Act 2, Scene 10

FEDE

Of what happened afterwards I really did not have the appetite to write down here. Hell, I could barely remember it.

Fortunately, Camila has her subtle and unsubtle ways of convincing me to do the things that I want to do; if she didn’t I doubt we would be married.

I kept working in the same area, rudderless and with the little tolerance I had for it completely spent. Hiding how miserable I was slide further and further down from my priorities.

After that I gave up on finding any sense to my days, along with trying to be a good person.

I don’t blame Meli for anything; what happened simply happened.

My life has always been, or at least I frame it as, a constant switching of obsessions. First there was the one I had inherited, the utopian dream future of my parents, which I replaced with Meli, and after she had left my life I found that certain liquids could smooth out my emotions in a way that felt similar to her.

Almost nobody knew of my problem, which was the way I liked it.

Of course, eventually everything can get out of hand, and what those beautiful people that shared my disease gave me the most peculiar advice: give up. Turns out that giving up can be as important as forging ahead. Humans have limited energy, and I needed to allocate mine differently or else I would burn down. What I chose to give up on was my career, there was no future in it that I could picture myself being happy.

Now, whenever a fellow architect asks how I found my calling, I simply tell them that I know the importance of a home; a sufficiently generic but not untrue explanation.

And I haven’t been able to enter any other head. This worried Camila for quite some time, but we have miracles of our own now. We got married, had our daughters, and now I’m happier than I honestly feel I deserve.

From this point on, now I really don’t know what else to write down. The funny thing about the happy times is that there’s not much to think about them other than being grateful for them. That being the case, I’d like to begin the acknowledgements before I wrap up.

Thank you Mom and Dad, for raising me in whatever way you could. Thank you Camila, for making me a better man, for holding my hand through my neuroses and worries and for being the love of my life. Thank you Maggi, thank you, Flor, my treasures, for loving this cranky old man and for giving me the honor of watching your growth and the wonders you create.

Finally, some apologies.

To Mel, wherever you are, I’m sorry and thankful for the time we shared. I regret to this day all the ways I pushed you away and the mistakes I did.

Also, I need to apologize to myself, to the young me, a thing the people like I often learn the hard way.

I’m sorry, Federico. It hurts now, but it shall not hurt forever. You will find a home.

            END OF SCENE

Act 2, Scene 8

Meli begins monologuing just like in any other scene.

MELI:

I was at the movie theater watching When Harry Met Sally on a late-night showing, taking a rest from working on next year’s application artwork, when Fede finally popped out of my head. He needed a shave and a shower. Now that movie is permanently ruined for me.

Meli turns to the old radio from where Fede’s voice has been coming out and addresses it as if it were Fede. The radio shall then respond to her and so they will go back and forth for the scene.

MELI:

I’m applying for the Fulbright again.

FEDE:

You didn’t get it?

MELI:

Oh, I did get it, but the process was so damn fun I want to do it all over again.

FEDE:

You didn’t get it. That’s a real shame, that sculpture you did I really liked.

MELI:

The one of my head, right?

FEDE:

Right

MELI:

Well now I’m applying with the one of your head; sticking to my original plan.

FEDE:

Why?

MELI:

Why not?

FEDE:

I’d expect you’d prefer starting something from scratch but, if you feel that’s the way to go, then that’s the way to go, especially if you like the piece.

MELI:

The piece is a metaphor for you, buster, so you better hope I like it.

FEDE:

I do like it.

MELI:

Do you?

FEDE:

Can I be honest with you? 

MELI:

Better late than never.

FEDE:

It reminds me of things I don’t want to remember. Parts of me that are not me anymore. All that soviet stuff is far behind me.

MELI:

I see, it’s all good. It’s your life, you’re entitled to that. I guess what I’m asking for is some understanding, because I live inside you and inside you is kind of totally and very soviet, which is fine if you don’t like. I did not intend to make you uncomfortable with the sculpture, I just tried to capture what my eyes saw every day, what they saw of you. But if what my eyes have been betraying me all this time, I’m sorry, but I’d like to know who really is the man that sleeps in my head. Is that fair?

FEDE:

That man is me, and I’m still and have always been me. It’s only those things, that programming, that has changed, but that’s what attracted you to me in the first place so I was afraid of taking it away from you.

MELI:

I don’t think that’s what drew me to you.

FEDE:

Sure.

MELI:

Well, it may be part of it, but that’s not nearly enough for me to have stayed with you this long. There’s a whole person besides your past, and I love that person… Fede this is just some stupid scholarship project, I swear it has no more significance than that.

