daisy taylor

Towards the middle of the semester, Mrs. B. devised an assignment where we had to act out a soliloquy from any Shakespeare play. I chose Marc Antony’s “Friends, Romans, Countrymen” speech from Julius Caesar. As we had to be in costume for extra credit, I brought a flat sheet to school to fashion into a toga of sorts. There was a supply closet in the front of the room where people could change. Boys would pretend to peek in the closet when girls were changing. There wasn’t much to see for the most part, as girls might throw a long night gown over their clothes to play Juliet. The door locked on the outside when closed completely, so the few kids with major changes could do so with some privacy.

I ran from my guilt, immersing myself deeper in Galvin’s lies, telling myself that my power protected me from all accountability. The things he did were even worse, the things he did to women, but he was so sure that it was his right, that any wrongdoing could be dismissed, and I wanted that assuredness. I wanted to never have to worry about what I was doing, to never doubt or question myself, because as long as I thought what I did was right, I wouldn’t have to fear failure or be afraid of making mistakes. But that was the true mistake, my greatest failure, and so many people suffered for it.”

“Oh my God!” I gasped, hardly able to believe what she seemed to be saying. “Ray? Is that really you?” I stared at her face... and yes, now that I knew what to look for, behind the expertly applied makeup and incredibly skillful plastic surgery, I could see it was true.