Why is it that today when I woke up from my slumber and stumbled out of my bed with one eye locked closed and a lean like a freshly drunk teen for the first time that I stepped into the main room to see Meryl Streep napping on our couch with her feet up because not even Meryl can sleep comfortably on our couch. After about 15 seconds going through my daily routine of loosening the eyelid to open giving me 20/20 vision I tip toed over to her to get a better look. Indeed, it was her, but why was she here? She slept with her glasses on and for some reason her hair was impeccable. I mean, it didn’t really surprise me. Meryl probably walks on water. Where did she come from? I tapped her lightly to get her attention and she opened her eyes peacefully, gathered herself, took her bag that had been resting on the couch’s side, picked up an inhaler, gave herself a boost and politely asked me if I would make her some breakfast. I stared back at her for what seemed like a couple minutes. Every once in a while rubbing my eyes to make sure I wasn’t dreaming and tapping her lightly to see if was a living, breathing, human being. She must have been really used to this because she looked back at me sweetly and without annoyance despite the fact that I had blinked and tapped her about as much as 1000 of her biggest fans outside of a movie premiere. So, like any normal gentleman who has the opportunity to make Meryl Streep breakfast, I did.
I told her that I had enjoyed making breakfast a lot more recently and it was actually my favorite thing to make during the day. Since it was Meryl I was ridiculously indecisive about what to make her. I didn’t want to get it wrong, you know? So, I started her off with some cereal and almond milk. She happily obliged and called it a settling appetizer. I didn’t think twice. Of course Meryl was used to getting three course plus breakfasts. I had about four fruits and thought a fruit bowl might be another good appetizer so I cut her some strawberries, added blueberries, raspberries, grapes, and a banana. She jokingly asked, “No papaya? No mango? No pineapple or cantaloupe? Watermelon would be good.” And then proceeded to fall back and chuckle at her joke that scared me more to death than loosened the mood. She graciously accepted the fruit spread and devoured it immediately. It almost seemed like she was getting hungrier and hungrier. OK Meryl, I thought. I got something that’ll knock you on your ass. A sausage, beans, arugula, spinach, cilantro, basil, tomato, onion, garlic, pepper, mushroom, mozzarella scramble with potatoes on the side. When she the plate I prepared for her I detected a semblance of shock and she had the audacity to try and tell me that the plate looked too good to eat. She abstained and played it off like she wasn’t going to eat the thing I spent super long making for her!? This is Meryl though, I thought. And if there was one thing I learned throughout this whole experience it was that she might be as good a comedian as she was a dramatic actor. You had to hand it to her…she certainly earned her reputation as being the best actor to walk the earth. When she was done with the final part of breakfast, I washed the dishes. I didn’t have an appetite–my attention was solely focused on her—and in between dishes I would look her way to see what she was up to and try and figure out what she might be thinking.
The obvious question was never asked: What was she doing here? It was like one of the most common acting and improv lessons that they teach you right from the jump…”yes, and…” It got to the point where I didn’t even care to ask her anymore. I knew this opportunity might never come again, so I was to be there at her service until she no longer needed them anymore. She stayed quiet for quite some time. Pulling a Lorca book of poetry out of her bag. (While she did so a couple of other books fell to the floor, “Jorge Luis Borges: a biography” and “Neruda, Neruda: The Poet.”) I was so tempted to ask her if she was playing all three of them in a new movie, but I didn’t want to come off as arrogant. I wouldn’t have put it past her, but I wanted to give her her privacy. She stayed silent for a long time, so I carried on my day as if it was a normal one by taking a shower, maybe even taking it for granted that she might still be there when I got out. After a quick soothing, yet scalding shower I got out of the bathroom and to my great sadness saw that she was not on the couch anymore and had left. I should have known. I shouldn’t have taken it so lightly, but when I opened the door to my room I saw that Meryl was sitting in the chair in front of my desk and was looking over my books and plays, while humming to herself. I hadn’t gotten dressed yet and still had my towel on, so somewhat confusedly I got a pair of boxers and put them under my towel, grabbed a random shirt and threw it on, stepped beside her to get some pants and hopped into them clumsily and sat on my bed to throw on my socks before looking in her direction to find out what she might have up her sleeve next. I was somewhat shocked when she told me that I wasn’t reading enough. That’s all she said, at first. You need to read more. She continued by saying that I had a lot of things in my drawers that would find a better home if they were hung up or posted. Pictures, maps, memories. They were locked away in those drawers. “What was I hiding?” she inquired and hummed.
Finally, I couldn’t resist it anymore. I had to ask her what she was doing in my apartment. Why she was here? Why now? How did she find us? One answer would provide for all of them, but I had so much bottled up energy in me to be directed towards her that finally I couldn’t take it anymore. She shrugged the question off, ignored it even for a moment, but then turned the chair completely towards me and smiled that warm smile and explained herself. “You are not dreaming,” she started. “I am very much Mary Louise Streep. The truth is, I don’t know much of how I ended up here either. I feel fine, just a little tired, but this happens every once in a while. Sometimes I wander alone at night and wake up in foreign homes on foreign couches to kind samaritans who know who I am and go out of their way to treat me. I don’t ask them to, but they do. They ask nothing of me, so in turn, I try to do what I can to examine their lives and help them how I can. I don’t pretend to know everything, but after a while you get a sense of people. You have pictures of your family in nice tight sets in this cozy little drawer. Why not put them in an album or put them on a picture board an make them visible? You have books for show when you haven’t read them all and a stack of notes on your desk that could use some organization. I just get the sense of incompleteness. Stop me if I’m wrong. What do you think?
Suddenly I wished that Meryl would go and I didn’t want her to stay and try to analyze my life any longer. Sure enough, like all good actors and energy readers, she must have sensed it on my face because she furrowed her brow a little bit when I neglected to respond, apologized, gathered her things and then headed towards the door. I told her I was sorry and that I wished she wouldn’t leave, but she told me it was just time to go. She thanked me for the breakfast, gave me a ticket to come and see her premiere a new documentary she was narrating about Spanish poetry and said she hoped to see my there. I looked at the glossy premiere ticket that said, “VIP-All Access” and told her I’d be there. She smiled happily and told her she would treat me to dinner after the premiere and starry eyed I replied, “…I wouldn’t miss it.” Unexpectedly, she motioned over to me, looked me up and down, sighed, and gave me a hug that, I swear to god, could have resurrected any cold soul, broken soul, broken heart, or fractured human being. It was a hug that warmed the blood. A prolonged embrace and it was one that caught me by such surprise that I didn’t have a chance to share the hug. My arms were locked at my sides. Thirty seconds it lasted. I counted every one of them. As you would too if Meryl Streep was hugging you. She let go, smiled her smile and left. I went back to my room and fell asleep.
The day of the premiere came and I got dressed in my best clothes. When I got there the carpet was star-studded and packed and I was allowed in the back because of my VIP pass, but when I spoke to the head he told me that Meryl had fallen ill and would not be attending the premiere. I nodded my head and told him thank you. I left before the documentary even started and got home dejected, but what would this fictional story be, if I forgot to mention that upon arriving at my home Meryl was asleep on the couch, again, dressed to the nines. How she got in my house again, I have no clue, but it was all OK. I would make her some tea in the morning.