Confession

Confession.

As soon as I opened my eyes I felt it. I had been having nightmares all night and woke up with a weird feeling several times. Almost always the mood of my dreams is the prelude to what happens the next day.
I stared at you. You were not yet awake, but your features had already hardened. Don't ask me how I can tell. It's an intuition, years of knowing each other.

I never knew what it was due to, if it was something hereditary, of the order of trauma, or simply a strange being who took possession of your body.

Nor could I predict exactly when it would appear. So the only thing left for me to do was to watch for the signs and take the necessary precautions.

If there's one thing I've always hated, it's not being prepared enough.

Until now I had accepted it, I thought that by waiting, one day that part would go away. Maybe with a major life-changing event, like having a child, for example. Or that the years would just get used to it.

You create dilemmas for me, and that's what bothers me. Because if you were just this strange being, the reality would be too obvious not to accept, and maybe I would be forced to leave you.
But days, weeks, and even months can go by where you are yourself, just like when I first met you.

Do you remember when we met? Well, actually when we met again. It was in a context a little out of the ordinary: the cafeteria area of our neighbor Manuela's funeral. I was a little sad because you know that mom loved her very much and I felt sorry for her and I thought that no matter the effort or the trajectory, the destiny of all people always ends the same. You, wanted to make me smile, and stole three flowers of different colors from the funeral arrangement and put them in my hair. The force you used to pull the flowers off the stems made the arrangement wobble, and suddenly I saw it fall in slow motion in the direction of the coffin. With a thunderous noise it crashed to the ground, and from it flew twigs, leaves, and petals, which turned Manuelita into a botanical collage. Seeing what happened, her daughter started shouting at us that how dare we disrespect her mother's memory like that, that I should take those flowers out of my head, and that I should go to hell. People looked at us offended by such sacrilege, and we couldn't stop laughing. They ended up kicking us out of the place.

When we reflected on what had happened, we felt a little guilty. But we thought Manuelita would be laughing if she could see her funeral, and at least the story of her becoming a botanical collage would be forever inscribed in the memories of the neighborhood.

Not every story ends with death.

We sat in the park and chatted for hours. We remembered when we were neighbors. You confessed to me that when we were children you were in love with me, but that I had never paid much attention to you.
We said goodbye and arranged to see each other the next day.

Since then we never separated. I must tell you that that was one of the best days of my life. You remember, don't you? You remember all that.

You're almost always attentive, and supportive, you even wash the dishes after I cook! But from one day to the next, something changes. And you become a repudiating, unrecognizable, monstrous being.

A strange being, that only I can see, because I have talked to your mom about this to ask her if maybe it is something hereditary or of the order of trauma, but she denies it and says it can't be. That they raised you well and that trauma is something young people invent. And that her husband always had impeccable behavior, so she didn't believe it could be genetic either.

While you were still sleeping, I got up stealthily so as not to wake you up.

This time everything had to be perfect.

I remembered the last time this happened, and because of a miscalculation, things ended in a horrible fight with me in the hospital. You told me that I brought out the worst in you, that's why you pushed me against the wall, leaving me with a gash on my head.

Then you almost left me. "I don't want to end up killing you," you told me. But I begged you to stay. And together we promised each other that this would never happen again.

As I paced back and forth through the house, almost compulsively, I started going through a list of what I needed in my head:

-White lilies
-Yellow vase
-Half-cooked scrambled eggs, two egg whites, and one yolk. No more than two minutes on the fire.

Use the perfume he gave you, not the one you bought and he's allergic to. Only ask him about things he would be willing to answer you about, like sports news or changes in the stock market.
Oh, and 200 grams of mushrooms.

I started to prepare the table: I looked for the yellow pot, all dusty and abandoned on a shelf in the kitchen, filled it with water, cut the stems of the lilies, and put the flowers inside.

When everything was ready, I went to pick up some mushrooms in the forest.

The forest was beautiful. The morning light filtered through the tops of the trees, whose leaves were dying due to the arrival of autumn. It was a cool day, and the silence was sepulchral.

I felt at peace. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I remembered with tenderness, the time when the whole family had fallen ill from food poisoning, and how my mother, the only one who remained standing, took tender care of me, my brother, and my father during those days.
My family was complicated at times, but that week, peace reigned in the house.

After I had gathered enough mushrooms, I rushed home to make sure I could get everything ready before you woke up.

