There are three possible stories to this balcony... and it's a third of the reason why we came to Verona... 1) It was the house of an ancient family caught in a terrible blood feud, and there really was a 13-year old girl named Guilietta... 2) It was the house used in the 1968 movie of the same name... or lastly... 3) It was completely made up for tourism and the house used to be a brothel...
... keep in mind (2) does not necessarily cancel out (3)...
... And although I want to believe #1... internet bloggers are stuck on #2 and #3... but I guess to me it doesn't matter... because 2 and 3 might actually do more to tell the real story of Romeo and Juliet... and to understand the 'great' love story of William Shakespeare...
... for a brothel's 'play at love' better fits the 'love at first sight' emotions in the play... to be in love with the idea of being in love... to feel the passion of the moment... teenagers on fire... like, she's 13 for crying out loud...
... Enter the courtyard and there is a statue of Juliet in the far corner... under the balcony that she once spoke... and a visitor gains luck in love by feeling her up... now doesn't this brothel metaphor seem to make sense?... love in the moment... romance of the highest order...
... don't get me wrong... there is something about that moment... in this beauty... these star-crossed lovers... and their noble sacrifice... the tragedy... the epic... heroic... the freedom... that takes you out of the mundane... their fierce love... worth everything... because it would be better than a lifetime without it...
... but yet it's cheap love... the kind that kids get from a cookie... a high with no substance...
... it's the grand gesture without any of the small day-to-day things that make it real...
... we never get to see Romeo and Juliet 5 years later... I wonder what that would be like...
... and so I turn away from Juliet in desperate search for something with substance...
... Scoff...
... Worn out paper cards with a couples name scribbled on the front... stuck to the wall with any sort of item one can find... gum seems to be the common item of choice... or bandaids left over after patching up blisters from the worn-out feet of the tourists... bandaids... really?... is there anything more romantic than this?... this is your substance... this is what you have to offer?...
... but...
... this...
... this really does fly in the face of Shakespeare... this does justice to love... a patchwork of good intentions... the mess of each paper given substance because of the whole... like the flurry and turmoil of days made clear in the larger picture of a life together... these strands held together by whatever you are given at the time... clinging for dear life to the wall while the elements constantly beat against you... sharing the trial... battling through the ugly parts of life... what is romance but a bandaid to cover over a hurt?... or to protect against a worn out sole?... What could show more?...
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