| Racism |
| “Uncried tears make my heart weep.” “I know you aren’t a poet, girl,” my mother said, shaking her large wooden spoon at me. “Now, all you have to do is give me a straight answer. How was your day?” “Like every other day, mother,” I told her, throwing my school bag down on the kitchen table then retreating to my room. Once safely behind my closed bedroom door, I flung myself on my bed and let my heart (and eyes) weep. Tears subsided in hiccups as the memory of my day washed over me. Clutching at the straps of my bag, I closed the auditorium door behind me. I looked around for the director in the crowd of actors rehearsing their lines. I sighted him trying to edge away from a large lady waving her arms about and shouting at him. As I came up, I hear what she was saying. “…can't do that! I’ll sue you for every penny you own! Why, I got every word perfect and I acted on Broadway and still you won’t hire me just because you don’t think Lady Capulet should be as ‘rotund’ as I am! That’s a horrible, disgraceful thing to do!” and with that, she whirled around and stomped off, pushing people out of her way. I waited until the director had composed himself before walking up to him and tapping him on the shoulder. He whirled around and glared at me. “What? What do you want from me? Why is everyone around here so needy?” he shouted. “Well,” I began meekly, “I would like to audition for the part of Juliet.” “Sure you can audition,” the director told me, handing me a script. “Read from wherever you want.” I skimmed over the script and caught sight of the famous words between Romeo and Juliet. I began to read: “O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.” “Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?” someone behind me said. I turned around and stared at the man who had spoken. He smiled reassuringly at me, and motioned for me to continue. Quickly regaining my composure, I went on. “‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy. Thou are thyself, though not a Montague. What’s Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name; and for thy name, which is no part of thee, take all myself.” The surrounding actors burst into applause, and I realized that everyone had stopped rehearsing to listen to my strange Romeo and I. Blushing, I turned to the director. “Very well done,” he told me, making my hopes soar. “I would give you the part, except for one thing.” My hopes dropped. “What would that be?” I asked him in a small voice. “Juliet,” he said in a grave tone, “is not black, and will never be if I can help it.” A feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time suddenly rose up inside of me- hate. I wanted to leap at this man, this…this racist. I will not stoop to his level, I thought to myself. I will not give him back his hate. I’m better than he is. So I straightened my back, and said in the most civil voice I could muster, “I’m glad I got the chance to read a part of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.” My civility slipped a bit and I said more acidly, “I’m sorry to have wasted your time with my black behind. I’ll leave you to your white play. Thank you, and good day sir.” With that, I handed him the script and walked out of the auditorium. An hour later, lying on my bed, cheeks glistening with tears, I made a resolve. I would never judge someone for the colour of their skin, their sex, their religion, their age or their beliefs. I would never be like him. |
| And of course, this is my original work and copyrighted to my name. |