In Search of the Perfect Place

“Come on, darling, we have to choose a spot.” I knew this was easier said than done. I knew the God of Tragedy too well. After several millenia, I should. It had been a hard year and while the energy was positive about getting back to theatre, it came with a heavy dose of depression. Any moment, they would snatch the map from me, not to try to make a decision, but to slow down the process entirely. But before they could, I closed my eyes, roved my finger around the map and let it settle at random. “The United States! Wonderful, we could see a Broadway show!”

“Isn’t it my turn to choose? God of Comedy, let me choose!” Tragedy whined.

“You undercut the sweet-talking of the use of my full name with the moaning and groaning. Sorry, we’re choosing together! It’s only fair.“

“I don’t think it’s fair,” Tragedy pouted some more.

“Yes, you do. You know it’s fair. You're just being grumpy.” I softened. “Look, it’s been a hard year and a half for us. For everyone, including the mortals and including us. Not a lot to do when a pandemic wipes out almost all theatre on the whole planet. But it's coming back! And we have to decide what to go see first!” Tragedy’s pout turned into a smile, the kind of smile that comes after water is found in a long drought. “There! That’s the smile I fell in love with.”

“So, the United States, huh?” My face lit up. Maybe we will make progress. “We could do Broadway, of course we could, but what if we graced the smaller communities with our presence.”

“Hmmm,” I say. “That could be nice. So, a nice regional theatre?"

“Maybe even something smaller,” Tragedy offered.

“Community? We usually only send blessings down for that, we don’t usually go.”

“But all theatre is theatre, my love."

“I…hold on.” A bubble floated up to Tragedy’s desk. A prayer. I popped it.

“God of Tragedy, please bless our production of Carrie,” Tragedy's eyes lit up, but I silenced them with a shake of my head. “Ticket sales are what they are, but I just want to put out the best show we can. Please take care of our actors, our crew, and our audience. And may Carrie herself terrorize all your enemies. Thank you.”

“We are not going to Carrie," I said flatly.

“Why not?” Tragedy asked.

“Look, I’m happy to make compromises, but shouldn't the first show we go see in over a year be something we both love?”

“When one of us is unhappy, we do tend to wreak a lot of havoc.”

I knew Tragedy was right about this, but I had lost patience, so I lied. “I do not!"

“You do too! Remember that production of Romeo and Juliet? You made the whole audience laugh when Juliet stabbed herself!”

“What about you when we see Peter Pan? The set breaks every time!” I felt a fight coming on. Bickering may be a daily activity in the household of the Gods of the theatre, but fighting could get nasty. But I couldn’t stop myself. “Why must misery always reign? Can’t we bring joy to the theatregoers and the casts and crews?"

“I do bring joy! Tragedy teaches mortals how to feel, how to love, how to handle loss. Comedy distracts from their life. Tragedy teaches them life!"

“So, we’re going to get mean. All right, fine. I know what you do to playwrights who write comedies. You make sure they get watered down or end their careers completely. You cut off the playwrights from the start. I know you’re interfering with my work!” This was a big accusation. I could hear it echo for a moment before they responded. They looked like they'd been slapped.

“I would never! People just don’t want to see comedy on stage, especially right now. They just dealt with a global trauma and need to know how to feel, not how to laugh."

No need to laugh? Was this a person I’d tied myself to for the rest of my life? “They need both!” I tried to calm down. “But I can’t do my work if you keep messing it up.”

“And you can’t keep everything under control. The God of Chaos loves to pop in on us. You can’t control all mortal theatre. And you can’t control me.”

Now it was my turn to feel like I’d been slapped. I pulled out the words we agreed never to say to each other again.

“You’re such a bummer.” This didn’t feel as mean as it was. We’d had a fight centuries ago about calling each other names. But the pact we’d made dissolved before us.

“And you’re too cheery. What about my feelings? Don’t you know I can't bear all this sadness alone?”

This was fair, but I didn’t know what else to say. So instead I yelled, “Downer!”

“Control freak!"

“Misery freak!”

“Clown!”

“Sad clown!”

A bubble floated up. “Gods of the theatre, thank you.” We looked at each other.

“A prayer to both of us,” I noted. It’s not unheard of, but usually they got sorted through to only one of them.

“No blessing asked for,” Tragedy said.

“It’s not even from someone making a show. Just someone about to see…it’s perfect.”

“You mean it?"

“Yes. The funniest tragedy ever written in the English language.”

“Sweeney Todd!” We both said together.

“But it’s at a high school,” I said a little skeptical. “Is that all right?”

“We’ll make this the best high school production anyone has ever seen. We’ll waft a smell of meat pies thorugh the lobby.”

“Ew, too morbid. How about we compromise and make the blood effects sparkle?” I ask.

“Sounds perfect. Let’s go, my love,” Tragedy said, as they proffered their arm.

“May the theatre never slow again,” I said and a bubble escaped my lips. I didn't even realize I’d made a prayer. Praying as a god could get tricky. But that prayer was worth the risk.