The finale I guess you'd call it. The last act of a play
whose director is always off stage somewhere. Was it comedy?
Sometimes — remember the stories? Yes, there really
were 154 milk cartons, and a husband who always ran out of clothes, and pratfalls galore! So,
yes, it was comedy — but only at times.
At other times it was high drama: births, deaths, and all
the significant moments and rites of passage in between. Then it
became a tragedy. What else can you call the event that puts to an end all
that went before it? Sixteen years of learning, only to graduate into
the darkness of shame and doubt. The fall of man and woman, the loss
of paradise, the hiding from the eyes of God. The curtain falls on
players frozen in uncomfortable positions.
Intermission......hunger, thirst, the need for relief. Food,
a drink, fresh air, a drink, a stretch, a drink, a deep breath, more
make up, a drink. The lights flicker and dim. It's time to begin again.
The play goes on.
New players, different stage, the lights come up...but wait,
the script can't be found. The players are forced to improvise and get
their cues from each other. Oh dear, what do you suppose will happen?
Where, oh where, is that director?! Can't stop now; it's a full house.
The play must go on.