Like Romeo and Juliet
A/N: It's funny how writers can get story ideas sometimes. I was in line waiting to get my much-needed coffee fix when I overheard an interesting conversation. Two guys were discussing cause-and-effect theories (it's an artsy school, lol) and it got me thinking. Inspiration is an interesting thing, isn't it?
The grammar was horrific, the spelling worse, and it was painfully obvious that the kid didn't listen in class and only read the last act of the play he was assigned to read. Most of the facts were incorrect, and the essay was half as long as it was supposed to be. Yet…almost as soon as I was finished with his paper I wrote a large letter "B" with my red pen.
I couldn't help myself. You had to give a kid credit for creativity when, at the end of Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet," he has all the bodies in the tomb rise up as zombies and chase away the love-stricken teenagers before they kill themselves.
After looking at the grade a moment and a bit of arguing with my conscience, I finally crossed out the "B" and wrote a "D" next to it. As much as I loved the idea, I had to admit that that my love for gore and zombie violence may have taken precedence over fair grading.
Though I suppose I should have braced myself when I first gave the assignment. A high school teacher always runs the risk of bringing out the crazy side of his students when he assigns a paper that can't be copied.
It was a week ago, on Friday. First of all, I should've known that nothing good could come out of a Friday after noon. The students were antsy…hell, I was antsy. The week was catching up with me, and I had been bored stiff in almost every period that day. After giving a valiant attempt to teach, for the most part I would give up half-way through and let the students go nuts the rest of the period. I'm usually a good teacher, despite the fact that I was young and inexperienced, but this week had been downright insufferable and I could tell everyone needed a break.
As luck would have it, the final class of the day was the one class that was behind all the others. While it would've been nice to just let them go early like they were begging to, I knew deep in my teaching heart I had to go full steam ahead the whole forty-five minutes. My other students were already done with "Romeo and Juliet" and were working on the pre-questions for the next play. These students still needed to read the last act.
We muddled through what was supposed to be the monumental suicide scene, every student barely keeping their eyes open. I couldn't blame them. It was "Romeo and Juliet," for crying out loud. Many of the freshmen students had probably already done it in eighth grade. And it was driving me nuts as well – I had five classes, and I'd been teaching freshmen for two years…you do the math.
That's when inspiration struck. "Okay, show of hands – how many of you have already read the ending?"
Every single student raised their hands. Whether it was because they actually did read it, or because they didn't want to feel the wrath of other students, I couldn't tell. And I didn't care.
Raising my own hand, I continued, "Frankly guys, I don't want to read this any more than you do…so we won't."
The class erupted into cheers. Some even grabbed their stuff, thinking that I was letting them go early.
"Hold it! Did I say you were leaving?" I interrupted, laughing when they groaned and plopped themselves back in their seats. "Now, as much as I'd like to skip over the end and move along to the next story, I can't. So here's what we're going to do. I was going to assign you a typical 'spit back the facts' essay…but I have an idea. It's not what I planned, but what the hell, I'm a teacher, I can do whatever I want."
There was general laughter and even a few loud chuckles, but most were just dreading hearing the news of more work.
"Okay then," I sighed, forming the details of the assignment in my head as I talked. "For the essay, I want you to get creative. Take the last scene…and write what you'd like to see happen. You want Romeo and Juliet to have a happily ever after wedding, write it. You want to write what happened to another character, go ahead. Did you think anyone left alive was a pain in the butt? Kill him off. I don't care. Go nuts. I'll make it…three pages, double-spaced…work on it until the rest of the period and turn it in next Tuesday. I'll be walking around if you have any questions."
Of course the students hadn't worked on it the rest of the class. Some did, but most talked with each other or started playing Hangman in their notebook.
However, I did notice one student writing furiously. I'd thought it was something other than the assignment at first, but when I peeked over her shoulder I was surprised to see that it was.
Now, I searched for her paper, curious to see what she'd come up with. Normally I skimmed someone's paper before I marked it up, but this time I found myself reading the entire thing, soaking in the details.
After I was done, I sat back in my seat, stunned. It was…brilliant, the most ingenious idea I'd seen so far.
And she hadn't changed a thing.
That's what amazed me most. Romeo and Juliet still killed themselves, the same people who were supposed to be dead were dead. Her point had been that one's choices in life didn't affect their destiny…and she'd nailed it.
In her version, Romeo did receive the message that Juliet had taken the sleeping potion. They'd escaped, running from the tomb to the outskirts of Verona. Yet…each of their parents had sent out knights to bring them back, and rather than be captured, they each killed themselves with Romeo's sword.
My hands trembling, I managed to lift my pen and write, "A+ all the way – amazing job" at the top of her paper.
For about an hour after reading the last sentence I sat there thinking not about Romeo and Juliet, but about the point a fourteen-year-old girl had so driven home. Did our choices really make a difference at all…or were our lives like the plots of a universal play, destined to happen as they were written by some unknown being?
I'd been thinking a lot about one particular choice lately. A public school in another, wealthier nearby town was looking for an English teacher, and someone on the school board recommended me. I now had a job offer that would almost double my pay. It came at a great time – my wife had just lost her own job as a nurse, and my daughter would be going into preschool next year.
But then something had happened that Friday. The warning bell rang, and students gathered their stuff. However, one student didn't reach for her book bag right away.
"Mr. Carson?"
I'd been in the middle of gathering my papers as well, but paused to look up at her. "Yes, Angie?"
"We heard…we heard you might be leaving the school for another job," Angie began. Other students stopped what they were doing to listen to the conversation. Clearing her throat, she continued, "And I know it's none of our business, but we'd…we'd miss you if you left. A lot."
Speechless, I gaped at the class for a long moment. I could feel embarrassment creep up in my face, yet I was flattered at the same time. "Oh, wow…didn't expect that…well, if I did take the offer, and I'm not saying I am, I wouldn't go until the end of the year."
"We hoped so. But…it still wouldn't be the same not having you around," another student replied. Then the second bell rang and they left the classroom.
After that, the decision had become near impossible to make. I grappled with it – my wife and I stayed up talking about it all night once. In the end, I knew what the best choice was. While I would miss my students…I needed the money.
Now this paper was making me wonder if this new job was what I was meant to do. That it was what God, if He exists, has planned for me.
Well, it was too late anyway. I'd already left a message on the principal's voicemail accepting the offer this morning.
Sighing, I checked my watch. The next period would be starting in a few minutes. The class was with the same group of kids I'd assigned the papers to. At least I'd be able to give some papers back – some of the students were already asking if I'd gotten around to theirs yet. And then I would have to tell them that I was, in fact, taking the job. Wouldn't that be fun.
My cell phone rang just as I was about to put my papers away. "Hello?"
"Hello, Ted. It's Principal Allen. I just wanted to call and say I got your message."
I smiled, sitting back down. "Yes, Mr. Allen. I'm looking forward to working with you next year."
"Yes, well, about that," the principal replied, "I'm sorry, Ted, but there's been a change in plans. The teacher you were replacing was moving cross country to live with his new wife so she could stay with her mother. It turned out, the mother got remarried, so his wife is free to move with him. Bottom line – the position no longer needs to be filled. I'm sorry again, and if we get another opening or I hear of another position, I'll let you know."
"That's very nice, Mr. Allen, but I think I'm going to stay where I am for a while. Thank you for the offer and…tell the guy to tell his mother-in-law I said congratulations," I chuckled.
I shook my head in amazement, then looked upwards. "Oh, You're good."
THE END