The Alphabet Game

EXT. DRIVEWAY – 2 BEDROOM HOUSE – DAWN

Muffled sounds of stern chastising

The car doors open and SLAM shut. MOM (late 30s, wears a black dress) lays something down in the trunk, keys jangling, car starting, the radio BLARING AN UPBEAT SONG too loudly before being quickly snapped off.

INT./EXT.  CAR – DAY 

DAD (late 30s, wears a dark suit jacket) drives with his left hand on the wheel, right extended to Mom, who holds it tightly.

The boys, RYAN (11, sandy haired and lanky) and MICHAEL (9, a nearly identical, smaller version of his brother) sit in the back of the sedan, playing the alphabet game.

RYAN

(pointing out the window)

Exit! E! Ha, you’re blocked!

Michael lets out a small cry of frustration.

MICHAEL

Ryan, stop! You’re blocking every E we see, I can’t play.

RYAN

Dude, that’s the whole game, if you see any words that start with J you can block me. I’m just better than you.

The words are said with the presumptuous nature of an older brother.

MICHAEL

No, you’re not! It’s just not fair! You’re on the right side, all the signs are closer to you.

RYAN

No way, I have to look around Mom’s head. She’s blocking half the window.

Mom stares out the window, her eyes flicker only slightly in response to the scenery before her and the sound of her children talking about her.

RYAN

Do not enter! Enter! E!

Michael screams again, louder.

DAD

(Barking angrily)

Michael! Ry! Stop fighting.

Dad glances at Mom, who continues to stare out the window. She looks a million miles away.

MOM

(Tonelessly, but practiced)

Ryan, you have to give your brother a chance. He’s younger than you so he’s not going to be as quick, you need to make it fair.

Both boys rankle at this.

MICHAEL

No, don’t go easy on me!

RYAN

Yeah, Mom, he doesn’t need extra help, he’s not a baby.

The boys remain quiet for a minute as the tree-lined turnpike sprints by, eyes not turned to the windows but to the heads of their parents' seats.

Slowly, both of their eyes scan the road signs again. Simultaneously, they exclaim.

RYAN

Exit! E!

MICHAEL

Ends! E! AHA!

Ryan hits his palms against his forehead in succession and groans as Michael whoops and brags. Michael is still mocking his brother when Ryan begins looking out the window again.

RYAN

Friendly’s! F! Blocked!

INT. CAR – DAY (LATER)

The family remains in the same positions, but Mom is asleep as Dad plays bluegrass music quietly.

The boys have rolled up the sleeves of their dress shirts.

MICHAEL

Why are there no Q words anywhere? We’ve been looking for an hour.

Michael says the last line into his hands.

RYAN

Because it’s a stupid letter. It’s useless.

MICHAEL

Yeah, they should just take it out of the game, it’s not fair.

The boys pause for a moment, both of them knowing they could actually suggest taking Q out of the game, but neither is willing to cry uncle first.

RYAN

No one even uses it anyway, except for like 3 words.

MICHAEL

Like quick.

RYAN

Quiet. Queen.

Michael visibly perks up at this.

MICHAEL

Maybe we’ll pass a Dairy Queen!

RYAN

Yeah! I’m keeping my eyes peeled for the sign.

Michael leans forward in his seat towards Dad's ear.

MICHAEL

Dad, if we pass a Dairy Queen, can we get ice cream?

RYAN

Yeah, Dad, can we, please?

DAD

No, boys, we don’t have time to stop for ice cream. Do not ask again.

The boys groan, spirits dashed, and slam their backs against the seats again and again, bouncing between seat belt resistance and cushion.

RYAN

This sucks. We’re never going to find it and neither of us will ever win the game.

(beat)

RYAN

You know what?

Ryan rummages around the car and manages to find an old but unused restaurant napkin and a pen. He scrawls the words NO QUITTERS in all caps on the napkin and throws the still-clicked pen to the floor of the car. Michael watches, confused.

Ryan rolls down the window and immediately the car is filled with the flapping, eardrum-bursting sound of 70 MPH wind.

