...You may have noticed that she avoids talking about her family in interviews. She just talks about the band and the music. There’s actually a reason behind this. Juliet won’t talk about her family with anyone.
But I was there when it happened.
Juliet was ten years old when her father left. It was a bad time all around.
Juliet’s mom is a volunteer. She’s involved with school activities, comes to our class to do crafts, organizes the bake sales and the recycling campaigns and the church food drive at Thanksgiving. She is truly a good woman, Juliet and I both agree, one of the few we know. She’s also the spitting image of Juliet, except for the eyes. Mrs. Sorensen’s eyes are bright green, while Juliet’s are liquid and dark. When I come over, she’s always either listening to a Guns’n’Roses CD and cooking something or holding a meeting.
Mr. Sorensen is a completely different story. I don’t remember him all that well- Juliet’s done her best to forget about her dad and I guess it’s rubbed off, plus they got rid of all the pictures. What I do know is that Juliet got her eyes from him, except for Juliet they’re her most beautiful feature. Mr. Sorensen’s eyes frightened me, dark and brooding as storm clouds.
He was always there when we were barely toddlers. He’d pick up Juliet and swing her around when she came home, and I saw them all the time playing games in the backyard. I used to think he was the perfect father, and I actually wished my own dad would be more like him. The thought makes me sick at the present, though.
Then something happened to make him totally hit the wall. I think he lost his job, but I was too young to really know what was going on.
This happened about a year after we started school. He no longer walked to pick us up and just stayed at home; watching television, Juliet told me. I stopped going over to their house.
After awhile, we grew used to even that. Mr. Sorensen got a new job, but he hated it, according to Juliet. He’d come home yelling and complaining. The pay was terrible. The people were stupid. He could do so much better. But even if we were accustomed to hearing him shout, I could tell by everyone’s worried faces that Mr. Sorensen was getting a lot worse.
Then, one day in fifth grade, Juliet came to school late. Everyone could tell she’d been crying, but she wouldn’t talk. Our teacher called me to the desk and said worriedly, “Could you talk to her please, Carter? You know her very well, and you don’t even have to tell me what’s wrong, as long as nobody’s hurt her.”
So we sat down in the reading corner, behind some bookshelves, and Juliet told me her father had quit his job. He was fed up, and he was insisting that her mother work instead. They’d had a huge fight.
Juliet and I knew, from listening to our parents, that Juliet’s family was having a difficult time with money at the moment.
After school that day, we walked home and, after packing her a duffel bag full of things, Mrs. Sorensen sent Juliet over to my house to stay for awhile.
My mom fussed over us, making spaghetti (Juliet’s favorite) and allowing the consumption of ice cream in the living room while we watched movies.
Juliet stayed at our house for a week.
That first night was the worst. We sprawled on the couch-bed and stared at Juliet’s musicals until three in the morning, getting up between movies to peek out the windows at her house. Every time we looked, the lights were still on in her parents’ bedrooms. My dad sat in his armchair, grading papers, glancing up at us now and again.
Once he looked at Juliet and said, “How did you ever grow to be so strong, Jules?”
She just looked at him, confused from sadness and exhaustion.
“You are not just any other girl,” he shook his head, “No, any other girl…” He trailed off, and continued working.
Juliet knew then that no matter how things turned out with her own dad, she always had mine, who was her dad, in a way. Even if he is an absentminded history professor at the university who says things nobody understands. No one except Juliet. They get along in a weird way; it must be their matching IQ. I don’t get a word he says, but she could talk with him for hours.
He’s also the only one allowed to call her Jules, because they both love Jules Verne. (Despite her insistence that she is not fond of her name, Juliet adamantly refuses to be called by anything other than Juliet- except by my dad.)
Eventually we fell asleep on the couch, my Dad still sitting with us like a sentinel. Dad does things by the book, in a very organized manner, and that was exactly what Juliet needed at the time. Order.
The rest of the week we spent indoors- except for school- and when we’d exhausted our supply of indoor activities, my Mom taught Juliet how to play the guitar.
