Romeo and Juliet for Adults

“My high school students love Romeo and Juliet,” she told the library check-out person a week before the library closed.

“What do they love about it?” asked a stranger standing next to her.

She noticed the liveliness in his eyes, did a quick survey of his handsome face, then paused briefly at his lips.

His eyes made the same trip, from her eyes, across her face, to her lips.

She felt surprised, delighted, nervous — all at the same time. “What do my students like about the play?” she asked, thinking out loud. “They like that Romeo and Juliet fall in love at first sight.”

He nodded.

“That they have to see each other right away,” she said.

He nodded again.

“That they’ll risk everything to be together,” she said.

“The desire to merge with someone else starts early in life,” he said. “Do you remember your first crush?”

She remembered it well. “Fourth grade.”

“Second grade for me,” he said.

The check-out person said, “Someone else is waiting to check out a book.”

She realized she’d been in the middle of talking with the check-out person when the stranger interrupted. “I’m so sorry!”

The check-out person said, “No problem!”

She could think of nothing further to say to the stranger. As she began to walk away, he asked, eagerly, “Would you like to talk further?”

“Yes!” she said, happy that he had asked. “But where?”

“There’s a bench outside,” he said.

He opened the library door for her. “Thank you!” she said, smiling. “What a gentleman!”

They were soon sitting on the bench, facing each other. Although he was a stranger, she felt that she knew him. His jacket fell open, revealing a long, lean body. He was tall and broad-shouldered. 

“You look familiar,” he said.

“What do you do for a living?” she asked.

“I’m also a teacher,” he said.

“What grade?” she asked.

“Fifth.”

“I would have loved that,” she said. “I imagine that they give you a lot of love.”

“I’m a father figure to many of my students,” he said. “And since I have no children, I welcome the role. I teach music. We have a lot of fun. It’s a poor neighborhood, so we use everything for instruments, from garbage can covers to frying pans.

“Are you married?” she asked.

“Widowed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s been eight years,” he said.

She looked for a sign that he was still grieving, but his face did not show any. “It’s harder to win the hearts of teenagers,” she said. “They have a natural antipathy toward authority.”

“Believe me, so do some younger ones!” he said.

“Whenever I see a young child, my soul lights up.”

“I can see that from the way your face brightens just talking about it,” he said.

“Elementary schools need male teachers,” she said. “Your school is lucky to have you.”

His eyes made a trip down, then up again, to her eyes. “I like your dress,” he said.

She blushed, glad she had chosen a summery beige sheath with white polka-dots to wear. “What’s your name?”

“Henry,” he said. 

“Rae,” she said.

“So tell me about your first crush,” he said.

“I was crazy about a blond boy in class. A lot of the girls liked him.”

“What did you like about him?” he asked.

“Sounds shallow, but his blue eyes and clear skin. And he was smart.”

“My crush wrote poetry,” he said. “I remember her sitting cross-legged on the grass during recess. In those days, girls wore crinolined dresses to school, do you remember? While everyone played, she wrote in a notebook she always carried. She looked so pretty. And alone.” His gaze seemed to go back in time, then returned. “What happened to your crush?”

“I watched him write his name on a spelling test and wrote his name on my paper. He saw me do it. It was humiliating. I crumpled up the paper, then asked the teacher for another.”

“Oh, that’s funny!” he said.

“The teacher said, ‘I just asked you to write your name!’”

“What did the boy say?”

“He looked embarrassed for me,” she said.

“Did you say anything?”

“I never spoke to a boy I liked.”

“You were shy?” he asked. “You don’t seem shy now.”

“People change,” she said.

“I asked my crush if I could read something she wrote,” he said.

“What did she say?”

“‘Someday,’” he said.

“And did she give you something?”

“Never!” he said.

“Have you looked her up? She might — ”

“I asked her what she wrote about,” he interrupted, ”and she said, ‘Flowers.’ So I offered to walk her home. On the corner where we parted company — she lived in one direction, me in another — I gave her a kiss goodbye. When she acted surprised, I never spoke to her again …What happened to your crush?”

She didn’t hear the question. “I never married,” she said.

He looked at his watch. “I promised to give someone a call at this time. Can I have your number?”

If she had been more cautious, if he had been less bold, she would never have seen him again.

Then they would never have had their first date. Then he would never have called to say that he was outside her building, waiting for her. Then she would never have run out of her apartment to get to him faster. When the elevator stopped on its way down, she politely asked two neighbors to take the next one because of Covid. Then the elevator reached the lobby, where he was waiting.

He wore a fedora that made him look like a movie star from some romantic movie from the forties. Cary Grant, perhaps. Except that he wore a mask, one of the popular pale blue ones.

“I like your fedora,” she said.

