Upon Encountering a Certain Young Lady (no. 1)

 MVT sits in the front seat of a green metallic 1970 Dodge Dart Swinger in a church parking lot in downtown DC. A light rain falls outside. He trains a steady gaze on the back door of the church. Several men and women amble out into the parking lot, laughing and chatting. As they slowly walk to their cars, MVT hunches down in the seat and pretends to pick up something he dropped on the floor of the passenger side to avoid being seen. He wears an arm cast supported by a sling, so this movement is quite awkward. When everyone is gone, he resumes staring at the backdoor. It opens, and an older woman wearing a colorful headscarf and long skirt accompanied by a younger woman in jeans and an embroidered peasant blouse emerge. The sounds of their conversation are barely audible. After a brief exchange, they embrace. The older woman re-enters the church and closes the door behind her, and the younger woman walks toward the sidewalk to leave on foot. MVT quickly slides out of the car and leaves the door slightly ajar. He walks briskly behind the young woman.

MVT: Excuse me, miss? 

SOFIA: [hesitantly turning around to see the source of the voice] Yes?

MVT: I’m so sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you could help me?

SOFIA: With what? [with slight suspicion]

MVT: I’m having trouble opening my trunk, ya know? [he gestures with his head toward the cast on his right arm and grins] My suitcase is in there.

SOFIA: Where are you parked?

MVT: Right here, in the lot.

SOFIA: I didn’t see you at the meeting.

MVT: [smiling sheepishly] Oh, I'm here for the free parking…Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not a believer [jokingly].

SOFIA: [warily] OK. [she walks with him back to the lot and toward his car] How did you hurt your arm?

MVT: Can you believe it, I fell off my bike. [shrugs his shoulders]

SOFIA: [she turns to look at him blankly and continues to walk by his side]

MVT: I tell you what, it’s a huge pain in the ass, having to use my left hand [he raises it and waves], I’m a rightie. [They reach the back of MVT’s car] Well, this is me [brightly].

SOFIA: [peering into the trunk] There’s a lot of junk back here. What do you want?

MVT: It’s underneath the beach chairs, I’m afraid. If you can open it, I’ll help if I can.

SOFIA: [blankly stares into the trunk; her breathing growing more rapid] You drive with one hand, your left hand?

MVT: [caught off guard] What?

SOFIA: You said you were right-handed. Isn’t it difficult to–

MVT: [deftly snatches her left wrist with his left hand and pins her right arm behind her back]

SOFIA: Ow! What the fuck!

MVT: [presses his body against hers and pushes her face forward into the rear window] Be quiet, Sofia [whispers into her ear].

SOFIA: [audibly inhales] You know my name?

MVT: I do. And I asked you very nicely to stop talking. Can you do that?

SOFIA: [whimpering] Please don’t hurt me. I’m hurting!

MVT: [cracks the dummy cast off his right arm and places her in a headlock, leading her to the slightly ajar door on the passenger side] Get in.

SOFIA: [she appears to fold in and collapse, collapsing into the seat in a dejected heap. MVT tosses the cast into the backseat] 

MVT: It’s okay. You’re in shock. [he climbs over her into the driver’s seat and for a moment their limbs are entangled. He gropes for pre-cut twine that has fallen to the floor of the passenger seat. SOFIA tries to pummel him with her fists, but he easily grabs her wrists and forcefully pushes them down together in her lap.] Stop. Shit [muttering as he attempts to subdue SOFIA while untangling the twine. After successfully binding her hands, he gently holds her face in his hands and turns her head to look at him.] Breathe evenly, in and out. You’re hyperventilating. Do it like this [he demonstrates the calming breathing technique for her] Expand the diaphragm on the inhale, and then exhale deeply through your nose. [she continues to blankly stare at the glove compartment] Fuck it. And don’t try that again. You know I have almost two feet on you, right?

SOFIA: [softly] Where are you taking me?

MVT: [remains silent as they drive through a main throughway and then into multiple side streets]

SOFIA: You can’t do this. People will wonder where I am. They check up on me.