“Want to play Monopoly?”
“Again?” Juliet groaned.
“Clue?”
“Not a chance.”
“Charades?”
“Nope.”
“Hide and seek?”
“Boring.”
“Soccer?”
“We’re not allowed to play soccer inside, you know that Carter.”
I blinked innocently. “Just a thought.”
So when my Mom thundered down the stairs to admonish us for kicking a soccer ball around her precious china cabinet (not that she actually keeps any china in there; it’s full of my old art projects) she sent me to my room and brought Juliet into the den.
If dad is Juliet’s intellectual equal, mom is her artistic counterpart. They both sing like angels, and love the same music. (Is anyone getting the irony of this? Juliet inherited my parents’ best traits and here they are not even related!)
For several days afterward Juliet stayed in that room, the sound of careful, slightly-out-of-tune strumming floating through the house. Once she could get through a chorus and verse of The Cure’s Melt With You (which requires only two chords), she allowed me the privilege of being her first audience.
By the time the week was over she had already begun to write her own songs, and Juliet’s father was gone.
Monday, June 21, 2010
4. Juliet's first boyfriend.
...Although first I suppose I should explain the story behind the whole Bianca Seger thing.
If you ever had to pick Juliet’s worst enemy, it would probably have to be Bianca Seger. This description is going to sound like some cliché annoying girl straight out of an 80s film, but it’s all true.
Bianca Seger would be pretty if she weren’t so mean. She spends so much time squinting her eyes at people that it’s contorted the rest of her face. Other than that, the only word to describe her smile is simpering and her hair is thick and blonde. She’s usually got a haughty expression on her face; one of those girls who tries to appear girly to impress the boys but is actually a bully who would rather punch a kid in the face than wear shorts above the knee.
Bianca’s only redeeming quality is that she can sing. I don’t understand the reasoning behind this, and neither does Juliet.
She often complains to me, “It’s not fair. She doesn’t deserve a good voice. When you look at her, would you think she can sing?” (I shake my head.) “Well, I guess God had to give her something.” Juliet finishes doubtfully.
You’re probably asking, why doesn’t Juliet like Bianca?
Bianca’s a year ahead of us in school. She should be in the next grade up- age-wise, she’s two years older- but she was held back in first grade. According to the rumors, she didn’t know any of her colors. I wouldn’t know for sure, but that sounds like a plausible reason.
When we were really young somebody warned us not to mess with Bianca. She was a bully, and bad news, and she wasn’t going to college. Stay away.
Inevitably, of course, one day we ran into her by accident in the cafeteria. Bianca was talking to some other kids- although just an obnoxious, pudgy little kid back then, she still had all that potential for evil. “Oh, my gosh. Did you hear who Jenna has a crush on? It’s Louis! Isn’t that like so gross?”
And Juliet, bless her heart, couldn’t help mocking the girl, little imp that she was. “Oh, my gosh,” Juliet mimicked in her high, babyish voice, “That is like so gross. Did you hear about that, Carter? How dumb is that girl?”
I was laughing, but Bianca grew silent and turned to us. She towered over Juliet menacingly. “What are you doing?” she demanded with all the attitude a seven-year-old can dish.
One of the girls Bianca had been talking to mumbled something like, “It’s just some little kid, Bianca.”
Juliet’s eyes widened with recognition. “Oh. You’re Bianca. So that’s why no one likes you.”
Bianca reached over to the lunch line, grabbed an open carton of milk off some kid’s tray, and poured it all over Juliet’s perfectly braided hair.
I don’t know why Juliet didn’t completely lose control. I felt like freaking out- not only would Juliet smell like milk the whole rest of the day (we both hate milk) but her mom had also spent ages this morning doing her hair, and we’d been nearly late to school because of those braids. Don’t tell me it was all for nothing!
With milk streaming down her face, to her chin, and dribbling onto her jumper, Juliet blinked the liquid out of her eyes and looked up at the older girls. “I’m not just some little kid. Someday I’m gonna rule the world.”
