Free Grace by Elizabeth Nunez

“All of you. The professor here wants us to figure out what is Hamlet’s problem and if hedid the right thing. I say Hamlet did the right thing to take his time to figure out what to do. If the young boys I see in jail took their time to figure out things, they wouldn’t be in jail. You don’t always have to do something when you get mad, when somebody don’t do right by you.”
    Nobody moves. Nobody makes a sound.
    “I know it’s hard when the police treat you like you’re nobody. When they snatch you from the corner and all you’re doing is talking to your buddies. Or when they stop you in the street because you’re wearing a good leather jacket they think you shouldn’t own. But don’t challenge them. They have the power. Say Yes, sir; No, sir, even if you want to kill them. Say Yes, sir; No, sir. Give them what they want. They just itching for an excuse to send you upstate, don’t you know? A lot of the young men in Rikers Island wouldn’t be there if they knew how to say Yes, sir; No, sir. Think out things first. Don’t act when you’re hot and sweaty and you want to hurt somebody. You end up hurting yourself. Take time to think, cool off. Figure out how you can do something so that you don’t end up hurting yourself. Because that is all you do when you act with a hot head. You hurt yourself.”
    Even Miriam Clark is still. The corners of her mouth twitch as if she is about to cry. She gathers her books and stuffs them in her bag. She rushes out of the classroom.
    Minutes later, the period ends. The classroom is empty but Justin remains sitting at the desk.
Yes, Hamlet is not a coward.
He has his answer. Not only should he not do anything more, he should not have done anything at all. He should not havesaid a word. He should have waited until he had spoken to Sally. He should have given himself time to think. He should not have jumped to conclusions. He should not have let a mirage of letters in the early dawn lead him to doubt her.
    On his way home he buys a bunch of tulips. They are Sally’s favorite flowers. He gets pink ones with white scalloped edges. Pink is Sally’s favorite color.
    The house is strangely quiet when he opens the front door. It is half past five. When it’s Sally’s turn to pick up Giselle, she is usually home by half past five. He calls out to her.
    “Sally!” He walks into the kitchen. She is sitting quietly at the table sipping a mug of tea.
    “Where’s Giselle?”
    “Anna has her.”
    “Anna?”
    “She has taken her to the library.”
    There is a storytime program for young children at the central branch of the public library on Grand Army Plaza. Around six, the librarian or some good storyteller reads a bedtime story. Some of the children come to the library already dressed for bed, wearing pajamas under their coats. Giselle loves this story-time program. Either he or Sally takes her when they can.
    “I thought we needed to talk,” Sally is saying, “so I asked Anna to take her.”
    He does not want this. He feels foolish now standing next to her, the bunch of tulips clutched in his right hand and pressed against his chest. He lets his hand fall and the tulips point downward, toward the floor. She notices.
    “Where did you get them?” she asks.
    He does not want to say he bought them for her. “It’s such a nasty day, I thought they would brighten up the house.”
    She takes them from him and reaches for a vase. While she puts water in it, he tells her about Miriam Clark and Charles Blackstone’s response to her, how he turned
Hamlet
into a cautionary tale that seemed to scare the class. He is not conscious that he is telling her this because he wants her to come to his same conclusion: They need time to think. He should never have disturbed their calm that morning by asking the question:
Did you have something to tell me, Sally?
He is conscious only of filling spaces, of trying to ease the tension between them.
    Sally knows about Miriam and sympathizes