I put out the red tablecloth with white dots, which was the only clean one around, but I found the color invasive and decided to turn it upside down. I made scrambled eggs and decided it wasn't the right day.

Then I woke you up for breakfast.

As you came down the stairs, the house was filled with a strange, shattering energy, the kind that sucks every living space. My nerves knotted my stomach and suddenly I felt I couldn't swallow.
You sat down at the table, opened the newspaper, and began to eat.

A few seconds passed before you noticed my presence. I could see it in your eyes, my presence bothered you.

It was happening, and there wasn't much I could do. Except for bending down, look to the side.
You always tell me that my gaze is very inquisitive and penetrates deep as if I wanted to enter people's brains to see what was going on there.

This time I didn't want to know.

-The eggs are runny. Did you put something special in them?
-I always make them the same way for you, love. Two whites, one yolk.
-Well, it looks like you've changed something because they taste disgusting.

- I made them the same way I always do. But if you don't like them, I'll make them again.
- Yes, make them again, and please, this time with love.
- Yes.

I got up and prepared the eggs again. This time I added the mushrooms I had picked. I cut them very small so he wouldn't notice.

Here you go. I hope you like them - You didn't even answer.

I started to drink my coffee with milk, while I read one of those magazines that talk to us women.

- Could you stop making so much noise stirring the coffee? You know I'm extra sensitive to noise in the morning.
- Excuse me- and I went to stir the coffee in the kitchen and came back, trying to make as little noise as possible.
- Besides, why do you use so much sugar? Sugar is fattening, or don't you read the articles in your women's magazines?
- You know that if I don't have a coffee with a lot of sugar for breakfast, my blood pressure drops and I can faint.
- You and your thousand symptoms.
- Don't be like that.
- Well you know I'm telling you because I care about you. The noise.
- The what?
-The noise of the pages.
- What pages?
- The pages of the magazine. Can you stop? You look like you're doing it on purpose.
-I don't understand what's bothering you.
-I get up, I want some peace while I read the paper and eat breakfast. Not only that breakfast is still disgusting. Then you breathe hard, make noise with the spoon, and now with the magazine. Are you planning to ruin my day?
- I'm not hungry. I'm going for a walk.

I decided to go for a walk for a while because I knew that everything I could do or say would work against me when you weren't you, and I was still me.

I sat down in a café and lingered for a long time watching the people go by. I got hungry and ordered a sandwich with a strawberry smoothie.
My most anticipated activity of the week was when I could sit and watch passersby while I had breakfast at some nice café. Imagining their lives, like in a movie theater.

I know you're not like that. It's just these days when something strange happens to you, I don't know if it's hereditary or of the order of trauma. And suddenly, you are no longer you, but a strange being that sleeps in my room eats the food I prepare, and uses my body whenever it feels like it.

The clock struck two, and I decided it was time to go home.
When I opened the door, suddenly that heavy energy that inhabited every space was gone. Almost as if by magic.

I went upstairs and found you, whimpering and in a fetal position, begging for mercy and for me to take you to the doctor. You were white as a sheet, and next to you a spot of reddish vomit soaking the mattress. I must confess I felt sad. I had bought that mattress not long ago and it had cost me all my savings. Besides, what product was going to get that stain out?

- Take me to the hospital. Don't let me die like this! you said to me in tears.

- What's wrong, my love? I answered.
- I don't know. Please call the hospital now!

I went downstairs and called the ambulance. I babbled in desperation that my husband felt bad, that he might die, that please come as soon as possible.

I almost regretted it.

When the doctor arrived, he checked on you and told me it was nothing serious. He asked me what we had eaten, and recommended you rest, eat lightly and drink plenty of fluids, since you were dehydrated because you had vomited so much. He reassured us that everything was fine: "Rest assured, ma'am. Luckily -it -was -nothing- more -than- a -shock-", and those generic phrases that doctors use in these situations that could have been an emergency but were not.

When the ambulance left, I helped you bathe and asked for a few days off so I could take care of you. I watched the strange being that was taking over you leave, and I recognized the twinkle in your eye, which you always bring when you are you.
You thanked me for being such a good wife, for always taking care of you, and for being there when you need it. You apologized for treating me so badly at breakfast and we swore it wasn't going to happen again.

Sometimes we can be complicated, but that week peace reigned at home. I remembered my mother and was finally able to forgive her. After all, she wanted a few days of peace too.

Art direction and story: Agustina Garro

Protagonist: Julia Trumper

DOP: Titus Scholl

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