Rights of Passing

A young man named Peter arrives at a suburban home where he is greeted by loud and drunk adults. The next morning, Peter cleans up the mess left from the previous night's party. Peter and his siblings, Elaine and Matt, take care of their sick mother, Carol. Eventually, Carol passes away and Elaine and Matt have a conversation about being orphans. They inform their children of their mother's passing and discuss how to share the news with the rest of the world. Hi, my name is Aiden Chanin, and you're listening to my original screenplay, Rites of Passing. Exterior, Nolan home, Phoenix, evening. A young man rings the doorbell of a well-manicured suburban home, a picturesque cookie-cutter neighborhood behind him. He holds a plastic CVS bag and rocks back and forth on his feet. The door opens, and a loud, obnoxious voice is heard through the doorway. A man's hand reaches for the bag. We follow the hand inside the home that looks like an HGTV magazine spread got hijacked by a bull. The voices get louder as he walks down the hall. Entering the living room, the man, Peter, goes left to empty the bag on the island. On the right, three very loud, very drunk adults are sitting and talking wildly. Elaine, Matt, and Julie. Peter is a tall, thin, brunette man with frameless glasses, frequently wearing a button-down, dress pants, and cowboy boots. Matt, short for Matthew, is a heavyset Italian-American man. Could be an extra on the Sopranos. Julie is a tall, tan, wiry woman with dark brown hair and eyes. Elaine is a short, brunette woman who radiates the kind of energy Mrs. Weasley type. Except in this scene, she's slurring her words a bit. The man now holds a large handle of Tito's and two equally large bottles of white wine. There's a bottle of Tito's in the freezer out back. Matt gestures to the coffee table strewn with empty bottles, glasses, and old photographs. Not anymore. Peter sighs. Cut to. Credits appear on screen as Peter picks up from the night before. With a trash bag in hand, he picks up the empty bottles on the table and puts them in. He turns to see Elaine on the couch and is quiet so as not to wake her. He carries the bag outside and places it in a recycling bin. Re-entering the house, he loads the dishwasher and throws away plates of food from the night before. He wipes down the surfaces of the house and the house is restored to its magazine-spread glory. Title card. Rights of Passing displayed as Peter finishes up. Cut to. Exterior of the Nolan home. Phoenix. Morning. Peter leaves with bagels and coffee in hand to find Matt, Elaine, and Julie talking on the back patio. Elaine, I love your backyard. I still think it looks like the Sherman show. Elaine rolls her eyes. It might as well be. Everything's fake because nothing survives out here. Peter, Elaine, and Matt pause and look at their surroundings. There are mugs in front of their mouths. Camera switches images quickly. The blue sky with perfect lush clouds. Overhead shot of the neighborhood. The plants. The trio on the patio from an onlooker's perspective. And shutters. Now that I feel like Big Brother's watching me, I'm going to go back inside. There's bagels on the counter. I'm going for a shower. The siblings follow Peter inside and start cutting bagels as he goes upstairs. Thank you. I don't think I said enough. You don't. But I know it's there anyway. What's it for this time? For helping me take care of her this week. I had to put that nursing degree to use somewhere. I'm glad you finally went back to using yours. Cut to. Flashback. Carol, an older, 70s-ish woman with brunette hair. Even lying sick, there's a kind, warm energy to her. She passed it down to her daughter, Elaine. Scenes of Elaine bringing the hospice workers to Carol's room as Matt arrives from the airport. There are hugs as bags are put down and medical equipment is brought in. Elaine sits at her desk working. Emails, phone calls, other than the click-clack on the keyboard. There's no sound. The house is eerily quiet. Elaine's phone rings at odd times. Carol's friends all calling to check in. She's stable for now. I'll let you know if anything changes. Cut's between Elaine having the same conversation multiple times. It starts to wear on her. She looks frayed. Elaine's hands make tea and place it on Carol's side table. Now, at nighttime, her hands remove the tea. It's untouched. Matt and Elaine administer medicine and share comfort, and they go to change her for the night. They stop standing in front of the prop door. She hates when people