OMG! William Shakespeare and I have the same first name–what magic is this? Does that mean we have the same haircut, same beard, same way we put toilet paper on the bathroom roll? Ahhh! I have to reach out to him–have to tell him that we’re practically brothers–
Word has…it has just come in. I apologize, folks; but William Shakespeare is…dead. If you’ll excuse me, I–I have to go shed a few tears and waste three dozen boxes of Kleenex. I’ll be back with a carton of Rocky Road and a plush teddy bear holding a heart.
[Ten hours later]
Well. I have come to the realization that perhaps William Shakespeare and I were not brothers. We were; in fact, cousins from my quadruple ten thousandth–don’t know if that’s a real number–aunt, who was one billion times removed from his great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather.
I don’t want to think about how much time we lost in connecting with each other.
Oh, the possible memories I could be having right now:
- Me and Shakes–that’s his pet name–reenacting the death soliloquy from Hamlet.
- Me and Shakes laughing at the absurd actors who joined his plays.
- Me and Shakes petting chickens who ran amuck in old England.
- Me and Shakes watching Breaking Bad, which is Macbeth as a TV show.
- Me and Shakes tasting all of those tasty shakes at Sonic–then me making fun of him.
Shakespeare, the fun we could have had! Why did you have to leave so early, why; even when you knew I was going to be born in the next ninety hundred something years? I would have acted out all of your plays for you–if only you had stayed alive!
It’s happening again. A breakdown. Everyone leave me in peace, or you will see tears flow as you have never seen them flow before.
Goodbye, cruel Kleenex box with your tissues that scratch the bottom of my nostrils.
Goodbye, plush Shakespeare doll sitting in my closet because it’s where you can find the most artistic inspiration.
Goodbye, all who laughed at me for proposing we had the same name, and who now continue to laugh because I am referring to you in bold text and italics, meaning I am extremely upset and wish you to go away and find solace in a tattered copy of a Shakespearean play.
Goodbye, farewell, adieu, adieu–
But, one more thing before I bust into the Sound Of Music. It’s a question I’ve been contemplating for some time–it is quite the bother, and it goes like so:
To be or not to be.
That is the question.