Comedic Writing Samples

Short story nominated for Vanderbilt University’s Undergraduate Writing Symposium Shabbat Shalom Alex Wolfe After many days of intense calculations and speculation, Rachel had finally pinpointed the exact moment to make her move. It would be risky, of this she was aware, but she wasn’t sure when she would have an opportunity like this again, one where she had a distinct tactical advantage. But with patience, and just a little bit of luck, all her work could pay off. Rachel sat back in her bedroom desk chair, pleased with the color-coded diagrams of her strategy that would surely lead her to victory. In only 24 hours, she would be slow dancing with William Brown at Sarah Rosenblatt’s Bat Mitzvah party, and with any luck, in 48 hours they would be dating. Rachel Schwartz had known she and William were destined to be together since the first day of 8th grade only three months before. Their history teacher Ms. Stevens had paired them together for a presentation about the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and at the time, Rachel had only known William as “that smart kid that just moved here.” Together they had painstakingly aged a piece of paper with tea bags and a lighter, and then carefully rewritten the script of the document with an old fountain pen Rachel had found in her dad’s desk. She had watched almost an hour’s worth of calligraphy how-to YouTube videos in preparation, and when she signed John Hancock’s name with a flourish, William had given her a celebratory high five. They both received A’s on the assignment, and Rachel had started to use her newfound calligraphy skills to secretly scrawl “Mrs. Rachel Brown” on the inside back cover of her spiral notebooks. But after they handed in their project, William had been swept up by Jessica Tapper and all her friends. He would spend some Friday nights in the sparsely wooded area behind the school, taking small sips of the singular Bud Lite Jessica had stolen from her dad’s mini-fridge. Rachel had never been invited to one of these parties – if they could even really be called that – and she knew she probably never would be. But William still always said hi to her in the hallways, and one time he had helped her unjam her locker. Rachel knew all she needed was one conversation alone to rekindle the flame they had during their project: hence the importance of the Bat Mitzvah. “Honey, can I come in?” Rachel turned around abruptly. She had been so focused on her strategizing she had not even heard her mother walk upstairs. “What is it?” “I wanted to let you know that your dad’s flight just landed. He should be home soon.” “Cool, thanks. Got it.” Rachel kept her eyes trained directly at the plans in front of her. “And we’re going to do Shabbat tonight,” her mom said. “It’s been a while.” “Sure, Mom. Whatever.” There was a long pause, and for a second Rachel was sure she had left. “Honey, I really think we should talk about … things before your father gets home.” “Not gonna happen.” “Rachel, I’m serious. I just want to talk –” “Mom, just drop it! Please.” “How long are you going to keep this up? You know we’re going to have this discussion at some point, whether you like it or not!” Rachel kept her mouth firmly shut. Even if she did want to talk to her mom – which she decidedly did not – she had no idea what she would even say. Her mom finally let out a low sigh. “Alright. Fine. Just come down whenever you hear him get home.” She paused for a moment, waiting, before walking back downstairs. Frustration and hurt flooded through Rachel’s body, and dangerous thoughts began to creep into her mind, before she gave herself a mental kick in the butt and turned her attention back to her plans, burying herself in the work. Rachel was not surprised that her mother had chosen tonight of all nights to celebrate Shabbat, for the first time in over a month. Her mom tended to only whip up a Shabbat dinner for one of three reasons, reason number one being whenever her dad was actually present for the full family affair. Since her dad’s consulting job forced him to travel four to five days a week, he would often return home past sundown on Friday nights. Exhausted from the week, he would stagger up to the bedroom and fall asleep immediately, before he could check to see that the Shabbat candles had melted all the way down to wax blobs. Howard Schwartz had been raised in a strict Jewish household, where weekly Shabbat dinners were nonnegotiable, as invariably entrenched in the schedule of the week as Sunday football. He had grown up with the burden of knowing he was expected to marry a woman who was a member of the Tribe. His marriage to one Abigail Goldstein had been enough to appease his parents, despite the fact that Rachel’s mom was essentially Jewish in name only. When he had asked his parents for their blessing to propose, his mother had said, “While we do think you would have been just adorable with Rebecca Bernstein – her father’s the president of the synagogue, you know – your Abigail votes Democrat, is a lawyer, and has no tattoos, and that’s good enough for us.” Rachel’s parents had slowly settled on a set of unwritten guidelines. They would attend services at shul only for High Holidays, keep semi-strict kosher, and would celebrate Shabbat every other week. The agreement was approved by both parties, with an unspoken clause that whenever Howard’s