BENVOLIO & TYBALT

Chapter 1

Benvolio

Another bump jars me, my wooden sword falls to my feet, tumbling around the carriage floor. I grab it and shove it into the loop I made on my belt.

The carriage slowly turns, and the road becomes smooth and calm. Allowing my muscles to finally rest. Pulling open the dusty drapes on the small window, the Alps fill the frame. If I sit just right, Verona will come into sight over the last lumbering hill.

There it is.

This will be the first time I have come to Verona without my parents. The late morning sun shines steadily on top of the church steeple filling the dusty air with an eerie glow. Finally, I am here, and the romance of this town once again fills me with familiar joy. It begins in my stomach and reaches up to my smile. When I turn to share my smile with my mum, a veil of grief smothers my excitement. Returning to the window, the sunshine dims.

As we enter the town, people hustle past one another as if they are the most important person on the street. There is nothing like weaving through these people and wondering who they are, and why they think they are so high and mighty.

Slowing for the town's wild movements, I realize tonight I won’t be alone. Tonight, I'll be in a room with a bed I know well. A room where I've laughed and played. A room that shares a wall with my cousin Romeo. He will take my hand the moment I arrive and lead me into some kind of fun trouble. Our trouble will make me happy, I suppose. It used to make me happy. At least I will feel safe.

Entering the town square, the fountain of the soldier and his horse come into view. My mum loved that fountain. She would say it now if she were here, just like she did every time she saw it. Then she would scan the streets for men dressed in blue and silver. So, I do the same. The colors belong to the Capulet family. My family's enemy. The vigilance I've perfected in the past months since my parents' death guides my hand to my sword.

There are no Capulet's on the streets, but my aunt's long black hair is flowing with her movements by the church. Trying to leap out of this carriage to finally be with her, I holler as I bang on the wood panel separating me from the coachman.

“Stop, please,” I yell.

Slowly and carefully, he stops. As I push the carriage door open, the smells that can only accumulate in Verona hit me with a heat I was not expecting. I turn to help my mum out of the carriage, but when her blue shoe does not peek out from her ruffly dress, and her hand doesn’t reach for mine, I slam the door shut as hard as I can and hold my knees, so I don't fall. The horses make irritated sounds, and the people give me space.

In my own time, I rise. Squinting against the sun, I find my aunt. She is now standing at the large doors of the church, talking to an even larger man. Weaving through people and horses to get to her, I stop. She has a tone to her voice that reaches deep in me telling me I should wait for her to finish. I need her, but I know better. I'll try to wait to get her attention until they are done speaking.

As the sun begins to work its way through my vest and warm my back, the realization that I am here now, with my family that loves me, seeps in and I believe it. A tightness in my stomach that has become so familiar, weakens. The lightness that follows reminds me of my favorite part of Verona.

Turning to the streets, my nose is trained to seek out the smell of honey and nuts and the steamy goodness of baked bread. Sniffing about, I need to cut through the rich manure lining the streets. Break past the stink of the people.

There it is.

The cart of baked goods drifting like a delicious cloud through the town. Nothing has been baked in my hometown since the sickness came through. Checking in with my aunt once more before chasing the cart, my eyes land on a boy standing against the church wall.

His black hair falls around his face. As he slowly brushes his fingers through it, he reveals his dark eyebrows painting the top of his sparkly eyes. He finds me staring at him, and I can't look away. His smile starts in his eyes and deep dimples appear on his cheeks as his mouth tries not to smile.

My smile bursts out of my face, causing him to lose the battle with his mouth as the corners peak up before he looks down at his hands that rest atop a sword. A real sword. He looks like he is my age, but he gets to have a real sword.

My hand anxiously reaches to my belt. No, of course, my stupid wooden sword is in its sheath. I foolishly think it will keep me safe, so I take it everywhere. Did he see it? Sly and smooth, I turn my body to hide it and look back towards him. His head is still down. His black hair is gold where the sun touches it.

A strange desire to do something to get his attention runs through me. But with my wooden sword stuck to me, I decide instead to move towards that honey and nut bun filling the air with a relentless buttery pull.

Scanning the streets for blue and silver, I confirm my path is clear. Following my nose to the baker's cart, I wonder if the boy with smiling eyes and gold dancing in his hair is watching me.

Chapter 2

Tybalt

Completing a thorough examination of the pommel of my sword, I finally succeed at suppressing my smile.

