Act 1, Scene 5

MELI

Kahlo was the first artist I ever loved. Reading about her life never failed to make me cry. She was so lonely. I was so frustrated at the closeness I felt to her through her work; it was a one-sided connection that only brought relief only to me. I wanted to somehow repay the favor.

That’s what made me into an artist. That way I could finally say what I didn’t know how to say and, with any luck, people would bump into it and like it. I wouldn’t have complained about that.

I was telling all of this to the very drunk out of his mind Fede. To Be honest, I was telling all of this because he was drunk out of his mind; that way he’d just forget if he found it silly.

But he didn’t do either. Neither forgetting about it nor finding it silly… Nice.

He told me about it after he spilled out of my head.

Now, how could I describe it? 

Having someone inside your head. 

How does that feel?

Well, let’s say you get the sense of a thread traveling through the creases in your brain –it tickles you! Your body feels heavier and you are more mindful of where you step. 

Your “guest” –let’s call them your “guest”, can bring objects into and out of the space in there.

It’s not scary, for some reason, it’s like dreaming. You know what’s happening without the need of explanations. You’ve no idea of what’s happening inside, but your mind finds ways to talk to your guest.

Fede also had that unspoken understanding of what had happened, and he said he was sorry; it wasn’t his intention to spend the night in my noggin uninvited. It was rude of him, he said.

I told him not to sweat it, but if he didn’t mind, I felt it was my turn.

            END OF SCENE