parents visited, a decorated Hamsa hand would be hung on the wall, with the appearance of it always having been there. However, with the birth of first Rachel and then her brother Mikey, the scale began to tip as the kids were sent first to a Jewish preschool and then weekly Hebrew school classes on Wednesdays at synagogue. Biweekly Shabbat was consequently relaxed to once every three weeks in an attempt to rebalance, and then when Howard’s job called for him to travel more, the practice became monthly, if that. The second reason Rachel’s mom would set up Shabbat was when events that called her Judaism into question were on the horizon. The weeks surrounding Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur in particular were filled with Shabbats, as she attempted to reclaim a culture in which she had never truly felt accepted. Thus, the night before Sarah Rosenblatt’s Bat Mitzvah was a prime time for Rachel’s mom to try and squeeze in a little extra Jewishness before she would need to schmooze with the rest of the Hebrew school moms. Sarah was a year younger than Rachel but had skipped the 1st grade, so they had ridden the bus together after school on Wednesdays to the stop by Congregation Beth Israel. Rachel had dreaded the weekly three-hour seminars about Jewish culture, history, and Hebrew diction, and had been elated when after her own Bat Mitzvah last year her dad had agreed to let her stop going. In the years leading up to her glorious emancipation, however, the Rosenblatts and the Schwartzs had become friends, more out of proximity than actual camaraderie, and both families had invited each other to their respective coming of age ceremonies. Shabbat reason number three was as an apology to her husband. The times when she had accidentally mixed his red and white loads of laundry together and when she had rear-ended the car in front of her in the school pick-up line had both resulted in a prepared Shabbat dinner and somewhat-forced cheer. Rachel knew that on this Friday night, all three reasons were applicable. Howard arrived home about half an hour later, prompting Rachel to finally leave her room and take a break from thinking about William. She bounded down the stairs when from her bedroom window she saw a faded yellow taxi pull into the driveway, and made a point tonight to greet her dad at the doorway. “Hello there!” He pulled her into a one-armed hug, with his suitcase still partially stuck outside. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “How was your week?” “Long,” Rachel said, and she was proud there was only the slightest of hesitations. Eager now to change the subject, she flopped down on the sofa in the main living room. “But I finished all my homework for Monday already!” “Wonderful!” Howard took a second to dump his suitcase by the door and shrug off his coat before he collapsed on the sofa in the main living room. “Oh, this feels nice,” he said, his barely overweight frame sinking into the cushions. He projected his voice in the direction of the kitchen. “Sweetie, I’m not sure I can ever move from this spot again! Working on this case with Matt Wilkerson near about killed me.” “Did it now?” Rachel’s mom entered the living room, wiping her hands on a washcloth. “You would not believe what our clients did this time!” He started off on an overly enthusiastic rant that Rachel knew from experience would carry on slightly too long, to just past the point of boredom. She and her mom both watched knowingly as his lethargy melted away as he bragged about his stress, before he paused, realized his slip, and lay back on the sofa feigning fatigue once more. When he wasn’t looking, Abigail rolled her eyes and smirked over at Rachel, as she always did when he ranted about his aches and pains. Rachel almost smiled back at her before she remembered she was mad at her mom, and turned away instead. Before Howard had started working at Winters Consulting last year, his office for his old job had been only 20 minutes away from the Schwartz house. He had been there for over six years at that point, and even though the benefits were good and he could always make it home in time for Shabbat, Howard had often mentioned at those same dinners how he felt like he was stuck in place. When the new offer had come his way with the promise of more money and autonomy but at the cost of extra travel, he had jumped at the chance. “I don’t like the fact that I’d have to be traveling either, but I think in this case it could be worth it,” he’d said to Abigail when they had discussed the matter. “I’d be working in a way that’s really making a difference to the company and our clients, and the pay increase would definitely be helpful. It could go toward Rachel’s Bat Mitzvah, too.” She had just given him a tightlipped nod, thinking of the renewed offer she had recently received from her old law firm. After Rachel and Mikey had been born, Abigail had become a full-time mom in order to raise them, but ever since Mikey had turned eight she had been mulling over the possibility of returning to work. She had not told Howard about her intentions yet because she hadn’t wanted to jinx any of the tentative plans in the works, and then after the offer had come, she hadn’t known how to broach the topic. And at that point, she had realized there was no way they could both start new jobs at the same time, meaning they would have had to decide who