That boy's smile took up his entire face. Even his ears had to move to give it space. The sharp rock that lives in my stomach softens. The jagged rock assumed residency inside of me when I arrived in this feces-covered town and my wretched uncle's home.

Decidedly, I search for that boy's smile one more time. He’s gone. The sun blinds me as I try to spot him. There he is, standing at the bakery cart.

“Are you smiling?” Petruchio asks me.

Leaning against the church wall, I accept my failure at stopping myself from smiling.

Petruchio comes to examine me, and I push him away. “You are, you're smiling,” he says. “At least your eyes are. Tell your mouth.”

“Do you know who that is?” I ask him, carefully pointing to the boy.

“No.”

Of course, he doesn't know. He knows who I know. The only people we seem allowed to know since we got here are Capulet's. And though they are my family, I wish I never knew them, most of them anyway.

“Go talk to him, Tybalt,” Petruchio says.

But the idea is ridiculous. “No.”

“You haven't found one reason to smile since we arrived in Verona. Now you have found one, and you should enjoy it."

Petruchio has been my man since we could walk. This bastard knows me and I love him for it. Except for right now.

“I can't go to him, P. What if my uncle needs me?”

“I'll answer for you.”

“No. That will never happen.”

He takes my arm and pulls me away from the wall. He points to my sweaty uncle. “Look, your uncle is deep in conversation with Lady Montague. This conversation won't end well for him, just like every time she tracks him down. Perhaps we both could disappear for a bit and let him find someone else to endure his rage.”

With a gentle push, I move into the crowd toward the baker's cart.

“Stay out of sight,” I tell Petruchio. “I’ll be right back.”

Before I can reach the boy, he takes his glistening bun from the baker and walks over to the fountain. With a little bit of trouble, he makes his way onto the fountain's ledge and sits. For a moment, he plays with the water. Then he turns and looks over the town as he takes his first bite and his face lights up.

I know what I want to say to him.

I reach into my vest pocket and pull out a flower. The purple has faded a bit, but its beauty is still radiant. I found it this morning as Petruchio, and I followed my uncle into town. As if on purpose, my uncle took a sidestep to smash the flower. Like the beauty of it insulted him. He managed to break its gentle green stem, but the Liverleaf flower is resilient. The pedals simply shifted under his immense weight to flatten instead of fold.

There is strength in this delicate-looking flower. A strength that deserves to be celebrated with a better ending than rotting on the ground. So, I placed it carefully in my vest pocket and let its sweet earthy scent travel up to me as we continued to walk this morning.

Brushing the dirt off its purple petals, I walk towards him. The noise of the fountain is calming. My feet stop when he sees me coming. In stillness, I watch him lick the honey off his pink lips and lose my breath for a moment. Slowly, I walk closer and lift the flower to him without a word. He smiles and it brightens his brown eyes, but now that I am near him, there is deep sadness underneath his huge smile.

Carefully, he takes the flower from me. His hot fingers brush mine, and my stomach lurches as a full smile fills my face. It's strange to smile so truthfully. Like my muscles forgot how to do it but are happy to return to the practice.

He smells the flower and says, “It smells like the sun just came out after a long winter."

That is the most beautiful description of a flower I've ever heard. I decide not to share my description of how they once thought the Liverleaf flower could cure liver disease. Instead, I watch him examine the flower.

“Benvolio?” A kind voice calls through the noise of the fountain. The boy looks up.

His name is Benvolio.

Who called him? Lady Montague is coming to us. Pushing my head down, I step aside into the busy crowd. Petruchio appears beside me.

“No,” I whisper as I watch her wrap her arms around him and kiss his cheek. She laughs at the honey that messes his face. And he melts into her embrace.

“Tybalt, your uncle didn't catch you speaking to him,” Petruchio whispers.

“He's a Montague,” I quietly say.

“We need to get out of here T, we don’t have much time. Come with me.”

Turning me away from Benvolio we pause at the sight of my uncle towering over a small figure hidden in the shade of the church. As his back flexes the figure flinches and moves from the shade. Petruchio was right, my uncle found someone else to take his rage out on and this time it is my aunt. She looks so similar to my mother despite her cowering stance. It makes me want to take her place at the end of his fist. But she is nothing like her sister. My mother would hit him back.

