Ophelia in the Flesh
Pamela Rodriguez
Virginia sat at her desk for what she decided would be the last time. The oak was cool on the skin of her hand that rested upon its surface. It was the oldest thing in the house, besides the house itself. A friend had gifted it to her as a housewarming present nearly two decades ago. Though small and rustic, its presence grounded the lime-colored walls of the living room. A harmonious balance of dark and light, much like Leonard and her. Oh, Leonard.
But before her heart gave in, she forced her hand to reach for the pen and, with a dip into the ink, began to write: Dearest. What can one say to a man who has given everything for another’s happiness? Patient like no other, a kinder man you could not find. Yet, for all his light and all his love, it was simply not enough. Not enough, for her hands now shook from the slight chill that crawled down her spine. Her lungs constricted as if knowing they only had a few more moments of air to breathe. She felt hollow, like a light breeze would blow her away.
At that moment, she wondered how it would feel to be a ghost. To walk into people’s lives without them noticing. To visit their homes and listen to their conversations. To watch them sleep at night and hear the secrets they whisper in their sleep. She wanted to be the shadow in the corner and the creak on the staircase. How comforting it must be to hide in plain sight. For all the joy of Leonard’s companionship could not compare to the relief of being free. No more keeping up pretenses of normalcy; instead, she’d be the very ghosts that haunt her. She relished the thought of her translucent figure floating around, leaving chills in her wake. A corner of her mouth almost quirked up at the image of confused faces, turning their heads at the thought of seeing her only to find no one there. That’s what the fear of ghosts is, isn’t it? To see something that’s not supposed to be there.
Virginia knew the feeling well, which is why she’d be perfect for the job. Just this morning, while Leonard stood before her, illusions clouded her vision. All she could do was sit there, her back tense and hands tightly intertwined, and offer a soft nod in response to his words. It was only after the feeling had passed and Leonard had left to write that Virginia realized that would be the last time they would see each other. Or the last time she would see him since surely the currents of the River Ouse would deposit her body at some shore in a few days for him to find.
She almost went into the lodge to find him but remained fixed on her decision. She would not allow this to go on any longer, which brought her to where she was now. With one last scratch of her pen, Virginia hastily placed the letter in the envelope and licked it shut. Grabbing the one she’d already written for Vanessa, she pushed her back against the chair and stood, surveying the room as she did so. Books overflowing on shelves, loose papers mounted on tables, small trinkets, dying flowers, and landscape paintings. These were the things that made their house a home. She would miss their warmth, but the cold always won despite it. With a final resolution, Virginia placed both letters on the fireplace mantel and walked to where her coat hung by the backdoor.
Her right arm went in first, then her left, and finally, her hands tied the belt securely around her waist. Stepping out into the garden, she was greeted by a cool breeze, announcing spring’s arrival. The roses were in full bloom. Their ruby reds and pale yellows lined the cobblestone path that led through the orchids, past the elm trees, and onto the track to the river. Though her knees trembled, she carried herself through the damp ground, footprints marking her path. With each quickening step, the sound of running water became clearer until, finally, she stood at the edge of the river.
After a few moments of searching, she picked a handful of the heaviest stones and tucked them into her pockets. Once she decided she was heavy enough, Virginia placed one foot in the water and then the next, stopping only when her body was fully submerged from the neck down. It was in that moment that she realized this was how Ophelia must have felt, only instead of having the weight of Denmark’s future on her shoulders, Virginia had that of her own mind. Still, the two women, one fictional and the other painfully real, lived tortured lives, experiencing fleeting moments of happiness and accompanied by voices that demanded they give themselves over.
It was that grim comparison that filled Virginia’s last thoughts. Slowly, her body began to sink further toward the riverbed. Before, she had thought she’d be cold and perhaps afraid, but she only felt a suffocating warmth. And she was sure that Ophelia felt the same.
Pamela Rodriguez is a writer and digital media creator from Jersey City, NJ. She’s currently a Journalism and Media Studies student at Rutgers University specializing in digital communication. She will graduate in the spring of 2023. Pamela writes about various topics, such as politics and culture, and also writes creative pieces. If not reading, you can find Pamela fervently typing a new idea or two into her notes app.
Pamela wrote this piece in a creative writing course taught by Professor Paul Blaney. Blaney selected the piece for inclusion in WHR.