got to take the new opportunity. So she had simply eliminated one step in what would have been an incredibly painful process and decided what was best for the both of them. Abigail had just hugged Howard and congratulated him, albeit with a slightly forced air, and the matter of her returning to work was never brought up. After everything had been finalized, they had both sat down with Rachel and Mikey to explain that their dad was going to be starting at a new job. He was very happy about and excited to start the new position soon, but it meant he would be away from home for a few days each week. They had both done a great job of putting a positive spin on it, to the point where Mikey had immediately jumped up and given Howard a huge hug in celebration. Rachel, on the other hand, had understood how taking this job meant she would essentially only see her Dad on the weekends, a fact which she did not appreciate. Would he not be home anymore on Wednesday nights to continue their hump day tradition of sharing a bowl of Neopolitan ice cream with him only eating the strawberry swirl? And who would help her with her math homework? She was going to be starting basic algebra soon, and she wasn’t about to let her grade drop. Unfortunately, she soon realized it was a moot point; the decision had already been made. Things had slowly shifted to a new equilibrium as the family balanced the new dynamics, and even at the times where her dad would gripe and groan about the company, Rachel knew he was just putting on a show. Her mom tended to halfheartedly indulge his rants, but then joke about it later with Rachel. That was one good thing that had happened as a result of the job switch: Rachel and her mom had gotten a lot closer. After Mikey had gone to bed early on school nights, Rachel was allowed to stay up for another half hour or so to watch TV, if and only if she had finished her homework already. Abigail would often join the viewing session, and together they would watch shows like America’s Next Top Model and The Voice, which according to Abigail were shows that caused you to lose brain cells, a fact she would always absentmindedly note when they were already halfway through the episode. It was during one of these nights when Rachel had first sheepishly mentioned to her mom that she kinda maybe sorta liked this guy William in her class. Her mom had been just as excited as she was, and they had spent the rest of the night giggling over his limited Instagram photos. So Rachel knew her mom well enough to know when she was humoring her father and his tendencies toward over-exaggeration. A week ago, she would have commiserated right along with her, but even just looking at her mother right now was almost too hard. “It sounds like this week was tough,” her mom said to her dad. “Why don’t you stay there for a bit and relax while I finish getting ready for Shabbat? It should only be another few minutes.” “That sounds great, hon,” he said. He loosened his tie. “It’s been a while.” “I guess it has.” She hesitated for a moment, before heading back into the kitchen. Ten minutes later, her dad had managed to successfully hoist himself off of the couch and shuffle to the dining room, Mikey had been dragged away from Mario Kart, and they were all surrounding the set table. The old oak table sported two tall candlesticks, four sterling silver goblets of varying sizes and decorations, and a long tray topped with an embroidered cloth that covered a lumpy loaf of challah. Abigail took a matchbook out of a small cabinet in the corner of the room and lit the candles, beginning the ritual meal. Growing up, her family had never once had a Shabbat dinner, preferring instead to go about their lives with a general absence of religious faith, with the only outward indication of Judaism within the household being the presence of a menorah on their fireplace mantle during the Christmas season. Her parents simply did not feel the need to tap into Jewish culture whatsoever, and instead viewed it as wholly unnecessary in their lives. As she and Howard had built their life together, he had begun to show her the basics of all the traditions. They had christened their first apartment together with a Shabbat dinner of take-out Chinese food, using leftover birthday candles and red Solo cups for wine. When she had found out she was pregnant for the first time, he had led her in a jubilant rendition of Hava Negilah, singing, dancing, and laughing with joy. And so Abigail had learned the customs, each one feeling comforting but separate from who she was, perpetually stuck looking through the window at the home that could have been hers. She blew out the match, and turned off the lights as everyone covered their eyes gently. “Baruch atah adonai, eloheinu melech ha’olum, asher kidishanu b’mitz’votav v’tzivanu, l’had’lik nair shel Shabbat. Amen.” The family all intoned the prayer together, Howard with fervor, Abigail with a slight stumble, and Rachel and Mikey with the disinterested droll of rote memorization. Almost in unison, each of them reached for their individual cups, Rachel grabbing the medium-sized goblet with intricate vine patterns. Each family member had their own unique one, as distinct as a fingerprint, and drinking from someone else’s was unheard of. Rachel raised her cup. “Baruch atah adonai, eloheinu melech ha’olum, borei p’ri hagafen. Amen.” Mikey greedily guzzled