MVT: [turning to her with a warm smile and speaking in Spanish] Now Sofia, we both know that’s not true.

SOFIA: [all color drains from her face; she suddenly becomes visibly upset and begins to weep; continues to speak in English] Oh my God, please…no. [she begins to rock back and forth with her bound hands in her lap]

MVT: You know what? You don’t speak English so good. Speak-a the Spanish! [he screams in English, in an inexplicably fake Italian accent]

SOFIA: Who are you? [in Spanish]

MVT: [ignoring her and turning back to focus on the road]

SOFIA: [insistently] Where are you taking me?

MVT: [he continues to silently drive until they pull up behind an empty industrial building near Chinatown. MVT exits the vehicle and slowly walks to open the passenger side door. He roughly pulls her out and she teeters on high-heeled clogs on the pavement. He shoves her forward as they approach an open doorway. Once inside, MVT slides the heavy door shut] Take off your clothes. 

SOFIA: [defeated] I can’t. 

MVT: I’ll help. [he reaches roughly at the front of her V-neck peasant blouse but she pushes his hand away. She lifts the blouse and struggles to lift it above her head, and he impatiently pulls it off in one movement, tossing it into a corner. SOFIA’s chest is heaving and her shoulders are shaking. She unbuttons her jeans with difficulty and pulls them down to her ankles with one quick motion. SOFIA awkwardly steps out of them, revealing tanned smooth legs. Motioning her to turn around, he deftly unhooks her bra and pulls down her panties, balling them up and tossing them on top of her other clothes and purse.]

MVT: Are you a true blonde, Sofia? [he gently turns her around by laying a hand on her left hip and looking down in between her legs] That’s a hard ‘no…’ You know what? [brightly] I’m gonna give you a haircut. 

SOFIA: I don’t want a haircut [she defensively pulls her long hair to one side]. 

MVT: It’s free–you’ll like it. [He removes a large pair of scissors from his small case and holds her in a headlock that resembles an embrace while he begins to shear her long hair off in clumps and leaves patches on her bald head.] 

Lie on your stomach. [She limply falls to her knees. He removes more twine from his satchel and tightly binds her ankles. He then presses his right knee on her mid upper back. MVT tenderly touches the patches of hair on her head, massaging them with his palm and fingers before sliding his fingers down to tightly encircle her slender neck. She visibly winces. One side of her face is now pressed into the damp concrete floor and streaked with tears and dirt.]

MVT: [with a recitative tone, as if from a script] When you go home, and you will go home– you will stop. Stop attending meetings. Stop marching. Instead, you will stay home with your family. We know your father…which is why you’re not dead. This is a message. And if you continue to work against us, I will follow you. We will reunite in Santiago, and one by one, all of your friends will disappear. All of them. Then, I will enter your parents’ home at night, and I’ll slit their throats while they sleep. I will kill your boyfriend, Torin– 

SOFIA: Torin is my dog! [sobbing] 

MVT: [confused] Oh…OK, I’ll kill Torin, too. Everyone you love and everyone who thinks you’re someone special will be gone, and who is going to love you then? Because, really, Sofia, you are not so special in our time, you are one of many. This is what I am going to do. You are going to go home, and be quiet. For once in your life, you will stop talking. That’s all. It’s so simple. I know you can be successful. 

SOFIA: [quietly and blankly] My name is Sofia Silva Rojas. I was born in Santiago in 1956. My parents met at university in 1953–

MVT: [angrily] Enough, Sofia! [he throws up both hands in frustration] Ya know, what the fuck. I know all I need to know, [composed] thank you. [he stands to his feet and looms above her, straddling her back. She wails and struggles to get up on all fours while handcuffed and falls forward again, lurching onto the floor. MVT kneels beside her and carefully puts the scissors and twine back into his leather satchel. He then retrieves her purse from the corner and empties the contents around her body–bills, a lipstick, and a keychain– before tossing the bag to the side] 

SOFIA: I’ll catch you later, Sofia. [in the tone of saying goodbye to an old friend] [MVT quickly exits through the door, adjusting the cross-body leather satchel across his chest. He walks off into a light rain with his hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched].