Kids say funny things sometimes.
Ever since then, every time we cross paths with Bianca, she turns especially nasty. But mostly she’s just plain annoying.
Now, the fact is that Juliet’s first boyfriend was her leading man in Guys and Dolls. His first girlfriend was Bianca.
The two of them had tried out together for the roles, until Bianca got strep throat and had to drop out.
I don’t know if I mentioned, but Juliet is one of those people who is easy to fall in love with. Stick her in a room with five guys, and within an hour four of them will be smitten and the other will have gone crazy. Either you love her or you dislike her. There’s no in between for Juliet.
She’s smart, and pretty in a bookish way with her wide-eyed innocent look behind those glasses, plus she likes a laugh and hardly ever takes things seriously. The greatest thing about her is that you don’t get the drama most girls come with. You can hang out without worrying about how the things you do will sound when she describes you in detail to her gossipy friends the next day.
The worst thing about her is how fickle she is. Her opinions change almost daily. This is because Juliet over-thinks everything, so the most minute piece of information can alter her whole outlook on life.
Back to the boy. His name was Eric. He was cute, he could sing, and he was obsessed with Juliet. He talked to her constantly, even outside of the drama room.
It got really serious when Eric blew off Bianca in favor of spending time with Juliet. There was this big dramatic breakup that the whole school talked about for days.
Since it was the spring play, and she didn’t see Eric over summer, Juliet officially started dating him when we’d started fourth grade and he fifth.
Although he was her first boyfriend, they never actually did anything.
He sought her out on the playground at lunch:
“Juliet, I was…wondering if maybe, well,” he swallowed hard while Juliet watched him interestedly, “If you want to go out with me.” (That was how we said it. Go out with me. Not that anybody ever actually went on dates in elementary school.)
Juliet tried to hide a smile and squinted in the sun, her hair blowing in front of her face. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”
And then they hugged. After the initial asking, they spoke about once a week. It was mostly, you know, “Hi.” “Hi.” And they’d smile at each other like they both knew a secret.
That was the extent of it, basically.
They broke up four or five months later because they never saw each other.
Not very exciting really, but then relationships like that never are.
If you ever had to pick Juliet’s worst enemy, it would probably have to be Bianca Seger. This description is going to sound like some cliché annoying girl straight out of an 80s film, but it’s all true.
Bianca Seger would be pretty if she weren’t so mean. She spends so much time squinting her eyes at people that it’s contorted the rest of her face. Other than that, the only word to describe her smile is simpering and her hair is thick and blonde. She’s usually got a haughty expression on her face; one of those girls who tries to appear girly to impress the boys but is actually a bully who would rather punch a kid in the face than wear shorts above the knee.
Bianca’s only redeeming quality is that she can sing. I don’t understand the reasoning behind this, and neither does Juliet.
She often complains to me, “It’s not fair. She doesn’t deserve a good voice. When you look at her, would you think she can sing?” (I shake my head.) “Well, I guess God had to give her something.” Juliet finishes doubtfully.
You’re probably asking, why doesn’t Juliet like Bianca?
Bianca’s a year ahead of us in school. She should be in the next grade up- age-wise, she’s two years older- but she was held back in first grade. According to the rumors, she didn’t know any of her colors. I wouldn’t know for sure, but that sounds like a plausible reason.
When we were really young somebody warned us not to mess with Bianca. She was a bully, and bad news, and she wasn’t going to college. Stay away.
Inevitably, of course, one day we ran into her by accident in the cafeteria. Bianca was talking to some other kids- although just an obnoxious, pudgy little kid back then, she still had all that potential for evil. “Oh, my gosh. Did you hear who Jenna has a crush on? It’s Louis! Isn’t that like so gross?”
And Juliet, bless her heart, couldn’t help mocking the girl, little imp that she was. “Oh, my gosh,” Juliet mimicked in her high, babyish voice, “That is like so gross. Did you hear about that, Carter? How dumb is that girl?”