“No barber since Covid-19,” he said. “Ditto your straw hat!”

She had worn it to hide the silver gray that started at her hairline and spilled onto her brown dyed hair. Her beauty parlor was closed. She had bought new lipstick and mascara. She had chosen a figure-clinging dress and pumps. Dates were for enjoying being a woman.

He wore a dark suit but no tie. His shoulders seemed broader than she remembered. She noted again that he was tall. His slimness made him seem even taller. His height made her feel protected. 

She looked into his eyes. She caught him looking up and down at her figure. “Men don’t know how a suit enhances their appearance,” she said to deflect attention from herself and let him know that she liked how he looked.

“I always thought that dates were for looking your best,” he said.

A feeling of warmth suffused her body.

“You keep the sidewalk,” he said. He stepped over the curb and began walking in the street.

“Thank you!” she said, pleased at his courtliness.

They began to stroll through the neighborhood, keeping their social distance of six feet apart.

It was seventy degrees, with a cloudless blue sky. It was impossible to tell that a pandemic was sweeping the human landscape with the fury of a storm for which no one had prepared.

“Since Covid — when I go for a walk — the sounds of birds cheer me,” she said. “I forget there’s a world outside of the bad news I read every day. Then the birds remind me there’s more to life than worrying about the future. In March, when spring and Covid seemed to begin at the same time, I noticed when the trees grew tiny leaf buds. The new growth on the tops of shrubs was a brilliant lime green. Then in April, the flowers bloomed. Every day I passed yellow flowers that were so bright! They leaned towards the sun so joyfully!”

“Sounds like you write poetry,” he said.

“I do,” she said.

“Anything published?” he asked.

“Nah,” she said. “I had to capture the beauty I see on my walks, so I started taking pictures on my cellphone. I took pictures of the shadows of trees on the sidewalk. Their beautiful twisted trunks. I remember noticing things, as if for the first time, like that leaves constantly move in the breeze.“

“I walk a lot too,” he said. “Whenever I see children, I feel sad that they’re wearing masks. Their eyes look confused. I’m confused about everything these days.”

He was so honest! How she appreciated that! Then a tinge of guilt colored her happiness. “We’re two of the lucky ones. Not sick. Not hungry. Not jobless.”

“And what better way to celebrate being alive than to share our happiness with someone else!” he said. “That’s what’s wonderful about two people meeting.”

Did he really say that?

“Love is wonderful.” She immediately regretted saying what she did. How could she let her emotions run away with her? And yet she would gladly have sailed into the sunset with him. “I’ve been writing about the search for love in my poems.”

“You must show me them,” he said. “Especially during times like these, it’s good to have something creative to do. For me, it’s singing. I practice all the time. Someday I’ll sing for you.”

“I look forward to that!” she said.

They walked in silence past a park, pausing to watch a family standing in a circle, punching a volleyball to each other without a net. Nearby, a family played baseball on a makeshift playing field of three bases marked with water bottles.

In front of the park, an ice cream vendor in a truck waited at his window, masked and wearing gloves.

“Ice cream?” he asked.

“Absolutely!”

He asked her what kind. She said a vanilla cone. He ordered one also.

“Have you noticed that the simple pleasures in life are more important?” he asked. “Like food. I never enjoyed it so much, or so looked forward to meals. I started cooking for real, not just heating things up. I’m experimenting with new foods.”

“Have you ever tasted anything so delicious?” she asked.

Each gulp of cold ice cream was a burst of pleasure. She blushed at the thought of pleasure. In his presence, pleasure seemed abundant. She fervently wished that he would take her hand.

He took her hand.

“I always thought sex was play for adults,” he said, apparently reading her thoughts.

“I always thought that too!”

They strolled hand in hand. For the first time in a long time, she was not jealous of other couples walking together. How grateful she was to be half of a couple! Her solitary walks had always made her feel that she had to bear the pandemic singlehandedly.

“The thing I want most is to share my life with someone,” she said. “I’m a cancer survivor. There might be a time when I’m challenged again. I hope I won’t have to go through it alone.”

“Ditto,” he said. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

In front of her building, they stopped walking.

“Is this it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, confused what to do.

“The end?” he asked.

“We need to be careful,” she repeated.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he said.

She didn’t want to weigh the pros and cons. “Come in! Please!”

They went up in the elevator. Inside the elevator, he took her in his arms. After entering the apartment, they washed their hands. Inside her bedroom, they removed their masks, laying them solemnly on her night table.

He embraced her. Kissed her. She led him by the hand to her bed. He asked her to undress so he could watch. Then he took off his clothes. Then they made love.

She had never been handled so tenderly. He said he’d never met a woman so sensual.

They were so happy afterward, they laughed looking at each other.