TWO WEEKS LATER…

MVT is in his studio apartment. He sets a large pot of boiling water on the stovetop and a smaller pot on another electric burner. MVT squats in front of the fridge and retrieves vegetables and fresh herbs. He grabs seasonings, herbs, and tomato paste from an overhead cupboard. After he cuts, chops, and stirs, he sinks into the old loveseat in the living room. Next to the armrest is a box of record albums, which he pulls onto his lap, Flipping through the albums, he pulls out one and slides the LP out. He looks around the room and locates a record player. He sets it on the turntable and gently drops the needle. Carole King’s “I Feel the Earth Move” begins to boom from the speakers, and MVT returns to his cooking. He starts to sashay and switch as he continues to prepare the sauce. Then he really gets into it and starts to boogie, doing “the bump” against the kitchen drawers and squatting low to hit his butt against the back of the sofa, the front of the small television set on the coffee table, and the kitchen counter. After it ends, “Will You Love Me Tomorrow?” begins. He drains the spaghetti into a colander in the sink and dumps it into a bowl with a tablespoon of butter and a cup of marinara. Then he carefully tosses it. As he sits down at the tiny kitchen table to eat, he happens to glance at his watch.

MVT: Fuck! [he drops his fork, which clatters on the table.]

*****************************************************************************

MVT sprints down a city sidewalk, his thin denim jacket flapping against his chest, wearing the women’s sunglasses the stewardess gave him. The sun is setting, and the skyline is blackening pink. He breathlessly reaches a phone booth, slightly bends his knees, and hinges forward to catch his breath, leaning against it. Two small boys are playing inside and sticking their fingers into the slot. 

MVT: Scram! [the boys scurry away. MVT pushes his way into the booth and leans against the back panel after pulling the folding door shut, still breathing heavily. In five seconds the phone rings, and he quickly picks up the receiver]

MVT: It’s me. 

MALE VOICE: You forgot, didn’t you? [in Spanish. Children’s voices are heard in the background, yelling with joy]

MVT: I was cooking dinner.

MALE VOICE: How did it go? 

MVT: It’s not my thing. I kinda winged it.

MALE VOICE: [sharply] You “winged” it?

MVT: [irritated] Yeah, it’s not my bag. 

MALE VOICE: I asked you a question. And it is very much your “bag.”

MVT: It went fine. And then it was terrible.

MALE VOICE: Well, whatever you did, it worked. Her plane landed this morning. Daddy met her at the airport.

MVT: [remains silent]

MALE VOICE: She’s leaving for Madrid this weekend to stay with an aunt.

MVT: [quietly] Was this…a test?

MALE VOICE: Of course not. We don’t expect anything less.

MVT: It’s not my bag…I prefer to build things.

MALE VOICE: Yes. That’s clear. But time, place, and need intersected, and here we are.

MVT: [squirming as he stands and transfers the receiver from one ear to the other and shifts his weight] Don’t get used to it. This isn’t my wheelhouse.

MALE VOICE: Understood. But we are grateful.

MVT: I wanna go home.

MALE VOICE: Chile?

MVT: No, my kitchen. I left the spaghetti.

MALE VOICE: What? [screaming of children grows louder]

MVT: My dinner, asshole. I made a delicious red sauce. What the hell is that racket?

MALE VOICE: Oh, the grandchildren are here. My wife and daughter went shopping.

MVT: [snorting] Ha! Didn’t take you for a pussy. You’re babysitting.

MALE VOICE: [coldly] I enjoy them. You should try it yourself sometime.

MVT: My dinner is getting cold. 

MALE VOICE: Go home. We’ll chat next week. Good-bye.

MVT: Wait! Who’s going to take care of Torin?

MALE VOICE: Torin? Who is Torin?

MVT: Her dog. Sofia’s German shepherd.

MALE VOICE: I don’t know what happened to the dog, Michael [the connection is cut off, followed by a series of clicks and then static. MVT slowly returns the receiver to its cradle and steps out of the booth. He shoves both hands into his jeans pockets, hunches his shoulders, and heads home, to a cold dinner.]