To Play

by `apocathary

    Joseph sat attentively at the front of the class as Ms. Parry explained the day's lesson. The name of William Shakespeare clung tightly against the blackboard in the loops of her handwriting. The other children's legs folded and unfolded as they peered up at teacher, and more than a few fingers were prying apart the carpet for tiny stones they could throw at their classmates. Joseph alone leaned forward, transfixed by Ms. Parry's words. She was explaining that while the children might be taught a lot of rules to do with sentences and grammar and conjugation and spelling, these rules were there to guide them, not restrict them. She paused for a moment before asking the children if they had ever been on a bouncy castle. The miners stopped their excavation, momentarily halted in their deconstruction at the mention of that fabled birthday party accessory. Ms. Parry nodded and explained that the rules of grammar were just like a bouncy castle; they were there to keep children within safe boundaries while allowing them to jump around and have fun. Some of the children snorted, clearly unimpressed with the comparison of endless grammar lessons with the colourful dash and jump of a bouncy castle. Ms. Parry smiled to herself and admitted that it may not seem that way at first, but grammar and spelling were both things that the children could play with. Still smiling, she pointed to the blackboard. William Shakespeare, she said, was a man who played a great deal with words and spelling in particular. He invented many phrases and words that we use today, from simple words like bump, hurry, and road to more complicated words like lonely, dwindle, and assassin. Joseph turned each of the words over in his mind, mouthing them as he did so. Ass-ass-in. He liked that one the best, the way his tongue moved forward like a snake to make the ess noises.

    During the class, Ms. Parry asked them to each make up a word. Joseph felt like this was an act of treason. His parents always stressed the importance of following rules, especially when they were helping him practise his violin. His father would stand behind him and make sure he was following each of the notes correctly, patting him on the back and offering warm words when he made it through a whole session without deviating from the tune. Sometimes Joseph wanted to know what it would sound like to play a different note just here, but his father would hear the difference and stop the bow gently in his hands and tell him to start again. The notes were contained within the bars of the sheet music, and his playing was contained within the pattern of the notes; these were the rules of playing the violin and they applied just as readily to everything else he did. While other children protested and kept chasing each other through the monotone bell signalling the end of recess, Joseph knew that playtime was contained within the boundaries of the bell and so he always walked straight back to class and sat down ready for the next lesson. Joseph hated long beans, but his dinner was contained within the circumference of his plate and so he ate everything within it. From Ms. Parry's other lessons, he knew that spelling was contained within the rules of i's before e's and u's after q's. Foregoing such rules never occurred to him. And yet his mind was buzzing with the idea of being afforded the luxury of playing with the rules. As a result, he could hardly pin down his thoughts to fulfill the task of inventing a word.
    At the end of the lesson, Ms. Parry teacher saw that his page remained blank but instead of scolding him, she smiled and confided in him that Shakespeare himself had probably taken longer than one primary school class period to invent his words. Joseph took encouragement from this, and babbled out a promise to have invented a really great word by the time he arrived back at school the next day. Ms. Parry nodded and ushered him out the door. Just as Joseph reached the edge of the school grounds, he heard her shout after him, "Don't forget to play!" Joseph waved before turning and running towards his home, eager to be at the piece of paper.

*    *    *

    Joseph ordinarily knew very well that time at home was within the boundaries of his parents' schedule for him. When he arrived through the door he would seek out his parents and greet them before going straight to the bathroom to wash his hands, and then to his bedroom to drop off his backpack. He would then go down to the kitchen to receive chores from his mother such as taking out garbage bins or helping to prepare some ingredients for the night's dinner. After dinner he would retreat to his bedroom and complete homework until his father came up to him and coached him in his violin lessons. His father did not play the violin himself, but he had learned to read music in order to help Joseph with his practise between professional lessons. Joseph thought his father was pretty great for doing this. After violin, he would read books from the library until his mother came up to tuck him in, and sing him a prayer before switching the light off. These were the boundaries of the house, and Joseph knew them and usually respected them very conscientiously.
    However, this night was different. This night his thoughts were still playing chasey inside his head, pushing letters together in transient combinations so that even when he sat down to his homework he could not complete a single word for Ms. Parry's assignment. He was still beholden to it when his father came in carrying a violin case that he laid on the bed and opened, announcing that it was time for violin practise. Joseph responded without looking up from the blank page, 'I need to work on this assignment for Ms. Parry.'

His father's forehead creased. 'I'm afraid that will have to wait, son. You know that this time is for violin practise. Now please, put your books away and fetch your sheets.'

    Joseph barely heard him. His own forehead condensed as he concentrated harder on the letters whizzing about inside his head, teasing him with their leaps between nonsense and clarity. The firm warmth of his father's hand rested on his shoulder and Joseph heard him speak more insistently of the importance of violin practise. When Joseph didn't respond, his father shook him, hard. The letters scattered and Joseph rounded on his father, shouting at him that he had been playing with words, and Shakespeare did it and he invented assassin. His tongue darted forward and he hissed the word at his father three times; assassin, assassin, assassin!
    His father was taken aback by this display, seemingly unequipped to deal with the sudden change in demeanour of a child ordinarily so well-behaved. Under the accusing gaze of Joseph he recovered enough to say he was very disappointed in Joseph. He told Joseph that while play was important, hard work was more so. In fact, he said, Joseph's teacher was incorrect in her citation of Shakespeare as the inventor of the word assassin. Shakespeare had only adapted it from the word 'Hashshashin', a branch of Muslims. His father noted that he had discovered this fact by studying, not playing, and perhaps Joseph should think about that. With this he left the room to discuss Joseph's behaviour with his mother.
    Joseph was doubly stunned. First by his own outburst, and further by his father's revelation that Shakespeare had not invented words, but merely taken them--stolen them?--from other places. After consideration, Joseph shook his head. No, it still took imagination to apply words, so it wasn't exactly stealing. Joseph looked at the page, then at the closed door, and finally at the violin case lying open on his bed. This was the first time he had been left alone with it; his parents preferred to keep it high in their bedroom closet in case Joseph broke it, or strayed too far from his lesson plans. He walked over to it, picked up the bow and nuzzled the chin rest into his neck. With his eyes scrunched closed he gathered together all the letters that danced inside his head and began to play them, beginning with 'T'.