I was laughing, but Bianca grew silent and turned to us. She towered over Juliet menacingly. “What are you doing?” she demanded with all the attitude a seven-year-old can dish.
One of the girls Bianca had been talking to mumbled something like, “It’s just some little kid, Bianca.”
Juliet’s eyes widened with recognition. “Oh. You’re Bianca. So that’s why no one likes you.”
Bianca reached over to the lunch line, grabbed an open carton of milk off some kid’s tray, and poured it all over Juliet’s perfectly braided hair.
I don’t know why Juliet didn’t completely lose control. I felt like freaking out- not only would Juliet smell like milk the whole rest of the day (we both hate milk) but her mom had also spent ages this morning doing her hair, and we’d been nearly late to school because of those braids. Don’t tell me it was all for nothing!
With milk streaming down her face, to her chin, and dribbling onto her jumper, Juliet blinked the liquid out of her eyes and looked up at the older girls. “I’m not just some little kid. Someday I’m gonna rule the world.”
Kids say funny things sometimes.
Ever since then, every time we cross paths with Bianca, she turns especially nasty. But mostly she’s just plain annoying.
Now, the fact is that Juliet’s first boyfriend was her leading man in Guys and Dolls. His first girlfriend was Bianca.
The two of them had tried out together for the roles, until Bianca got strep throat and had to drop out.
I don’t know if I mentioned, but Juliet is one of those people who is easy to fall in love with. Stick her in a room with five guys, and within an hour four of them will be smitten and the other will have gone crazy. Either you love her or you dislike her. There’s no in between for Juliet.
She’s smart, and pretty in a bookish way with her wide-eyed innocent look behind those glasses, plus she likes a laugh and hardly ever takes things seriously. The greatest thing about her is that you don’t get the drama most girls come with. You can hang out without worrying about how the things you do will sound when she describes you in detail to her gossipy friends the next day.
The worst thing about her is how fickle she is. Her opinions change almost daily. This is because Juliet over-thinks everything, so the most minute piece of information can alter her whole outlook on life.
Back to the boy. His name was Eric. He was cute, he could sing, and he was obsessed with Juliet. He talked to her constantly, even outside of the drama room.
It got really serious when Eric blew off Bianca in favor of spending time with Juliet. There was this big dramatic breakup that the whole school talked about for days.
Since it was the spring play, and she didn’t see Eric over summer, Juliet officially started dating him when we’d started fourth grade and he fifth.
Although he was her first boyfriend, they never actually did anything.
He sought her out on the playground at lunch:
“Juliet, I was…wondering if maybe, well,” he swallowed hard while Juliet watched him interestedly, “If you want to go out with me.” (That was how we said it. Go out with me. Not that anybody ever actually went on dates in elementary school.)
Juliet tried to hide a smile and squinted in the sun, her hair blowing in front of her face. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”
And then they hugged. After the initial asking, they spoke about once a week. It was mostly, you know, “Hi.” “Hi.” And they’d smile at each other like they both knew a secret.
That was the extent of it, basically.
They broke up four or five months later because they never saw each other.
Not very exciting really, but then relationships like that never are.
Monday, June 7, 2010
3. Why Juliet did start to sing.
...All you fans out there, you’ve got me to thank for your beloved lead singer. Me, and our elementary school PTA.
When we were eight I was over at Juliet’s house playing soccer. That’s mostly all I personally remember about that day: standing in the backyard kicking a soccer ball back and forth with Juliet as her mom held a PTA meeting on the back screened porch.
When it got too hot outside, I dragged Juliet indoors in search of something to eat.
She laughingly said, “Carter, you can be such a boy sometimes.” Third graders said stuff like that.
“Kids, there’s lemonade and cookies here. Help yourselves,” her mom said.
We sat in a wicker love seat in the corner and sipped lemonade. Juliet was feeling giggly that day, so she found everything rather amusing. Especially the flustered old ladies sitting on her porch getting upset over the school play.
“Bianca Seger dropped out- she has strep throat you know, very hard on her poor mother, they’re the ones who just had the baby, remember? The kids would be heartbroken if the play were to be cancelled, but there is simply no one to fill Bianca’s leading role. None of the other girls feel comfortable singing her parts.”
