The Language of Romeo

I teach English at our local high school. I hope Mrs. Finster, my English teacher from days of old, never finds out. She would be the first to testify to my lack of qualifications for the job; but in Israel it is enough that English be your mother tongue and the language they speak in the USA is close enough and so I got the job.

Israeli kids study English the way their American peers learn French and German, as a foreign language, and barely scratch the surface of American literature, let alone the classic works of our British cousins over the sea. There are a few English speakers in the student body and I suggested that we read Shakespeare together after school. Three girls in the 9th grade took me up on my offer and we sit together in the library every Tuesday afternoon. By popular demand we started with Romeo and Juliet.

I think that Shakespeare wrote the play in an international language that only the young and romantic can understand. I help the girls with the Elizabethan English, but it's obvious that the girls are much more fluent than I. I can read Shakespeare, but they understand Romeo and Juliet. They giggle and sigh and pick up on every detail. The guest list for Capulet's masquerade ball refers to Rosaline, Romeo's "ex", as a lady of the house of Capulet.
"Oh…" The girls exchange meaningful glances. Romeo likes the Capulet girls. These territorial nuances are very important in the 9th grade. I wouldn't know. It's been a long time since I was in high school.


Today someone reminded me of something long ago.
She had given me some ribbon, and I returned it with a bow.
Something small that she has treasured, some 30 years or so.
It was romantic; once I knew the language of Romeo.

Perhaps if I would have known how precious something small can be, I would have given more. Given more, remembered more. But back then I was forgetting more and remembering less; and now I teach English and little girls understand the words I used to know.

It's not as if I'm deaf and dumb. I've learned another language. One word and a hand on my hand can mean more than line after line of declarations of undying love. I didn't learn how to speak less and say more over night, and I didn't learn it alone. We learned it together, my Juliet and I. We created it word by word and it's a language that only two can know.