FEDE:

You say that, but I know how much it means to you. It’s all you work for.

MELI:

Maybe, but all that work was for naught, so perfect timing to leave this behind us.

FEDE:

Yeah, that might be for the best. And anyways, you have ways to finance yourself.

MELI:

Meaning?

FEDE:

Nothing.

MELI:

Actually, I do know what you mean. My inheritance be it in money or other forms. Well, Fede, you would know if you’d kept in touch with my present life that I’ll soon make better use for it than keep it. Alright? So no, I don’t think I have the neatest finances right now… Not that I’m complaining, I think you’d understand better than most why redistributing the capital or whatever might be a good thing.

FEDE:

I’d understand this because I’m poor, is what you’re saying?

MELI:

You’d understand because you were raised a communist, and I’m not saying it like its a bad thing.

FEDE:

I can’t help but think that, at least sometimes, you’re jealous of my circumstances. You take such pains to have less than what others would kill to have.

MELI:

Then what the hell am I supposed to do?! If I go on as I am then I’ll always be the spoiled chick to you, but if I do something about it then I’m just a naive poser. What am I, Fede?

FEDE:

I have never thought either thing of you! I’m just worried that you’ll get frustrated if you don’t get to save the world.

MELI:

A savior complex? Weren’t you supposed to be the Next Socialist Messiah?

FEDE:

Communist, more like.

MELI:

Oh, whatever, you quiet nerd! First, I know you think all those things about me, everyone does. Second, is it not worth anything to at least try to save the world? Are we all just fucked forever and that’s it?

FEDE:

I don’t know, not anymore, but I’m sure there’s plenty you can do that doesn’t need to involve me. And what’s your big plan anyways? How’s any of these going to help the Proletariat, huh?

MELI:

I don’t have any illusions about it, but by getting a scholarship I can get a leg up to a spot where I could help others to get a leg up, others that have better things to say than me and deserve the chance to say them more.

FEDE:

So you’d like to live vicariously through them? Heh, I thought you wanted to be the star and not the muse.

MELI:

Yeah, but I’m telling you now that I know I’m not worth shit to be a star! Now I know it, you know it, everyone at school knows it and now the goddamn Fulbright program does too. I had my shot and blew it. Fine, I’ll just try shooting in another direction.

FEDE:

You know you have an art gallery inside you? I don’t see why this is the moment when you kill your passion for art. Or is the gallery just for tax evasion?

MELI:

Heh, no. You can never keep a straight description of that gallery, but there’s been some constants I’ve noticed. Please say them.

FEDE:

What? I don’t know. It’s big, with lots of marble and gold details. Lots of rooms and halls. Art deco, was that a real term?

MELI:

It’s a mansion, or palazzo, or something like that Fede. Underneath all the pretension and the art all you have left is an empty, opulent, decadent –hell, bourgeoise mansion. It’s been that way all along. It’s what I’ll always be. For quite a good bit I thought I could be something else, but Mom was right, I should have just helped out with her philanthropy and saved my time.

FEDE:

A house… God, I’m terrible at this. A house is not only what it is, but also what it’s used for? Does that make any sense at all?

MELI:

It does.

FEDE:

All the art there, that has to be worth something isn’t it. Or what? Are the foundations of my head all that there is to me? Am I only some failed communist projects? Am I only the ruins of my childhood?

MELI:

I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t know. Maybe… Jesus.

FEDE:

Tell me. Maybe what?

MELI:

Maybe what I saw inside of you was not the real you, only who I thought you were. I don’t know if that’s better or worse than the alternative.

FEDE:

I think both are equally terrible.

MELI:

My feelings for you are real, that much I know.

FEDE:

Same here. What I feel is real.

MELI:

Are you certain?

FEDE:

I was not certain, and I’m sure she wasn’t either.

We kept looking at each other. For an instant I felt all the love Meli had for me, the home she was for me. I wanted in that moment for her to know all the ways she was special, how right nowhere was right for me except for her, in her. What made it all the more perfect was that she shared that feeling, the smallest of her expressions always reassured me.

The instant passed, and then the guilt kicked in.

I hated myself; I knew she would be happier if she didn’t feel that way for me. I was nothing but a failure. There was something rotten inside me that would poison her life.

The shame was great, but I was willing to carry it, I was willing to carry anything as long as we were together. I prayed that she wouldn’t be sharing a similar suffering, thinking similar things of herself and I.

Unfortunately, when you live with someone for so long, you end up thinking similarly.

