Magic in Costa Rica

The Funny Thing About Tragedy

"So how did you like Romeo and Juliet?" Carla asked as we sat down in the front of the bus. It was Monday morning and we were headed to the Museum of Fine Arts with our English class. I shook my head.

"Honestly, it was not my favorite. Actually, it's my least favorite thing we have read this entire year," I said, frowning. Carla scoffed in surprise.

"Are you kidding me? We're not friends anymore."

"What? Why?"

"Okay, fine we can still be friends, but I can't believe you didn't like it!"

"What's there to like? I mean besides the fact that it's Shakespeare. I loved Hamlet and Macbeth but Romeo and Juliet is garbage compared to them." Maybe I was being a little harsh, but Chris and I had broken up the day before and I was not in the mood to sugarcoat my literary opinions for Carla.

"Take it back!"

"Um...no."

"Why do you hate it so much? Give me one good reason!"

"Where should I start? It's about two teenagers who fall in love and get married after knowing each other for days and then kill themselves because of a stupid misunderstanding! Plus, Mercutio, the only good character, dies at the beginning of the third act!"

"Okay well-"

"And!" I interrupted Carla and raised my arms dramatically "Juliet is thirteen years old when all this goes down! It's about a thirteen year-old committing suicide because of a stupid crush on some stupid boy that she knew for a week!" I finished, out of breath. Carla looked at me, stunned and disappointed.

"But it's so romantic- I mean besides the suicide- don't you think it's romantic?"

"Not really, I just think they're stupid kids," I shot back with a shrug. Carla made a disgusted face. She then leaned forward and caught Mr. Miller's attention, who was sitting in the seat adjacent to us.

"Mr. Miller! What do you think about Romeo and Juliet? Alma," she pointed at me, "Thinks that it's stupid and depressing, but I," she gestured towards herself proudly, "Think it's beautiful and romantic. Who's right and who's wrong?" she demanded. Mr. Miller scrunched his eyebrows together in contemplation and pushed up his glasses with his thumb.

"Well, first of all, nobody is right, and nobody is wrong. This is literature, there are no right answers. However-" he raised his index finger matter-of-factly, "I have to agree with Carla. I think it's romantic that they're both willing to renounce their family names and sacrifice everything they have, all for true love," he smiled.

"But it's not true love, they barely knew each other!" I shook my head in disbelief.

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything. It's possible, especially in literature, to love someone the instant you see them. Don't you believe in love at first sight?" he teased. I thought about the first day I walked into his class, and saw him sitting at his desk, messy-haired and arms folded, wearing that ridiculous paisley tie, and I smiled slightly.

"Maybe."

* * *

As our bus pulled up to the front of the museum, Carla squealed in excitement.

"I'm so excited, Alma! They have a bunch of Georgia O'Keeffe stuff here!" She clapped her hands and bounced up and down. "She's my favorite artist!" That makes sense, I thought. Many of Carla's watercolors resembled O'Keeffe's paintings of flowers, and they both had the same delicate brushstroke.

"Cool," I responded as we hopped off the bus, "I like Claude Monet."

"Oh yeah, he's good too," Carla shrugged somewhat unenthusiastically. As soon as we got inside, we were told to split up into pairs and Carla immediately dragged me towards the Georgia O'Keeffe exhibit. I stumbled after her into a room full of work by women artists. We stopped in front of a painting of beautiful white and blue flowers, with petals that reminded me of billowing sails on a ship. "Wow," Carla sighed dreamily. I nodded in agreement.