A Theatre Without A Ghost

Prokofiev,"Dance of the Montagues and Capulets"

"This is it," I said, pulling the car to the curb.

"Ok, thanks. I'll be an hour or two. Bye!"

I had no reservations about the theater itself. Some restoration was evident from the street. New paint, aluminum scaffolding up to the eaves, some major work doubtless underway inside. Poppy entered and I drove off on errands.  An hour later, I returned, waited a little while, then locked the car and entered the building. I could hear Poppy's voice and followed it down a darkened lobby, slipped through a door to a back row and sat unnoticed. The script recited was somewhat archaic --period piece, I supposed-- and then silence.

I stood up and walked into the light. Poppy saw me.

"Everybody," she said. "This is my Uncle Geo."

I smiled, a bit nervously, and waved. I asked, "Are we done here?"

She gave an interrogative glance around the stage and said, "Yes."

Back in the car, I said,"Ok, so tell me about it."

"Well", she said. "It was interesting. There were a bunch of people there putting together a hybridization of two plays, Hamlet and Romeo And Juliet. "

"Who came up with that?"

"Two of the guys on that stage, Bill and Fletch.

"Fletch for Fletcher? John Fletcher by any chance?"

"You've heard of him?"

"Not for a while, quite a well-known name at one time, but go on, please."

"They thought it would be a good idea, more modern, to have Hamlet leave Elsinore for Italy instead of England. Then, instead of returning to Denmark and dying, have him fall in love with Juliet in Verona. He would've been clever enough to fool  Capulets into, uh, capitulating --by calling it part of their namesake heritage-- and Montagues into montigulating, which nobody knows what it is. Both families were keen on legacies of all sorts. Besides, he was way sexier than Romeo."

"And what of Romeo?"

"Bill thought Romeo's high school could have a foreign exchange program so Italian kids could learn herring fishing. This would get him to Elsinore to meet Ophelia and they could just hide in corners together and quiver instead of killing themselves and living happily ever after --I mean..."

"No, I get it, an ambitious project! Who else did you meet on that stage?"

"Ummmm. There was an old guy, Paul or 'Polo-oops!' they sometimes called him. Nice lady named Gert. Ty, guy with a temper. 'Nother guy, Merc? Who'd name their kid after an old car? Anyway, 50 people maybe. They decided I was too assertive for Ophelia and too short for Juliet, balconies being lower than they once were. So I asked if I could be the ghost, unless maybe they already had one cast. Every theater is supposed to have a ghost, y'know."

"What did they say to that?"

"Well, Bill says,'My dear, I do fear neither phantom-trod battlements nor pointed merlons of yore are  standing any more, nor would you, young soul, like getting paved in paint for such a role. And A GHOST? None would fear A ghost in this jaded age. Besides, not every  theatre hath but A GHOST!' That's when you came to collect me, Uncle."

We pulled up to Poppy's place and she hopped out. As always, I waited until she was safely through the front door before I drove away. Indeed, back from a theater without a ghost, A ghost --certainly a singular experience. What I refrained from telling her was, while I sat watching the audition and came forward to call her home, Poppy was, on that brightly lit stage, quite alone.