his grape juice, his kid-friendly placeholder for wine, while Howard took a small sip of the Manischewitz in his cup, looking over the rim at his son disapprovingly. When her husband wasn’t watching, Abigail downed the whole cup. “Dad, it’s my turn to take it off!” Mikey said, bouncing up and down. “You did it last time, and Rachel before that, so it’s my turn, right?” “Sure you can buddy,” Howard said. He gave Rachel a one-armed squeeze. “Your sister can have a turn next week.” Rachel was about to protest that she was 13 now, almost 14, and she was honestly too old to care, when Mikey ripped the cover off the tray like a magician whisking away a tablecloth. A beautiful braided loaf of challah emerged from underneath, and Rachel could tell that her mom had gone to the café they liked to get the good challah, instead of the regular stale loaf from the grocery store. She was trying, Rachel had to give her that. Howard held out his broad hands to Mikey and Abigail, encouraging them to all hold hands as they always did for the final blessing. Their linked hands encircled the flickering candles, with Howard’s and Abigail’s arms extended across the dining room table to close off the circle. He cleared his throat with a grandiose air about him, despite the fact that they still used the version of the Hamotzi that Rachel and Mikey had been taught in preschool. “Hamotzi lechem min ha’aretz, we give thanks to God for bread. Our voices rise in song together, as our joyful prayer is said. Baruch atah adonai, eloheinu melech ha’olum, Hamotzi lechem min ha’aretz, a-a-men.” “Amen!” Mikey said, chirping in with his favorite unscripted add-in. Despite the length of time between each Shabbat, they were all part of a well-oiled machine. Going through the motions, knowing what to say and when, fulfilling each little tradition and personal addition. Rachel had forgotten how these nights could simultaneously feel so intimate and personal, and yet so devoid of meaning. She knew her mom felt the same way. The two of them had talked extensively about how Rachel participated in Shabbat more for her dad than for herself, and how she often saw the traditions as a chore rather than a culture. She liked being Jewish, and was proud she had made it through all the studying necessary to be Bat Mitzvahed, but she didn’t know if her Judaism was as important to her identity as her father hoped it would be. She wished now she could talk to her mom about her plans for William. Getting a second opinion would be quite helpful in a delicate mission such as this, but she was nowhere near ready to forgive her mom yet. Maybe after she and William were dating and things had calmed down, maybe then Rachel would tell her mom about how she had organized her scheme. But not today. Howard tore off four chunks of bread and passed them around the circle. “Mikey, do you want to say what you’re thankful for first?” Mikey nodded excitedly, his mouth full of challah. “I’m thankful for that Ms. Rogers let us have an extra 10 minutes of recess today. I’m thankful for that the new Power Rangers movie is coming out soon. I’m thankful for that Harrison is going to come over on Sunday to play Super Mario with me…” His litany of trivial thanks dragged on and on. “….and I’m thankful for that Daddy is home.” Howard smiled and ruffled Mikey’s hair a bit. “Me too, buddy. Who wants to go next?” Past experience dictated this was when Rachel should normally pipe up, but tonight she just looked down at her feet. She would have something to be thankful for in 24 hours, she hoped, but right now she had nothing to say for herself. There was a moment of dead air. “I’ll go!” Abigail said with false cheer. “I’m also thankful that Dad is home, and I’m thankful that we all get to go to the Rosenblatt’s Bat Mitzvah party tomorrow!” Rachel could not help herself: she snorted, a half laugh, half rapid exhale. She quickly turned it into a cough, but kept staring at her mom in bemused disbelief. “Yeah, I’m excited to go to Sarah’s Bat Mitzvah too, Mom,” she said. “And I’m really thankful that we’re all going together, all four of us, and I heard the caterers are going to have really good food, so that’s cool too.” “Yummy!” Mikey said. Abigail said nothing. Rachel knew she was being vindictive, but she couldn’t help herself. If her mom had the audacity to mention the Rosenblatts, even tangentially, at their Shabbat dinner, then Rachel got to return the gesture. Abigail had been the one to bring up the caterers in the first place anyway, when she had been cornered five days ago. Rachel’s soccer practice had ended early because her coach was feeling sick, and the mom who was driving carpool that afternoon had dropped her off first. For some reason, the front door was locked and even though her mom’s car was in the driveway, she did not seem to be home. Rachel thought it was odd, but she didn’t really care; it was a nice day, Mikey had a play-date till 5:00 anyway, and she could just read her book for class on the front porch till her mom came back. Twenty minutes passed before a silver Buick she did not recognize pulled into the driveway. Rachel peeked out over the top of the bushes in front of the porch that were partially obscuring her view. Her mom sat in the passenger seat, laughing, with Sarah Rosenblatt’s dad in the driver’s seat. He smiled, then leaned over and gave her a kiss. On the lips. Rachel blinked