As the sun finds her sparkling dress she uses the attention of the people to stop my uncles rage and she spots us. Reaching her thin wretched finger she points to us and sends my uncle and his fists our way.

“Let’s go,” Petruchio says pulling me away from them and towards the fountian.

Benvolio jumps off the ledge of the fountian and wipes a tear from his cheek with the hand holding my flower. I am suddenly still and filled with peace. Lady Montague gently guides him towards the carriages at the church, but he looks back towards me. I shift in the crowd so he can see me. His eyes find me, and he smiles. ‘Thank you,’ his pink lips say, I think. And I watch him walk away. She pulls him to her for another hug and brushes his floppy, dusty hair out of his face so gently.

Benvolio Montague. Why does he have to be a Montague? It is strange we hate them. That they hate us. There is love in that family.

“There you are, boy.”

The deep wicked voice of my uncle reaches me. That rock in me sharpens, and so do I.

"Uncle," I say with defiance, but I don't think he hears it.

“Come,” he demands, and Petruchio and I follow him. “We need to get to the bank now. That wretched woman has taunted me for years. She thinks she can beat me. A Montague beating a Capulet. She actually thinks she is clever, can you imagine?” I don't realize I'm supposed to answer so he takes my collar and pulls me to his spitting face. “They want us ruined, boy. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

He tosses me to the ground like rubbish, and I sit there as he walks away. A Montague made me smile today. The muscles in my face enjoy a smile once more.

Chapter 3

Benvolio

The purple flower is so delicate in my hand. I want to protect it with everything I have. The carriage sways on our way out of town to Montague Manor. My aunt brushes her cool fingers through my hair. It is almost how my mother would do it.

“That is a beautiful flower, Benny." The melody of her voice is a welcome relief.

“A boy gave it to me.”

“A cute boy?”

“Yes,” I laugh, and it is lovely to do it.

“Let me see your smile,” she lifts my face to hers. “Oh, I've missed your smile.” And she pulls me to her chest with her arms tight around me.

The bumps of the carriage are gentle and soothing. I lower the flower from my nose to my lap, and the scent of my aunt fills me. Anisette and sunshine. The smell of our family’s olive orchard has always lived on my aunt's skin and her hair. It is a special part of her beauty that I love. The long strands of her black hair drape over my face and tickle my cheeks.

I am safe, and we are on our way to the Manor. My new home. Unsure why I suddenly need to cry, I begin to shake in her arms. She squeezes me, and I want to close my eyes and pretend her arms are my mum's. But if I do that, I will see my mum’s thin fragile body, no longer moving. I will feel her cold hand fall from mine. And I will hear my father cry in the bed beside her. Too sick to come to her. To me.

Opening my eyes, I press the purple flower to my face and carefully take a breath, choosing to picture what I love about my new home.

I love how the vines climb up the stone walls. The large windows that face the sun and the orchards. I love the way the manor sits above the vast fields of olives like the orchard is a mote protecting us. I love the big fluffy couches and the large beds. And the kitchen. Above all, I am excited about everything happening in that kitchen.

“Benny,” My aunt's sweet voice pulls my attention back to her. “That man I was speaking with,” she pauses so I raise my head to look at her. She looks mad, or maybe it is something else. I've seen her mad. When Romeo and I broke her dish, which for some reason hung on the wall. Now that was mad. This is different. “His name is Lord Capulet,” she says.

“Capulet?" I sit up and grip my sword. "But he wasn't wearing blue and silver. Capulets are supposed to wear blue and silver so we can keep ourselves safe from them."

“Benny.”

“Mum said when she got sick, I needed to come here to be safe.”

“Benny, you are safe.” She pulls me in, but I push her away.

“No, the Capulets are dangerous, but as long as we look for their colors-,”

“Benny."

She tries again, and I can't breathe. From the moment my mother's hand dropped from mine, I've been vigilant to everything around me. I've been made to jump at every noise and fear every corner I turn because I was so suddenly alone. But I survived knowing I would get here.

“All I had to do is get here, to you, and I would be safe again.”

Stuck in her tight grip on my arms she moves me to look at her. “I am going to protect you, Benny.” There is something wild, almost feral in her eyes, and the strength in her anger begins to calm me. “I am going to fight for you. For Romeo. You won't waste your time with fear or hate for the Capulets. Your beautiful lives will be filled with laughter and fun.”

I let her pull me back to her chest. But how will she protect us?