Dad exclaims and Mom jerks awake. Ryan smiles widely and sticks his hand out the window with the napkin held tightly in it.

RYAN

(yelling)

NO QUITTERS! Q!

Ryan pulls his arm back inside as the window starts to roll up, controlled by his father in the front seat. Before Dad can start yelling, Michael starts in.

MICHAEL

That doesn’t count!

RYAN

Yes it does, dummy! It was a word that started with a Q that was outside the car, and I said it first! I got Q!

Michael lets out a primal screech.

MICHAEL

THAT DOESN’T COUNT, YOU’RE A CHEATER!

RYAN

I AM NOT A CHEATER, YOU’RE JUST A SORE LOSER!

MICHAEL

CHEATER!

Michael unbuckles his seatbelt and launches himself at Ryan, who scrabbles to fight back but is impeded by his seatbelt.

DAD

ENOUGH!

Dad quickly pulls the car over on the side of the turnpike and clicks on the hazards. He whips around to look at his sons, who now sit far and guiltily apart, both seatbelted.

Mom's hand is pressed over her eyes and she does not turn around.

DAD

(LOW AND INTENSE)

I have had enough. I thought I could trust you boys not to do this today, but apparently not. If you can’t play this game without fighting, you will not play at all. If I hear one. More. Shout...

Michael and Ryan nod silently.

DAD

Good.

Dad hits his turn signal to get back onto the road and accelerates quickly to merge. Mom makes a small, sad sound.

INT. CAR – MIDDAY

The car enters a parking lot packed with other cars with a plethora of state license plates.

MICHAEL

(Whispering)

There’s a Q on that license plate.

RYAN

(Whispering back)

License plates don’t count, remember?

Dad parks the car and turns around to look at the boys, calmer now.

DAD

Okay, boys, we’re going to head in in a minute, and I’m going to need you guys on your best behavior. This is going to be a tough day for all of us, especially your mother, but it’ll be okay. We just need to be quiet and respectful and make sure you’re very nice to Grandma and Grandpa, okay?

The boys nod and make nonverbal, affirmative noises.

DAD

And none of that alphabet game while we’re inside, okay?

The boys agree again. Dad turns away and starts speaking inaudibly to Mom. Ryan leans over to Michael.

RYAN

(Whispering)

We can’t play outside the car, anyway. The game restarts as soon as we get back in.

EXT. PARKING LOT – MIDDAY

Dad, Michael, and Ryan all stand in the parking lot, a few individuals and couples also exiting their cars. Mom stays in the car.

Dad gently helps the boys rebutton their cuffs, slips on their jackets, and ties their ties. They look identical except for a few inches, some bangs, and a few teeth.

When the boys are ready, Dad goes to Mom's window. He opens the door for her, and she steps out, not entirely steady, not looking at her children.

They begin to walk inside.

INT. FUNERAL HOME

Mom is at the front of the funeral home’s chapel, standing at the dark wooden podium on the little altar. To the right is a casket with the top half open, but no body is visible, and a large picture of a mid-twenties woman being hugged by a younger version of Mom.

MOM

Being Maggie’s older sister was the greatest blessing of my life. Is the greatest blessing. Because even though she is gone she is still my little sister. I will always be her big sister. And like sisters, we didn’t always have a perfect relationship. We used to have infamous screaming matches when we were teenagers…

Sound fades out on Mom to silence.

The boys and Dad walk down the faded maroon carpet of the chapel, past dark wooden pews filled to the brim. They walk up to the casket and see the body, Dad's hands on their shoulders. They look over the edge of the casket at the corpse - their faces are awestruck, saddened, and terrified.

INT. CAR – SUNSET

Silence.

Every member of the family is buckling themselves in. The boys’ outfits remain immaculate. Dad's tie is loosened. Mom silently cries.

The car slowly circles in the parking lot, making a big loop to the exit. As they pull out, they pass a large sign that says QUINN’S FUNERAL HOME. Neither boy says a word.

The family drives and drives down the road in silence, trees and unreadable signs flashing by.

FADE OUT

Spring 2023