twice, wondering if maybe she had mistaken the display of affection for the chaste peck on the cheek that adults gave sometimes when they said goodbye. But no, it had been on the lips, because her mom responded eagerly, kissing him again and again before finally pulling away and exiting the car. Before Rachel had time to prepare, the Buick had left the driveway, and her mom was at the front door. Abigail did a double take when she saw Rachel sitting stock-still on the porch, book forgotten in her hands. “Honey, you’re home early!” She glanced back at the car receding in the distance. “How – uh, how was soccer practice?” Rachel did not know how to respond. So she said nothing, and just continued staring at her mother. “Mr. Rosenblatt was just dropping me off, honey.” Abigail fidgeted with the keys in her hands, pointedly not looking at Rachel. “Mrs. Rosenblatt’s meeting ran long, so she couldn’t make it to the caterer’s taste test for Sarah’s Bat Mitzvah, and he needed someone to go with him, so he asked me to go in her place, and we just got back now. It was very last minute, so I’m sorry you were waiting on me, but I just figured I’d try to help them out. You know how busy everyone gets in the weeks leading up to the big day…” She trailed off finally. “Rachel, why don’t we go inside?” Mutely, Rachel stood up and followed her mother into the house. Abigail gestured to the living room couch, anticipating her sitting down. But Rachel kept walking, quickly running up the stairs to the safety of her room, where she refused to come out despite her mother’s pleas to talk. She stayed there for hours, still wearing her soccer uniform, and finished all her homework for the week, desperate to keep her mind occupied. Once she finished, she hastily scrambled for something, anything else to do, and as the image of Mr. Rosenblatt kissing her mom flashed through her brain again, she considered the fact that she had never been kissed before and maybe it was time to change that. And so the planning began. She threw herself into the preparation that week, desperate not to think about what her mom had done. Whenever she started to wonder whether her parents’ marriage could survive this, or consider that maybe she and her mom would just never say anything about it to her dad ever, and it would all just go away… Whenever those thoughts crept in, she immediately forced William to the forefront of her mind, willing herself to focus on his hair and dimples instead of the image of her mother kissing Mr. Rosenblatt. She had to admit, though, her plan was pretty ingenious. Rachel knew that William and Sarah by some stroke of luck were neighbors, and she had overheard him talking in History about how he would be going to the party that weekend. Through a strategically worded text conversation with the Bat Mitzvah girl herself, she had discovered that Sarah would in fact be having her DJ set up a round of Snowball for the party – a time-honored tradition that typically served to make the popular kids feel more popular, and their less desirable peers feel like dirt. A ploy by DJs attempting to manufacture a feeling of fun, Snowball encouraged the preteens to overcome their innate fears of dancing with the opposite gender by having the Bat Mitzvah girl pick a special someone to dance with, while everyone else watched. After a minute or so, the pair would split up and each pick someone new from the crowd to dance with, and then those two pairs would split up and pick new partners, and the pattern continued until everyone was on the dance floor. Much like a form of Judaic dodgeball, being one of the first people to be asked to dance was a huge status and confidence boost, and Rachel knew that if she could be the first one to ask William to dance, the romance would shine through from there. Once Sarah told her she was planning to ask James Cole to dance with her first, it was just a matter of convincing him to ask Rachel next. If James kept his promise, Rachel could then go ask William to dance: her plan was foolproof. Howard cleared his throat, which inadvertently ended the staring match between Rachel and Abigail. “I’m thankful for all of that,” he said. He glanced around the room at each of his family members, ready to proclaim his usual way of concluding Shabbat. “And I’m thankful that we’re all here together. Good Shabbos!” Congregation Beth Israel was packed the next morning, but the service was largely uneventful. Rachel knew that the actual ceremony was for the parents’ benefit, while the party was all the kids cared about. The Bat Mitzvah party was the closest thing the pubescent preteens could get to a frat party until they reached college; both shared awkward dancing in close circles, music that was a little too loud and would be irrelevant within two weeks, and those few people that were way too into the party. The only real difference was the presence of alcohol or lack thereof, although there were plenty of uncomfortable Christian suburban mothers at Bat Mitzvahs trying to alleviate their discomfort through free wine. Sarah did a great job reading Torah, and her speech about her Torah parsha’s lesson about the Ten Commandments was thoughtful with just the right touch of humor. Rachel could barely focus on that, however, because she was too busy trying to sneak glances at William who was sitting about tens rows behind her. She had been hoping to sit with