“Edward, dear? Are you up?”
I groggily sat up on my wood-frame bed. As the door to my chambers slowly squeaked open; my mother, clad in her black morning gown and linen cap, approached steadily with a small plate. Breakfast of bread and butter: my favourite meal of the day. My eyes still weary with the notion of sleep, I gently clasped the plate as she passed it into my slightly outstretched hands.
“You must get going to school soon, son.” She insisted. “It is almost 5:40, you will be late for class!”
Begrudgingly, I continued to rise out of the comfort of my sleeping quarters. Quickly scarfing down the light spread of butter on a slice of bread, I began to dress in my fitted jacket, tights, and cotton breeches. A beam of sunlight shone through the small window in our small second-level London apartment, casting a spotlight on a small portion of the worn wood floor. Not even having left my home yet, I caught the rude smell of the fresh batch of fish from the mariner's hub just outside. Oh, how I dreaded this part of the day. Why would I need to go to school? As far as I was concerned, it was a waste of time. Why go copy down plays of old over and over when I could go and see them live, in action? Thinking of the punishment I would receive if I would be late for class, I finally headed down the old, creaking stairway and out into the streets of the city.
The air had a warm, misty quality to it; a slight fog lay over distant buildings. I started on the winding stone pathway that led towards my schoolhouse, surrounded by wooden homes and shops with slanted roofs; the sound of ships gently rocking in the harbour blended with pedestrian footsteps. Only half a kilometre away, there was no doubt in my mind that I could make it to class on time. I passed waves and waves of people, all marching as ants might to a hill. After a few minutes of walking, I glanced to my right to see it: the Globe. Its white wooden walls stood wonderfully against the sun’s bright yellow gleam. What a sight it would be to view a play in that theatre, fully packed with a rowdy audience. Unfortunately, I was never able to get to witness a play in person. There was always some obstacle; some excuse, something that was more important. I let out a deep, disappointed sigh and began to continue my vexatious walk to the schoolhouse. Once again, I halted in my tracks. This early in the morning, the theatre usually remained empty. However; this morn, I found the unusual slight sight of movement through the small windows of the building. Straying off my normal path, I ventured towards and quietly snuck into the legendary premises. Incredible. There the actors were: practicing on stage for tonight's performance. I had never seen such a thing. The actors spoke carefully written lines; moved with such emotion. My gaze fixated on the rehearsal. Suddenly, I felt a hand grip my left shoulder.
“What do you think, boy?”
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