“Although perhaps that’s a blessing; none of those girls could keep a tune anyhow.”
Good-natured titters filled the room. “Oh dear, you go too far sometimes, really.”
“Juliet,” I said quietly.
The laughter faded. Next to me Juliet’s smile sagged.
One of the PTA ladies looked at me. “What, honey?”
“Juliet can do it. She can do the part.”
“Oh, but Juliet can’t sing, right sweetie? Do you want to do it?”
Juliet frantically shook her head at me. “No, Carter,” she whispered.
I whispered back. “You can totally do it.”
“No. I don’t want to.”
“You do. Secretly. Deep down.”
“Carter, I really don’t.”
I paused; I could see the ladies observing our murmured conference in the vaguely amused way adults watch children. “Oh, I get it,” I said loudly. “You feel so guilty about Bianca Seger that you won’t take the part, is that it, Juliet?”
Her nose wrinkled, and I saw her resolve waver.
“Juliet,” one of the ladies persisted, “You cannot sing, isn’t that right?”
“I hate you,” the girl next to me whispered, nearly inaudibly.
I held her face in both hands and kissed the top of her head.
She turned to the PTA and told them she would take the part.
The play was a kiddie version of Guys and Dolls. Although, as you may recall, most of the songs are sung by men, Juliet still got raving reviews for her performance of “If I Were A Bell”.
She brought me along to the first practice. “You got me into this,” she hissed, dragging me by the sleeve of my sweater, “Now you’ve got to suffer right along with me.”
The doors into the auditorium clanged shut behind us and I started up the aisle. I was halfway to the stage when I realized everyone was staring at me…and Juliet was still standing with her back pressed against the doors looking terrified.
I rolled my eyes. Taking Juliet by the hand, I gently pulled her all the way to the stage. A bunch of kids, ranging in age from about nine to twelve, milled around. The teacher, an eccentric Mr. Meyer known for his lax behavior when it came to rules, stood at the edge of the stage, smiling kindly.
“This is Juliet,” I told him, prodding her into the spotlight. “She’s a little bit younger than all these other kids, but she can sing loads better than Bianca can. She needs a little encouragement,” I added quietly, holding my hand up so Juliet wouldn’t see me saying it.
“Yes,” Mr. Meyer looked appraisingly at her, “We don’t usually take third-graders, but due to the circumstances I’m sure we can make an exception.”
I retreated humbly and took a seat in the second row.
Something else about Juliet- she’s short. Shorter than me, which you know makes her extremely short. So it was noticeable how tiny she was, especially then, standing frozen onstage. The overly-bright lights shining down made her wide, dark eyes sparkle like water, and, along with her wavy hair, was thrown into an odd contrast with her pale skin.
She looked more like a drawing than an actual person, and only Juliet can make people think poetically like that.
The weird thing- besides her obvious discomfort- was that she actually seemed to fit there on the stage. It’s her natural element. She just didn’t know it at the time.
The story ends happily, of course. After much persuading, Juliet began to sing. Quietly, at first, but then she became used to it.
I spent the entire show backstage, doing what I do best: pushing Juliet to do the things she hates because she’ll be happier that way.
Naturally, it was a hit, yada yada. That’s why The Pleasure the Privilege is so famous. Because I volunteered Juliet for a school play. Hold your applause.
After Guys and Dolls, Juliet couldn’t get enough of the stage. She sang in tons of other school plays, talent shows, and other assorted events.
I couldn’t- still can’t, actually- get her away from that microphone, her one and only love.
When we were eight I was over at Juliet’s house playing soccer. That’s mostly all I personally remember about that day: standing in the backyard kicking a soccer ball back and forth with Juliet as her mom held a PTA meeting on the back screened porch.
When it got too hot outside, I dragged Juliet indoors in search of something to eat.
She laughingly said, “Carter, you can be such a boy sometimes.” Third graders said stuff like that.
