Screenplays - Accolades

Blanche & The Alligator Man: 1016 Finalist for the Academy Nicholl Fellowship

The Color of Mourning: 2017 Finalist for The Writers Lab & 2018 Finalist for the Academy Nicholl Fellowship

No Gods No Masters: 2018 Finalist for the Academy Nicholl Fellowship

Essays

Moments of reflection in the stillness of the Coronavirus

For thirty years people have frequently asked us if we were sisters. I would answer, “Yes, and she’s the evil one.” then the two of us would howl as if we had never heard that one before. Friendship is a complex thing. Over the years we have loved each other, hated each other and been indifferent. We have supported each other and been downright cruel. But in all that time we were certain that each would forever be there for the other.

So, when the coronavirus struck New York City, we knew we would get through it together. We took off for my house on Shelter Island and began a quarantine that we assumed would last just two weeks. Little did we know, it had no end in sight.

We quickly established a structure to our seclusion. My friend took on the role of the wife, cooking an amazing meal that sat between lunch and dinner. I took on the role of the husband and took out the trash. After two weeks we complained about our own shortage of wardrobe options, after three weeks we complained about the others, after four weeks we threw away our bras.

One day we will be asked how we got through. How we dealt with our frustration for sick friends we couldn’t comfort, the rising death toll and the incompetence of our leaders. We will tell the curious we moved forward with love. 

Every morning, we told each other how grateful we were to be together. Every afternoon we stopped to watch the birds in the trees, the buds turning the gloom of winter into the hope of spring.  And every night we would bid each other sweet dreams.

. . . . . .

Let me help you! Please!

I have always been good in a crisis. I stay calm, I look for what needs to be done and I do it. I am the friend you want next to you after a car accident, a friend you hope will show up with the fire department if your house burns down. But now I was facing a new disaster, a crisis that asked me to stay home, to isolate for the greater good.

After three weeks of cleaning, laundry and long walks I was feeling useless. How could the world be at war as I sat at home? Why couldn’t I be on the front line? Why didn’t I go to medical school?

I started visiting friends who were unaccompanied, keeping a distance and wearing a mask I would stand outside shouting “I’m here for you”. This minute service felt so good that I strapped on my tool belt and set out to fix anything anyone needed fixing. I became obsessed with the notion that I could be of service, that I had some tiny skill that someone might not possess. Any little task became my purpose.

My need to be useful became more important than my friends need for assistance. If someone didn’t want my help, I felt slighted. I got angry, I wanted to scream. My purpose became my own self-made nightmare. Instead of feeling good, I felt terrible.

Finally, I took a deep breath, remembering what was going on around me. I forgave myself for acting insane and I backed down. I removed myself from the equation, the picture cleared, the anger subsided.  Within hours of my surrender the phone rang, “Hey, can you help me out?” “Yes” I said with delight.

. . . . . .

After four weeks of isolation, I was craving community. I knew I had friends on the island, each tucked away in their individual sanctuary. I yearned for camaraderie. How could we spend time together while staying apart? What event could remind us that we are still connected?

We needed a force invulnerable to a pandemic, a representation of power. A symbol that would scream out “I will not let a virus stop my trajectory.” Only a few days away, The Pink Supermoon was set to rise. Strong and powerful, guided by the heavens, shinning in all its unimpeded glory, it would be our prophecy.

We planned to meet at the beach and sit far apart, sharing the spectacle together. Everyone came and brought beach chairs, blankets and dogs. We smiled and waved at each other from afar. I could feel the pure excitement of being together. Our strength was in our numbers, our safety in the vast open space.

A layer of low clouds inched across the horizon, the sunset behind us illuminating the sky in a pink and gold neon hue. We held our breath when the supermoon rose above the bay, moving through the clouds, lighting up the night sky.  I thought of Paul Bowles’ eternal words “How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.”

For that moment our world did indeed seem limitless, free of germs and death and illness. I wondered what the future would hold. Would we always sit ten feet apart or would our blankets overlap across the tepid sandy beach? 

. . . . . .

After six weeks of isolation spent watching lies and ego filled rants on television, I was ready to give up on the entire human race. If our leaders were unable to be honest, could anyone be?

I reached out to friends, none of us had much to say. “What have you been up to?” I would ask “Not much” each friend would reply in a droll tone. All those petty things that used to fill our conversations were gone. It was time for new conversations, we started with shared history. We laughed, we cried, we remembered why we were friends.

It was also time to start listening, to really hear what my friends were saying. Not the words, but the subtext. This could be transcendent. People I had called friends were people I didn’t really know. I knew their linear stories but not the deep nuance that painted their tales in vivid color. It was at this point that old friends became new friends.

The weight of their hardships, success, love and loss were now my confidences to cherish and hold tight. My friends were opening and I in return was telling my truths. What I had feared as ugly secrets were not, they were the real me, an unperfected soul. My new old friends and I became closer. We became honest, together we allowed ourselves to be exposed.

What new freedom have we been given. To toss away the air of insecurity and stand naked seeing each other as flawed beings. What beauty I started to see in the clear light of the coronavirus day. 

. . . . . .

It was about eight weeks into the pandemic when my heart started to pound, and my breath became shallow. I didn’t have the virus. It was a deep anxiety that I had been suppressing.  Fear of the unknown, the future, the life I had known being eroded away by an uninvited guest.

I had a friend who had quarantined as long as I had, I went to his house. I didn’t have words for what I was feeling, it was still coming to the surface, and it was confusing. “Will you hold me?” I asked. He lifted his arm, and I slid next to him. There was no explanation needed, no discussion of my request. Just a strong, solid embrace. My body went limp. I was safe.

This simple act was a moment so pure it was almost spiritual. A tenderness that asked nothing in return, that had no need to question or rationalize or defend. A moment that whispered, “you are not alone” and my entire being responded in silence “I don’t know if this is true but it’s true right now. And right now, is all we have.”

That day I was given a gift. The comfort of two sturdy arms holding me tight, a bow formed by hands with a gift card that read “It’s going to be alright.” After that day, whenever I feel scared, I remember the power of those strong arms around me, and like the captain of a ship they steer me back on course, no matter how rough the turbulent sea.

. . . . . .

At eleven weeks one hundred thousand Americans had lost their lives to Covid-19. I knew to get through the emotional toll I had to become stronger, I had to do better. I turned away from the world outside and looked inward. It was time for self-discovery. “Who are you?” I asked myself “What are you like?”

I found that these were not simple questions as I was assaulted by a tornado of sentiment. The storm I had besought slammed around inside my skull, a concussion would surely follow.  I sat for a long time; this was not the enlightenment I was hoping for.

After a while my mind became still, and I could hear the faint swoosh of the breeze in the treetops. It was as seductive as a lover’s touch. I sat motionless allowing the sound to caress my body, imagining the ecstasy the treetops experienced with each breath of air. My breathing moved into a cadence with the wind, we were one.

Is this who I am? Is this who we all are? Not flesh and bones moving through an endless succession of events but something deeper. Something that is truly alive, an entity that can accept the perplexity of life.