floor, girls are sitting, talking. Changes scene. Beth meets Tristan outside on her front lawn. Snow comes down thickly.

Beth: (nervously) I don’t know if I should do this. (wrings hands)
Tristan: (frowns) What? Are you backing out on me again?
Beth: No. It’s not that. (looks away)
Tristan: (impatient) Then what is it?
Beth: It isn’t…right.
Tristan: (becomes angry) Don’t you love me?
Beth: I…of course I do.
Tristan: (earnest) And I love you too, I want you to be happy, to get what you want. Nobody is going to stand in the way.
Beth: (softly) Ok.
Tristan: Ok. (catches one of her hands) You know if I could do this I would, but she trusts you.
Beth: That’s another reason why I shouldn’t do this. She’s my friend.
Tristan: I’m your boyfriend. (strokes her hair) Your best friend.
Beth: Ok. (more determined, looks towards door) I can do this.
Tristan: Good girl. (smiles, squeezes her hand)

(says gently) Away, and mock the time with fairest show -

Beth: Did you say something?
Tristan: (shakes his head) No.

(whispers) False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
(kisses her on the cheek and guides her towards the doorway. She enters house.)

Flash of grey.

A figure falling from the sky, blurred because of the snowflakes.

Flash of grey. Black. Fades in.

Above, a balcony railing, a girl tips her face up towards the sky. The snow is still falling. She looks down at the ground. It is Beth. She exits.

All I knew was that I somehow sucked in my breath to scream at the same time Tina said Oh my God. My father stumbled out of his bed, my friends out of their sleeping bags, to discover the source of the noise. Tina began to cry beside me, and our combined sounds prepared them for the nightmarish scene ahead.

Our front lawn was a long stretch, and neighbors were interspersed on large, secluded sectors for the privacy of the families. We had a decorative white fence surrounding our house, making it look like a picturesque scene from a postcard.

The body had fallen on top of the posts, angled at wrong positions. The blood had spread through the wood, staining the snow around a rich crimson. It was out of a violent teen thriller, a movie with blood and gore splattered in every critical part. I didn’t know she would fall that way, sideways onto the fence. I had forced myself to forget what happened last night, as if it was a regular sleepover.

I saw the sirens cast a similar red sheen on the snow, and the wheels of the ambulance track in dirt in paths over the lawn. I allowed myself a glimpse of the body, detached it from Lyssa in my mind. It was not my fault, my hands are not stained with her blood. I told myself this as I saw the veil of hair fallen in front of her face, the ambulance people covering the gaping wound with a sheet, then finally, her head. I turned away, and met Nadine’s eyes for a split second, before allowing the rest of the girls to draw me into a tearful huddle.