“Kids, there’s lemonade and cookies here. Help yourselves,” her mom said.
We sat in a wicker love seat in the corner and sipped lemonade. Juliet was feeling giggly that day, so she found everything rather amusing. Especially the flustered old ladies sitting on her porch getting upset over the school play.
“Bianca Seger dropped out- she has strep throat you know, very hard on her poor mother, they’re the ones who just had the baby, remember? The kids would be heartbroken if the play were to be cancelled, but there is simply no one to fill Bianca’s leading role. None of the other girls feel comfortable singing her parts.”
“Although perhaps that’s a blessing; none of those girls could keep a tune anyhow.”
Good-natured titters filled the room. “Oh dear, you go too far sometimes, really.”
“Juliet,” I said quietly.
The laughter faded. Next to me Juliet’s smile sagged.
One of the PTA ladies looked at me. “What, honey?”
“Juliet can do it. She can do the part.”
“Oh, but Juliet can’t sing, right sweetie? Do you want to do it?”
Juliet frantically shook her head at me. “No, Carter,” she whispered.
I whispered back. “You can totally do it.”
“No. I don’t want to.”
“You do. Secretly. Deep down.”
“Carter, I really don’t.”
I paused; I could see the ladies observing our murmured conference in the vaguely amused way adults watch children. “Oh, I get it,” I said loudly. “You feel so guilty about Bianca Seger that you won’t take the part, is that it, Juliet?”
Her nose wrinkled, and I saw her resolve waver.
“Juliet,” one of the ladies persisted, “You cannot sing, isn’t that right?”
“I hate you,” the girl next to me whispered, nearly inaudibly.
I held her face in both hands and kissed the top of her head.
She turned to the PTA and told them she would take the part.
The play was a kiddie version of Guys and Dolls. Although, as you may recall, most of the songs are sung by men, Juliet still got raving reviews for her performance of “If I Were A Bell”.
She brought me along to the first practice. “You got me into this,” she hissed, dragging me by the sleeve of my sweater, “Now you’ve got to suffer right along with me.”
The doors into the auditorium clanged shut behind us and I started up the aisle. I was halfway to the stage when I realized everyone was staring at me…and Juliet was still standing with her back pressed against the doors looking terrified.
I rolled my eyes. Taking Juliet by the hand, I gently pulled her all the way to the stage. A bunch of kids, ranging in age from about nine to twelve, milled around. The teacher, an eccentric Mr. Meyer known for his lax behavior when it came to rules, stood at the edge of the stage, smiling kindly.
“This is Juliet,” I told him, prodding her into the spotlight. “She’s a little bit younger than all these other kids, but she can sing loads better than Bianca can. She needs a little encouragement,” I added quietly, holding my hand up so Juliet wouldn’t see me saying it.
“Yes,” Mr. Meyer looked appraisingly at her, “We don’t usually take third-graders, but due to the circumstances I’m sure we can make an exception.”
I retreated humbly and took a seat in the second row.
Something else about Juliet- she’s short. Shorter than me, which you know makes her extremely short. So it was noticeable how tiny she was, especially then, standing frozen onstage. The overly-bright lights shining down made her wide, dark eyes sparkle like water, and, along with her wavy hair, was thrown into an odd contrast with her pale skin.
She looked more like a drawing than an actual person, and only Juliet can make people think poetically like that.
The weird thing- besides her obvious discomfort- was that she actually seemed to fit there on the stage. It’s her natural element. She just didn’t know it at the time.
The story ends happily, of course. After much persuading, Juliet began to sing. Quietly, at first, but then she became used to it.
I spent the entire show backstage, doing what I do best: pushing Juliet to do the things she hates because she’ll be happier that way.
Naturally, it was a hit, yada yada. That’s why The Pleasure the Privilege is so famous. Because I volunteered Juliet for a school play. Hold your applause.
After Guys and Dolls, Juliet couldn’t get enough of the stage. She sang in tons of other school plays, talent shows, and other assorted events.