him and the rest of the kids from her school, but her father had insisted they all sit together, leaving Rachel to invent new ways to find excuses to turn around in her seat. At one point she thought she had pulled a muscle from stretching her back by twisting her torso in order to see behind her. Services, already interminably long, seemed to drag on forever, and Rachel was grateful when Sarah had sung the last prayer and the congregation shuffled out into the events hall for brunch. By the time Rachel had weaved her way through the throngs of men and women wishing each other “Good Shabbos,” the line for bagels and lox was already out the door. She stood there impatiently, and watched as William and his friends all grabbed their food and sat down, the seats at his table filling up quickly. Sure enough, by the time she got to the front of the line, there was no more room anywhere in his general vicinity. She had to settle for simply giving him a wave as she walked by, which he returned with a smile. As she ate her brunch with her family instead, Rachel consoled herself by knowing that if her plan tonight worked – which it would – she would be able to sit with him and his friends at lunch on Monday at school. After the ceremony, the rest of the day at home passed slowly as Rachel got more and more antsy as the party inched ever closer. With an hour still to go until they left, she just couldn’t wait any more and changed into her special blue sequined dress. Feeling very grown up, she smeared pink lip-gloss and eye shadow on, before heading to the bathroom she shared with Mikey to see how she looked in the full-length mirror. It was a well-known fact in the Schwartz residence that sound carried easily there, but Rachel was still startled when she heard her father’s voice waft down the hall from his bedroom as he talked to Abigail. “You’re ready early! But would you look at you – you look lovely!” “Thanks, sweetheart.” “I mean it! And is that a new dress? It’s beautiful.” “This one? I got it about a week or two ago. I knew this party was coming up, and the other dress I was going to wear is pretty old, so I just figured…” “It’s gorgeous. Just like you.” Rachel felt sick to her stomach. She was pretty sure she knew who her mom had really bought that dress for, and hearing the passion and love in her dad’s voice felt like a slap in the face. She retreated silently back to her room, where she spent the next hour staring at her Snowball diagrams without registering any of the information they outlined. She was still subdued later when the whole family shuffled into the minivan to head to the party. The Rosenblatts had rented out the Wells Hotel ballroom for the party, a location used so often for Bar and Bat Mitzvahs that the hotel had an ongoing contract with DJ Eric, who was family-friendly and came well recommended. When the Schwartzs arrived at the hotel, they were greeted in the lobby by a nearly life-size poster featuring Sarah in a hot pink dress, with the phrase “Come celebrate with me!” printed in cursive along the bottom. “I see,” Howard said. “It’s going to be one of those parties.” “What gave it away?” Abigail asked. “I don’t know… call it a hunch.” Rachel’s Bat Mitzvah party, which had taken place in the activities hall of their synagogue, was not even in the same league as Sarah’s. This became apparent as soon as the ballroom doors opened to blasting teen pop music, four different buffet tables of food, and enough pink tulle to make tutus for a dozen elephants. The glaring disco lights made it hard to see, but after Rachel’s eyes had adjusted, she estimated there were over 250 people there. Mikey immediately ran off toward the platter of chicken fingers at buffet table number three, while Howard and Abigail meandered their way towards the parents side of the room, which was conveniently located by the bar. Rachel hesitated for a moment before she spotted Sarah dancing on the portable hardwood dance floor that had been set up at the foot of the DJ’s setup. She braved her way through the fray to tell Sarah “Mazel Tov,” before receding to the edges of the dance floor again to watch the spectacle. Two adult professional dancers bopped and twirled in the middle of the crowd in an effort to pump up the party, while DJ Eric threw glow sticks and plastic inflatable guitars into the crowd in order to bribe the tweens to keep dancing. After a few minutes of swaying to the music on the sidelines, Rachel watched as the doors to the ballroom opened, and in walked William in the most magnificent blue polo shirt she had ever seen. She started to head over to him to say hi, but he was closely followed by a group of his friends who had obviously all carpooled there together. The posse of popular kids swarmed around him as they ooh-ed and ah-ed over the size of the party, and effectively blocked off Rachel’s avenues for access. It was fine, she told herself, just a momentary setback; she just had to be patient and wait for the DJ to announce the Snowball dance. And it took all of her patience to wait for it, as song after song played with no indication of the onset of the specific dance. Even when Rachel’s favorite song, “That’s What Makes You Beautiful,” blared through the room, she couldn’t bring herself to more than halfheartedly rock in time to the music, so antsy was she for her plans to come to fruition. Besides, she had to make sure