HamLIT [complete]

4. Ophelia Walks A Lonely Road, The Only Road That She Has Ever Known - Edited

Original draft published November 7, 2019

Edited version published August 23, 2020

We've already heard so much about Lia, I'm sure you're just dying to meet her (figuratively, of course—it is important to make that distinction because there will be a lot of literal death in this story). So let's take a trip over to another neighborhood in Elsinore, a less affluent neighborhood than Ham's. Don't get me wrong; there isn't a single neighborhood in Elsinore that isn't affluent; the only difference is that Ham's neighborhood has mansions and Lia's neighborhood has McMansions.

In this relatively affluent neighborhood in Elsinore, Ofelia "Lia" Polonio, the daughter of Tony Polonio, is alone in her room. She's nearly always alone. As you'll soon see, she walks a lonely road (not unlike Green Day).

She may be pretty. She may be good-mannered. She may be a solemn, artistic soul with something to offer to the world. But none of that really matters. In the end, what matters is that she's painfully shy and withdrawn, even reclusive. The world isn't kind to those who don't have the stomach to assert themselves, and the world has not been kind of Lia. The world will never, it seems, be kind to Lia.

Currently it is mid-morning. Over at the Dane mansion, Ham and Harry are still asleep, and here at the Polonio McMansion, Lia sits at her desk writing depressing poetry (I would give you a sample of her work, but it's dreadfully mediocre). Her room is a big, cavernous space with shadowy corners and large, looming furniture. Though it's bright and sunny outside, it's dark in here because Lia always keeps the curtains drawn (Is there anyone in this story who isn't hella emo?). Aside from a couple of pictures of her family on her dresser, little else adorns the room. If anyone saw her room, they might wonder why it's so bare, but since no one ever comes over, no ever wonders that. This household belongs to solely to Lia, her father, and her brother Leo. Since her mother died six years ago, no one else has set foot in this house.

Someone knocks abruptly on the door, making Lia jump. She stuffs her embarrassing poetry in a drawer under the desk and calls, "Come in!"

The door cracks open, and a young man peers into the room. It's her older brother. "Hey. It's just me."

"Oh. Hi." Lia tries her best to smile and not look at the drawer that contains her poetry.

In just a few long, loping strides, he's across the room and seated on the bed. Though his first name is Leonardo, he's hated that name ever since kindergarten, when one of his classmates convinced everyone else to call him "Leonardo da Vinci." Since then, he's insisted that everyone call him "Leo." How's that for a harrowing tragic backstory?

Leo, a tall and muscular young man with long arms and legs, is a picture of college boy sloppiness; his crew cut is choppy and his beard is wispy, and he wears a bright orange "Princeton Basketball" T-shirt with his cargo shorts. However, despite all that, Leo is clearly his sister's brother. He shares her dark hair, olive skin, and—most importantly—her big, watery eyes.

"I'll be taking off in a few minutes," he says, "so I wanted to say goodbye."

"Oh, right." There's a touch of disappointment in Lia's voice. "I forgot you were leaving today."

"Yeah. I won't be gone for long, though. Only about a month," says Leo, who will soon be taking a plane to Paris for a summer study abroad program. "But I wanted to talk to you for a minute before I leave."

"Uh, okay." Squirming, Lia looks down at her hands. It's a nervous tic, so deeply ingrained in her psyche that she never even notices herself doing it.

There's a moment of silence. Leo raises his hands, opens his mouth to speak, pauses, and lowers his hands again, as if he's unsure of how to begin. He then blurts out, "I don't like Ham Dane."