I couldn’t- still can’t, actually- get her away from that microphone, her one and only love.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
2. Juliet used to hate singing in front of other people.
...I used to be a performing baby- one of those annoying 2-year-olds who can’t keep a tune to save his life but is put onstage at family reunions anyway and is always a big hit just because he is so darn cute.
Since Juliet and I grew up closer than your average kids-on-the-block our moms got the excellent idea of having us perform together at some birthday party.
Well, okay. It was a good idea, in theory. We practiced, managed some toddler choreography, and that was when I learned that not only can Juliet sing better than me (which, face it, isn’t all that difficult) but she can also sing better than anyone I’d ever heard on the radio or on Barney.
But when the actual party rolled around Juliet disappeared.
Actually, I'll admit I wasn’t too concerned. I’d found the snack table (the top of which happened to be at least two inches over my head- I’ve always been short) and occupied myself with stuffing as much food into my mouth as possible.
I performed the routine on my own, but the effect wasn’t the same. (Honestly, I’m not even related to the celebrant- he’s Juliet’s grandfather.) Later, when all the guests had cleared out we found Juliet sitting in a small storage room listening to the wireless.
That was when I got upset. “I sang all by myself and your grandpa was happy you didn’t sing with me!” I told her triumphantly. (Side note: most of this dialogue came from a constant retelling of this story by our rather nostalgic mothers. No, my memory is not that good.)
“He did not!”
“Did too!”
Juliet paused and used her index finger to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Well, I didn’t want to sing anyway.”
I was confused. I’m not too fond of the spotlight, either, but my mom taught me to appreciate the art of being a ham. “Why not?”
She shrugged, her finger spinning the dial on the radio back and forth absentmindedly. “I don’t know. I just don’t like to, is all.”
“But you can sing,” I said.
“Better than you,” she teased, knowing that would get to me.
“No way.” I was lying.
“Yeah, I can. But it’s a secret. Nobody’s ever gonna know.”
That, my friends, is what is known as irony.
To this day, I have no idea what made her say that. I’ve puzzled it over quite a bit since Juliet’s rise to fame. Because singing is the reason she left everything- including me- behind.
Since Juliet and I grew up closer than your average kids-on-the-block our moms got the excellent idea of having us perform together at some birthday party.
Well, okay. It was a good idea, in theory. We practiced, managed some toddler choreography, and that was when I learned that not only can Juliet sing better than me (which, face it, isn’t all that difficult) but she can also sing better than anyone I’d ever heard on the radio or on Barney.
But when the actual party rolled around Juliet disappeared.
Actually, I'll admit I wasn’t too concerned. I’d found the snack table (the top of which happened to be at least two inches over my head- I’ve always been short) and occupied myself with stuffing as much food into my mouth as possible.
I performed the routine on my own, but the effect wasn’t the same. (Honestly, I’m not even related to the celebrant- he’s Juliet’s grandfather.) Later, when all the guests had cleared out we found Juliet sitting in a small storage room listening to the wireless.
That was when I got upset. “I sang all by myself and your grandpa was happy you didn’t sing with me!” I told her triumphantly. (Side note: most of this dialogue came from a constant retelling of this story by our rather nostalgic mothers. No, my memory is not that good.)
“He did not!”
“Did too!”
Juliet paused and used her index finger to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Well, I didn’t want to sing anyway.”
I was confused. I’m not too fond of the spotlight, either, but my mom taught me to appreciate the art of being a ham. “Why not?”
She shrugged, her finger spinning the dial on the radio back and forth absentmindedly. “I don’t know. I just don’t like to, is all.”
“But you can sing,” I said.
“Better than you,” she teased, knowing that would get to me.
“No way.” I was lying.
“Yeah, I can. But it’s a secret. Nobody’s ever gonna know.”
That, my friends, is what is known as irony.
To this day, I have no idea what made her say that. I’ve puzzled it over quite a bit since Juliet’s rise to fame. Because singing is the reason she left everything- including me- behind.
1. Juliet's middle name
...It’s Siobhan. Juliet is one of those people who will do anything to keep her middle name a secret.