            END OF SCENE

Act 1, Scene 6

FEDE

“Yeah, yeah. I know it’s gonna suck, put please do it for me, Fede. There’ll be a day where you won’t get the chance to see them again.”

And that’s how she convinced me to have her meet my parents. Four years had passed since the last time I had set foot in the Distrito Federal. It was the winter of 89’.

We landed and they were waiting for us at the airport, looking exactly like when I had last seen them.

I exchanged handshakes with them before they noticed Meli.

“Oh, you’re Imelda? You’re lovely, just so lovely.”

Swiftly, and to my great confusion, my parents fell in love with Meli. 

On the final walk towards the old apartment I heard how my dad eagerly regaled her with tales of his previous life in Chile, some brand new to me.

Mom got close to me and asked in a sharp whisper:

“What comes before you are part of Komsomol?”

I responded with Pavlovian quickness:

“The Organization of Pioneers Vladimir Lenin.”

“And before that, boy?”

“The Little Octobrists.”

Mom nodded, happy that I passed the test and proved myself to still be her son, in any way I could still be.

The apartment, also frozen in time, we chit-chatted about nothing in particular. When the night came they asked to speak with me in private, not with words, but in our nonverbal language. They gave me, unprompted as always, their opinion of Meli. An intelligent and charismatic girl with a forceful will that was blunted by affluence and ignorance of her own ambition. She also had a good heart, they added, to soften the criticism. 

I had found her just in time, I could make a stable life with her while we recuperated.

To answer my confusion over what we would need to recuperate from they turned on the TV and sifted through the public-access channels.

We got to the News.

That day was November 10, 1989. The day before that, as we flew towards the Distrito Federal, the Berlin Wall fell and, like the next domino, the USSR would fall, followed by the Cold War.

They reassured me that this was just a speedbump in our plans, that the Fight was never over.

I laughed myself close to tears, I finally got the punchline that was right there all along.

By punchline I mean my parents dream, my purpose, of course.

            END OF SCENE

Act 2, Scene 4

FEDE

The Mexican government desired to determine the answer of a pair of fairly simple questions: firstly, if it would be possible to replicate our head phenomenon in or with other people, and secondly, but most importantly, if there was a way to monetize it.

Neither was proved to be possible despite an incessant barrage of experiments, tests, probes, inquiries, investigations and analysis done by different government agencies and departments.

I had expected that they would be more nonplussed by our ability, so I asked one of those gray men that seemed to be made of concrete why that was the case and he explained in as many words that in Latin America miracles are common, but boring by and large; my communist roots were more of their interest, anyways.

I admitted to them and also to myself that those roots had nothing to do with me anymore.

It was two months that they held us captive.

When they let us go one of those assholes told us: “kids, be careful with how you use that Miracle from now on; we know where you live. We tried as hard as we could to leave your lives as intact as possible, but some things are even beyond our powers.”

What he meant was that Meli’s dad had passed away while they had us.

            END OF SCENE

Act 2, Scene 2

FEDE

The thing I most remember from college is my friends, everything else is just a collection of data, numbers, strategies and tendencies that I learned without passion. At this time I was an intern at a lucrative construction business whose foundations were made out of cocaine and nepotism. My bosses had a soft spot for me since they considered me one of their own despite me not being interested in being so. 

I could only be myself once I clocked out. I’d go out and see Javier, Javier 2, Bojo, Grandpa and all the other boys who thought they were men. Our outings consisted of drinking just a tad too much (the beginnings of that particular problem) while our conversations of choice revolved around Magnum PI, Miami Vice or baseball.

“Where was Karl Marx in the meanwhile?”, you may ask. He wasn’t there because I didn’t want him to be there, for as much as I didn’t want to admit it. All I wanted was my paycheck, more material for my CV, and getting back home to Meli for the rest of my natural existence. She wasn’t too aware of all of this; she had enough to worry about.

One day, March 8th, turned out to be my birthday and so Meli threw the only surprise party anyone has ever organized in my name. Everyone was there, from her hippie friends to my yuppie buddies, There was also a gift, a head, literally and symbolically. 

Half a diorama and half a sculpture, the artwork was a thorough recreation of the apartment in my head, at least from what I could remember from Meli’s descriptions. Even the murals were recreated in miniature forms along the tiny concrete hallways. It was a fantastic piece, clearing the bar for even the strictest architecture professor’s standards. On a technical level, Meli did nothing but spectacular pieces.

Oh, how I wanted to love that thing. I believe I would have been comfortable if it had been a nude painting of me.

            END OF SCENE