Chapter 4

-2-

"You were telling me about Ophelia," Dr. Tripp looked at her.

"I'd broken my hand on the tree," Marilyn rubbed it absently. "I didn't want to say anything. Mack walked me to my house and didn't say a word the whole time.

'Heard you're doing Shakespeare in old Telfer's class.' Brent said to me when I got in the door. Tom's brother said you were Ophelia.'

I tried to shrug it off, but Brent was four years older than me and I never won an argument against him.

'Catch the ball for me." Brent pushed the football into my gut and went outside. I threw the ball and the pain in my hand spiked. He threw it back hard, right on the numbers as Dad would have said. I fumbled it, but held on to it.

'Yeah, someone has to.' My throw tumbled and bounced on the ground in front of Brent. He picked it up.

'And you wore a dress?' The ball slammed into me again. This time I dropped it and had to run after it.

'A costume." My hand could barely hold the ball, but I chucked it back at Brent.

'You have to snap your wrist,' Brent flipped his wrist like we did when we were making fun of someone for being gay. He threw the ball, softer this time. I tried throwing it back, but the snapping action made my hand worse. The pain drove into my head and I doubled up and puked on the grass.

'Robert!' Mom came running out of the house. She saw the way I held my hand and rounded on Brent. 'What did you do to him?'

'Not his fault,' I said. "I fell in the woods.'

Mom took me to the hospital where they x-rayed my hand, then put a cast on it. When we got home, Brent punched my arm. That was as close to an apology as I was going to get."

"Ophelia?"

Marilyn took a long sip of water.

"Mom decided they should all go and see me perform. I didn't know if any of the other kids' parents were coming, or even if they were allowed. It never came up. We practiced our lines in the clubhouse and no one mentioned the dress. Mack decided they needed costumes too. Joe and Tom almost rebelled when they learned they'd have to wear tights. Mack made them swords too and it was OK. I didn't get a sword; I got flowers. A bunch to hold and some for my hair too.

The day of the performance we trooped down to the gym, where the stage took up one end. Mom and Dad and even Brent sat in chairs along with a few other parents. The class filled up the rest of the chairs. Mack asked if we could go last so we had time to get ready. We watched through scene after scene of bad reading of scenes from Shakespeare's plays. Mack dragged us backstage when the group before us started.

The guys put on their tights with shorts over top of them. Wooden swords stuck awkwardly out of their belts. No one else had costumes. Everyone else had scripts.

Mack handed me the dress.

'Please? Mack never said please. Ever. I put on the dress and he put the flowers in my hair. The others stared at me too. They saw what Mack had seen the first time. I was a different species now. They stood further away. No teasing or joking.

'There's a mirror back here." Tom said. I followed him back to an old mirror.

That wasn't me wearing a dress. The face looking at me wasn't Robert. She had my blue eyes, but the hair wasn't rocker hair. It draped soft and black to the shoulders of the dress. The white daisies looked just right. In the second we stared into each other's eyes she whispered a name to me.

'Come on,' Mack pulled on my shoulder. 'We're on.'

I dragged myself away from the mirror. I don't remember acting out the scene. We must have done OK because everyone applauded. Mr. Telfer talked about how in Shakespeare's time all the actors were men, even the ones who played women's parts. I was the only boy who'd played a girl's part. All the rest had refused. We lined up to take our bows and I looked over to my family. Brent glared at me like he hated me.

We went backstage and took off our costumes. The guys had just downed pants to put on their tights. We'd seen each other in underwear often enough, less than THAT too, but they turned their backs to change back into their pants. I pulled off the dress and took the flowers out of my hair. I didn't want to. Not really, though I don't think I admitted that for ages.

Brent stormed in just after I'd put the dress over the back of a chair. I placed the flowers on top of it. They were just daisies Mack picked in the ditch, but I didn't want to just throw them in the trash.

'What were you doing?' Brent shouted at me. 'How am I supposed to explain that my fucking little brother put on a fucking dress and put fucking flowers in his hair?"

'It's a play,' I said

'No one else did,' Brent punched me in the gut. He'd punched me plenty of times. Brent communicated as much through his violence as his words. I'd been punched on the shoulder in the gut, whatever. This was the first time he meant to hurt me. I bent over and whimpered. He hit me again, and again. I lost count of the blows to my body, my face. Nothing I did could stop him. I had bruises on my arms where I tried to protect myself. My cast cracked. Mr. Telfer and Dad had to pull him off me.