“…Not that there’s anything wrong with the name,” she’d add, worriedly glancing over her shoulder like a mob of angry girls named Siobhan would suddenly hurtle toward us with pitchforks, “It just isn’t me.”
And I would nod carefully in agreement.
In my own opinion, everything having to do with Juliet, anything she touches, talks about, or smiles at, is her.
She’s a messy person, but creatively so; everything around her always seems more colorful.
Oh, and about her first name. She’s not a big fan of that one, either. (Probably, if given the option, Juliet would go to court and legally change her name to something like Guitar-Playing-Really-Awesome-Chick-Who-Has-Size-Six-Feet. Which is something else you probably didn’t know. Her shoe size.)
She would always tell me, “I mean, Juliet is just so traditional. Does that make sense? Big whoop, I’m named after a girl who’s famous for killing herself.”
Because Juliet just doesn’t get it. The Shakespeare Juliet isn’t famous for killing herself. She’s famous for her amazing, legendary love.
“…Not that there’s anything wrong with the name,” she’d add, worriedly glancing over her shoulder like a mob of angry girls named Siobhan would suddenly hurtle toward us with pitchforks, “It just isn’t me.”
And I would nod carefully in agreement.
In my own opinion, everything having to do with Juliet, anything she touches, talks about, or smiles at, is her.
She’s a messy person, but creatively so; everything around her always seems more colorful.
Oh, and about her first name. She’s not a big fan of that one, either. (Probably, if given the option, Juliet would go to court and legally change her name to something like Guitar-Playing-Really-Awesome-Chick-Who-Has-Size-Six-Feet. Which is something else you probably didn’t know. Her shoe size.)
She would always tell me, “I mean, Juliet is just so traditional. Does that make sense? Big whoop, I’m named after a girl who’s famous for killing herself.”
Because Juliet just doesn’t get it. The Shakespeare Juliet isn’t famous for killing herself. She’s famous for her amazing, legendary love.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
0. On the first of every month
...Juliet gave me a copy of the most recent Reader’s Digest. She’d already read it- backwards, of course, a habit she picked up from her mother- because for reasons I’ve never figured out, they send the month’s Reader’s Digest about two weeks before the commencement of actual month.
While I’ve never had much interest in periodicals in general, I have always harbored an interest in Juliet, and, as a result, read the magazine dutifully every month (only occasionally skipping the more boring stories).
I’m not telling you this to create a cute back history or to regale you with my tedious social life. I’m telling you this because no one believes me.
I’m sure you’ve heard of Juliet Sorensen. You know, front man (woman) of the indie-punk band The Pleasure the Privilege, nerd-smart, brunette, cheeky. You’ve probably seen her on the cover of "Rolling Stone".
Yeah, that Juliet. I’ve heard guys claim they know her- but what they know is limited to a 12x14” poster pulled out of their little sister’s tween magazine. I bet there’s a lot of things they don’t know about Juliet.
Another thing. She’s going to tell you I’m doing this in revenge, but I’m not.
It’s all for you, my darling, my beloved.
I’m going to tell your fans everything they never knew about Juliet.
While I’ve never had much interest in periodicals in general, I have always harbored an interest in Juliet, and, as a result, read the magazine dutifully every month (only occasionally skipping the more boring stories).
I’m not telling you this to create a cute back history or to regale you with my tedious social life. I’m telling you this because no one believes me.
I’m sure you’ve heard of Juliet Sorensen. You know, front man (woman) of the indie-punk band The Pleasure the Privilege, nerd-smart, brunette, cheeky. You’ve probably seen her on the cover of "Rolling Stone".
Yeah, that Juliet. I’ve heard guys claim they know her- but what they know is limited to a 12x14” poster pulled out of their little sister’s tween magazine. I bet there’s a lot of things they don’t know about Juliet.
Another thing. She’s going to tell you I’m doing this in revenge, but I’m not.
It’s all for you, my darling, my beloved.
I’m going to tell your fans everything they never knew about Juliet.
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