Act 1, Scene 2

          SAME CLEAN, WHITE ROOM SANS MELI. WE’LL STAY TRAPPED HERE FOR THE WHOLE PLAY.

          A voice comes out the loudspeaker sounding raspy and analog as if from an old radio; it’s Fede’s.

FEDE

I wasn’t sure where to start. I’ve never been one for nostalgia. However, Camila reminded me that stories tend to start at the beginning and that doesn’t seem too outrageous.

My parents were Chilean, though you wouldn’t know if you’d met them. They fled from Santiago just as many others did after the coup of 73’. They were members of the Communist Party which had just gone out of business.

They got to Mexico where they decided to clean the slate and erase all evidence of their interrupted lives. They even stopped using their original accents with anyone but themselves.

Not even with me.

For me they wanted total integration in this new home which I maybe managed to do but never felt that way.

However, their real concern wasn’t on the goings of my tiny mind, what they longed for in me was a continuation of the work they had left behind in Chile.

They painted my life with red. Quite creatively they named me “Fidel” and decided I’d become the next Lenin, or Che or (even of course) Castro. 

Karl Marx was my third daddy, essentially.

I was sent to college in Monterrey cause “if you manage to move a place like that just one millimeter to the Left you have what it takes to change the world”.

Dear Diary, if you knew anything about Monterrey, you’d know this was a suicide mission.

            END OF SCENE