she knew where William was at all times, because he apparently felt the need to keep running around the room and making it extremely difficult to keep up with him. Finally, after what seemed to Rachel like a decade, DJ Eric paused the upbeat pop song medley and turned on a slow dance. “Ladies and gentleman, it’s about that time! It’s time for the Bat Mitzvah girl to dance with that special someone for our Snowball dance!” Sarah took this as her cue to shyly walk up to James Cole and ask him to dance with her. Everyone backed up to leave the center of the dance floor clear, and they slowly started revolving in place in time to the music. Rachel took a deep breath; here was the culmination for all her hard work. She turned to check that William was still over on the left side of the dance floor, where she had last seen him five minutes ago, only to find he had disappeared. She started to panic, frantically searching for him around the crowded ballroom. What if he had gone to the bathroom, or was outside getting fresh air? She had planned for this contingency of course, but in the heat of the moment, her mind was drawing a blank. She craned her neck above the crowds, refusing to accept the situation, when she saw her mother talking to Mr. Rosenblatt at a table in the corner of the parents section. She saw her dad chatting and schmoozing with some of the other fathers from the synagogue just a few tables away, oblivious to what was happening. All of the turbulent emotions she had been pushing down all week finally bubbled up past her limits, and maybe it was just the flashing disco lights, but Rachel saw red. Weaving her way through the throngs of tweens, she made her way over to her mother, tuning out everything else around her. When her mom saw her approaching, her face faded of color completely. “Mom, can I talk to you please?” “Honey, I don’t think now is the best time…” She trailed off in an obvious warning, but Rachel continued as if she hadn’t heard her. “Mom, Dad is literally right over there! I can’t believe you would do this!” “Hey Rachel,” Mr. Rosenblatt tried to interject, “look, nothing is going on – ” “Yeah, right! Please just stay out of this, ok?” Later Rachel would be amazed at how rude she was being, but at that moment she did not care in the slightest. The uncomfortable look on Mr. Rosenblatt’s face was justification enough for her outburst. Her mom looked stunned that this was even happening. “Mom, we need to go talk.” Abigail just nodded once and silently followed her daughter to the secluded hallway by the bathrooms without a glance back at Mr. Rosenblatt. Rachel checked to make sure no one was around before turning back toward her mom. “How could you do this?” “Rachel, please, do you really want to do this here?” Her mother wouldn’t meet her eyes. “How could you do this to Dad? He’s here right now! He could have seen you talking –” “We were just talking –” “It doesn’t matter, he could have seen you!” Rachel could feel tears coming and she struggled to keep her voice level. “Mom… are you going to leave Dad?” Abigail had started to cry. She wrapped her arms around her stomach tightly, as if she were trying to keep her insides from spilling out. “I don’t know, Rachel. Maybe.” Rachel’s body went numb. “But sweetie, I don’t know! We’re going to figure things out. I’m going to talk to your father, I promise. He deserves to know, and I’m going to tell him. And then we will talk about it and figure everything out.” It sounded like her mom was trying to convince herself more than anything. “I am so so sorry Rachel. I didn’t want any of this to happen.” “Okay.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at her mother for one more second. She left her mother there, weakly crying by the bathrooms, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other until she had made it back to the main dance floor. The colorful lights and blaring music which she had been filtering out suddenly came back into her perception once more, the sensory overload overwhelming and abrupt. It took a while for her surroundings to fully come back into focus, but when they finally did Rachel immediately wished they hadn’t. Because the first thing she laid her eyes upon was the sight of William dancing with Jessica Tapper as the last chords of the song played.

Postmodern Halloween A Play by Alex Wolfe Characters: BARRY - dad, mid 30s, always tries to find the silver lining to everything, wants to make sure his family is happy, very creative WENDY - mom, early 30’s, more traditional and less creative than her husband, deeply devoted to giving Leah a great childhood LEAH - 5 years old, a girl of few words, but very expressive and loves her parents TRICK-OR-TREATER Setting: the kitchen in a small house, with stairs leading down to the kitchen from the upstairs bedrooms. There is a small kitchen table with four chairs. The front door opens into the wings. LEAH walks down the stairs slowly, with her parents waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. She is wearing her Halloween costume, which is a misshapen mess of cardboard, green felt, red fabric, and a cardboard box headpiece of some sort. The costume is objectively bad and it is not clear at all what LEAH is supposed to be. BARRY and WENDY stare at the costume for a while quietly. BARRY (unconvincingly) It’s not that bad. WENDY It’s the worst costume I’ve ever seen. BARRY (giving in) It’s the worst costume I’ve ever seen. WENDY I can’t believe it. BARRY She still looks kind of cute in it, so it’s alright. WENDY No it’s not! I worked for SIX WEEKS for this?? BARRY Yes, but you had a good time making it and that’s what counts. WENDY Sure, but is Leah going to have a good time walking around the neighborhood looking like that?? Both parents turn to look at LEAH again. LEAH looks at her mom and nods. A beat. She thinks through it. LEAH shakes her head no. WENDY See?! (She sits down at a kitchen chair and puts her head and her hands) I’m a failure. BARRY No, honey, no! Maybe you’re a failed amateur costume designer, but you aren’t a failure! A failure wouldn’t have even tried to make a frog costume in the first place! WENDY (sobs) It’s a dragon! A beat. BARRY looks at the costume again. It is definitely not a dragon. BARRY Oh. LEAH (roars adorably) BARRY Whoa, you scared me! What a scary dragon you are! (glancing over at WENDY like ‘look, I’m saving it’) You’re the scariest dragon I have ever seen in my whole entire life and for as long as I shall live because now that I’ve seen you, oh fearsome beast, I will forever tremble at the sound of thunder for it will always remind me of your terrifying roar, oh dear, I think I may faint with fright!! (proceeds to overexaggeratedly pretend to faint) LEAH giggles and then pounces on her dad. It quickly devolves into a tickle fight. WENDY eventually gets in on the action and fun. Everyone is having a great time until WENDY accidentally rips off a piece of fabric from the costume. WENDY (catches herself at the last second) OH FUUUUUUUdge!! BARRY It’s ok! It’s alright! WENDY I ruined it! WENDY runs to the kitchen and starts fumbling around in drawers, looking for tape. BARRY It’s going to be fine, we can fix it! No one will even be able to tell the difference! (under his breath) I can barely tell the difference. WENDY (trying to calm down) Yeah, it will be fine. We can fix it, we can fix it. She finally finds the tape and immediately gets to work to try and fix the costume. She is frazzled and frantic, a flurry of movement. LEAH gives BARRY a “save me” look. BARRY just shrugs. Eventually she finishes. WENDY Ok, give it a try sweetie. LEAH gives a half hearted roar. The piece of fabric falls off again. WENDY (hitting herself in the forehead with the tape on each syllable) Fail-ure fail-ure fail-ure. BARRY moves to stop her. BARRY Honey, it’s fine! She can still go trick-or-treating in her costume and get lots of candy, and no one will even care. WENDY I’ll care! She was supposed to be a dragon. BARRY She can still be a dragon. (thinking fast) She can be a … postmodern abstraction of dragonhood at its essence! (gets down to LEAH’s eye level) Honey, would you wanna be a postmodern abstraction of dragonhood at its essence…? WENDY Barry, there is no way on earth she would want to – LEAH (roars affirmatively) BARRY You see? Problem solved! BARRY starts to pack up with LEAH, thinking everything is fine. He grabs her candy bag and grabs her a flashlight while WENDY stands watching them dumbstruck. WENDY Wait just a second!! BARRY and LEAH freeze and look at her, unclear why they are being asked to stop. WENDY Is this really what we’re doing? Is this actually happening?? BARRY Yes…? WENDY Leah wanted to be a dragon. She asked me for a simple dragon costume. She wanted to be just a regular, normal, honest-to-goodness dragon! BARRY Well… now she can be a postmodern abstraction of dragon – WENDY I should have just bought the stupid costume from Party City. WENDY sits down heavily in the chair again and stares at her hands. A beat. BARRY goes and kneels down by her, making her look at him. BARRY (gently) Maybe so. But it’s 6 pm on Halloween, your daughter is in a costume that she likes, and at the end of the day, she’s just excited to get candy. You’re being too hard on yourself. WENDY I know… I just wanted to be a good mom… BARRY Wendy! You are the best mother I know! What other mom would spend six weeks making a costume for their kid? Do you think Susan Shellstrop hand crafted Timmy’s Power Rangers costume? No! Do you think Cheryl Bakerfield took sewing lessons to make Samantha’s princess gown? No! And do you really think that Alexandria Worthington spent more than two seconds picking out Carly’s butterfly costume? Do you think she’ll even go trick or treating with Carly instead of their nanny? Hell no! WENDY (softly) I guess so… BARRY I know so! Wendy, who cares if you’re not the Tim Gunn of fashion design? You made your daughter happy, and that’s what matters. As if on cue, LEAH runs over and gives her mom a big hug. WENDY Well… you certainly will have the most unique costume out there tonight… BARRY That’s the spirit! (He picks up LEAH’s candy bag with a flourish, and pulls WENDY to her feet and gives her a hug and kiss) Now who’s ready for the best Halloween ever?! LEAH (excited roar) BARRY There we go! The doorbell rings. BARRY Alright guys, let’s give this first trick-or-treater some candy, and then we can head out! (grabs a big bowl of candy sitting by the front door, and opens it into the wing. The trick-or-treater can’t be seen, but can be heard) Happy Halloween! And what are you dressed up as? TRICK-OR-TREATER I’m a postmodern abstraction of dragonhood at its essence! BARRY, LEAH, and WENDY sharply look at each other and then out at the trick-or-treater. Curtain falls.