Silvia had died of wasting disease. She'd been diagnosed a few weeks after I'd first met her. Of course, I hadn't known this until I got the letter from her parents. I hadn't been there. It was together until the end, and I hadn't been there for her. Things had gotten really bad, but she'd been strong enough to hide it. But she had known the end was coming. Everyone close to her had known.
I hadn't known. I hadn't even guessed. I had let her die. But, of course, I was supposed to be infatuated with Juliet now, having left my childhood love behind. I wondered if this was how Silvia had felt— alone, afraid, hopeless.
Juliet was my sole distraction. After another plea, the Lord Capulet moved the wedding to Thursday; the strain of Tybalt's death was proving trying for him. I began to choose a tunic and ring. I could start over. I could. But now, there would never be another Silvia. But I had to. I decided to pay Friar Lawrence a visit.
Friar Lawrence was all too happy to see me— the chair he presented to me was comfortable, with frayed padding on its seat. As I spoke, he nodded. I didn't tell him of Silvia, of course, but I did tell him that I was desperate to woo Juliet but simply didn't have the means. I didn't know how to please her. The good man naturally discouraged this; a husband must know his wife like a sister; Juliet still remained indifferent; few days remained in which to woo her; I shouldn't prepare myself for a smooth marriage.
Juliet arrived during this dialogue, captivating us without saying a word. "Happily met, my lady and wife." She must sense some mockery in my voice, for it is eyes of ice that meet mine. "That may be, sir, when I may be a wife," she replies in the sort of tone that would make Silvia gasp and shrink away. I cannot remember responding, but I do remember how, as we conversed, her tone softened to butter. She became almost maternal, reassuring my increasingly desperate phrases with calm, loving phrases of her own.
Finally Juliet turned to the Friar: "Are you at leisure, holy father, now, or shall I come to you at evening Mass?" Even I recognized the necessary retreat and bidded adieu to Juliet and the Friar, stepping out into the crisp morning air.
The day smelled of beauty, but all of that was lost on me. The day would never be as beautiful as Silvia. Nay, not as beautiful as Juliet's. But I knew, in my heart of hearts, that Juliet's face would never compare. Silvia, though departed from this earth, would reign for eternity.