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The Truth About the Fact: An International Journal of Literary Nonfiction

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The Truth About the Fact: A Journal of Literary Nonfiction is an international journal committed to the idea that excellence in the art of letters can play a vital role in transforming the planet we share.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Without Words

Lorena Love Brothers
A story for you
Stories stir emotions; Do they?


            I must begin this story by unfolding some truths about myself. I am often driven by impulsive behavior that often leaves me in a pile of chaos; beautiful chaos. There are things in life that don’t make sense right away. Take a puzzle, for example. Unless you look at the picture before beginning the puzzle, you don’t really know what the ending will look like without all of the pieces intact. Frida Kahlo, an amazing artist, has been someone that I have admired and studied for the last ten years. Although much of her life was spent in pain and sadness, she had a brilliant mind. Kahlo was born in Coyoacan, Mexico, a part of Mexico City, and spent the majority of her life there. She was married to the famous painter Diego Rivera. They lived and created masterpieces in their house “La Casa Azul” in Coyoacan, which is now a museum. I have dreamt of going there for a very long time. About three or four weeks ago I woke up and thought to myself, “Why wait so long to do something that I have dreamt of doing for so long?” Dreamers stay sleep. I immediately bought a flight to Mexico City and left a few hours later. I look back and I truly had no idea what I was doing. I’d like to think that it was the butterfly that lives in my soul, using its wings to channel large amounts of air in one direction, leading me to a place where I needed to be. However, there came a moment when I said, “Maybe this was a bad idea”.
            So I wake up that day, decide to go to Frida Kahlo’s house, pack up a few important items, and begin to ask my neighbors for a ride to the airport. They, of course, are interested in where I’m going. I must add that I live in a very tight-nit community and I am one of the babies there. So immediately everyone starts freaking out. They thought I was joking for a second but quickly realized whom they were dealing with. They tried really hard to talk me out of it and at one point even considered tying me up. The butterfly wings were already flapping. Many times I don’t think, I allow my free spirit nature to lead. I hadn’t even thought about where I was going to be staying. Truly, I don’t think that mattered to me because I was going there for one reason.
            I arrived in Mexico City about six hours later, but who really knows, I did not have any acknowledgement of time. In fact time stopped during the duration of my trip. I tend to travel light because I love walking or because I never seem to have a secure place to stay. Espy also joined me on this trip. Espy makes my heart beat in strange patterns. Together, we create beautiful tunes that cause others to stop and smile. I am certain that she also creates strange heartbeat patterns for others. Espy is my banjo.
I found my way to the metro. There seemed to be a million lines. I noticed that there seemed to be a billion people running around. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry, however. I didn’t feel afraid at that time. I did feel alone. I must have been tangled up in blue. At least that’s what I heard Bob Dylan say through my ear buds in that moment.
After hopelessly wandering for a day, I traveled to the out skirts of the city on a bus. There came a moment when the bus pulled over and two guys got on with machine guns. Should we call this hijacking the bus? I am not really sure how to label what they did, but they definitely mugged everyone on the bus. The boys looked young. I smiled; I tend to do that when I am nervous. My mind swarmed with many thoughts. I clearly remember each one of those thoughts. The first one was, “Oh shit, maybe this wasn’t a really good idea. This really is a dangerous place and my parents are going to be really pissed off.” Then I went on to think about these boys. Perhaps they had nothing to do, loose, or this is how they survive. I wondered if the other passengers were afraid or if this happened frequently. I’d like to think that the look on my face lacked emotion, while my heart beat me up inside. We were forced to stand up in a line and empty our pockets. We also had to take our shoes off, which I thought was silly, just incase people tried to hide money in their shoes. They vulgarly patted us down. I stared into his brown eyes as I felt his hands press down on my body. Just like life it ended. Ugliness exists in the midst of beauty.
Espy and I played in the plazas like children in a playground, free of worries and open heartedly. After reaching my youthful point, I was ready to experience a dream that belonged to me. I walked into the museum to the most beautiful works of art. The feeling was unfathomable. My first thought was people go and places stay. The house/museum contained the materialistic belongings of two people who now seized to exist. They live on through their art. I found my thoughts to be enlightening. At that time, I wished that I were not alone and instead sharing the experience with someone other than Espy. I’ve never felt so alone in my life; it was pure beauty because that was the truth. As I walked out of the museum it all became a distant memory just like everything else. Just like that, the butterfly flapped her wings and brought me home against the wind.
“I hope the exit is joyful and I hope never to return” –Frida Kalho 


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