A Series of Mondays (girlxgirl / wlw)

Monday, September 7th

PART III - SOFIA

Helen's audition for Juliet was perfect. All the other girls tried out for the role, but even before Mrs. Carter announced it, it was clear that the choice will fall on her.

Mrs. Carter turned and looked around the room. "Sofia, what part did you prepare for?"

I got up, went up on stage, and said "Romeo." I was happy to realize that my voice was steady because my heart beat heavily in my chest.

I interpreted Mrs. Carter's face for a smothered smile.

"Is there a reason why you would like to play a male role?"

"Because it fits perfectly. Helen said last week that the most relatable thing about this play is the two lovers who can't be together, right? Who can more relate to that than the gays? Also, she's white, I'm a Latina – we even have the social disparities bit."

Mrs. Carter looked down on her paper, that at me, then at the other students, then back at me, as if she was not sure what to make of my speech. "You're not wrong." She sighed. "Show me what you got."

After I finished, my teacher smiled at me. "That was really good, Sofia. Does anyone else want to audition for the role of Romeo?"

No one raised their hand. Baker winked at me, I grinned back at him. Mrs. Carter raised her eyebrows, then shrugged.

Helen seemed unsure of what to make of it. She just stared at me.

"Helen, would you go up there with Sofia?"

She got up and joined me onstage. I smiled at her. This was the first time she looked at me since the first day in front of our locker. I couldn't decide if it was anger or disbelieve in her eyes. Probably both.

"Could you," Mrs. Carter gestured indistinctively with her hands, "play something together?" She flipped through the pages of our script. "Here," she said, "do Act 1, Scene 5."

I smiled awkwardly at Helen, then took her hand as indicated in the script.

    "If I profane with my unworthiest hand

    This holy shrine, the gentler sin is this:

    My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

    To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."

I raised her hand to my lips but shortly before they could touch, she pulled it away from me. She took a step back and tilted her head.

    "Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

    Which mannerly devotion shows in this.

    For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do tough,

    And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."

Oh, she was good as this. She was reading from the script, but it sounded authentic.

I took a step in her direction, closing the distance between us.

    "Have not saints lips, and holy palmers, too?"

She went swiftly to her side and around me.

    "Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."

I turned around to see her face again.

    "O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do:

    They pray; grant though, lest faith turn to despair."

I took her hand once again and brought it up so that our palms touched. I hoped very much that she would not feel the shaking of my hand. She stared at them as she recited:

    "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."

I intertwined her fingers with mine.

    "Then move not while my prayer's effect I take."

"Fine," Mrs. Carter interrupted, "you got the role."