touch her. She's going to hate this. Well, she can't really yell at us right now, so we should be fine. Elaine looks at Matt like, what is wrong with you? What? She can't. Elaine rolls her eyes, and they enter the room. The lights flicker on, and they get to work. Matt rolls Carol closer to Elaine's side of the bed. Elaine lays across Carol for... lays Carol on her back to bring her closer. She lays Carol back down. Jesus Christ, Elaine. Elaine hears, finishes her task, stands with her hands on her hips, and sighs, looking at the ceiling, fighting tears. Cut to interior of Carol's room, mid-morning. Elaine's speaking to someone on the phone in another room. She gets louder as the conversation continues. She enters the room and looks at Matt, who is waiting in a chair in the corner. Yes, let me call you back on FaceTime so you can see her. Elaine looks at Matt and mouths, Stephen. Matt's eyes go wide. Here we go. Cousin Stephen is fine. He's a family member who's never actually done anything wrong, but can't read a room to save their life. Carol! Carol! Steve, she can see and hear you, but she's not too conversational right now. Oh, sure. Hey, this reminds me of when your parents dropped her at my place years ago. We were kids. I mean, it must have been... 53? No, it was 54, I think? Elaine stares at the wall as Cousin Stephen continues rambling. Anyways, she gets dropped off, and her younger ones, you know, all four of them. And she was sick as a dog. I was so upset, I'll tell you. I wanted to play, and she was the closest thing to my age, and with those siblings of my own, I loved spending time with her. But she was so sick. She got better with time, though. Matt coughs to break up the speech and looks pointedly at Elaine. Elaine looks down at the phone and steals herself. Hey, Stephen, she's looking a little tired, so I'm going to let you go and let her get some sleep. Yeah, yes, of course. Well, hey, make sure your Rose and Leo are doing well, and send Peter my love. Matt, it's been good to see you, and Carol, my dear. Rest up and get well soon. Elaine fumbles to hang up the call, flabbergasted at Stephen's last comment. She locks eyes with Matt across the room. He's deadpan, and she raises her eyebrows and mouths, Get well soon? Really? She makes a face as she checks over Carol's vitals. Part 2 sped up clips of Elaine and Matt coming in and out of the room, checking vitals, the clock goes around and around. The machine flatlines. It was only a matter of time. Elaine makes a call to hospice to collect the equipment as Matt turns off the machine. She hangs up the phone with hospice. I can't believe we're orphans. What are we going to do? Matt looks at her like she has five heads. Are you serious? Oh, yeah, I... We're not orphans. You're making it sound like we're 12-year-old street urchins or something. We're in our 50s. Get a grip. An orphan, by definition, is literally a person whose parents have died. We're in that category, Matt. We're only in that category because of a technicality. If you have adult children, you're too old to be an orphan. There's a beat, if he thinks for a moment. I mean, I could... I could be an orphan. My oldest kid is only 16. Oh, shit. My kids. I have to call them. Oh, my God. We have to tell everyone. Elaine calms herself, then fits in the chair. Her mother next to her in the bed. She reaches for her hand. It's freaking me out that she's still in here. I mean, you could just leave the room to call your kids. You're not locking eyes with our mother's corpse. He shrugs while texting his wife, Julie. Just an idea. Elaine waits for Peter to come home from work. She goes back to work while waiting for hospice to come back to the house. Cut to Elaine and Peter stand side by side. FaceTime calling tone rings out through the room. Rose picks up first. Hey, I'm glad you called. Matty actually had a random question to ask you, but tell me what's up with you first. Hi. We're just waiting on Leo, and I'll fill you in. Confusion flickers in Rose's eyes. She opens her mouth to ask a question, but Leo joins the call. Hey, I don't have a lot of time. I'm in the middle of a paper. What's up? Also, Dad, did you see the D-backs play last night? I think we're going all the way to the series. Yeah, it was a great game. They're going to kick the Phillies' ass tomorrow night. Who's going to tell Aunt Anna? There's a beat as the conversation unloads. I mean, we only group FaceTime for Hanukkah candles and major announcements, so... Elaine nods as Rose starts to tear up. Leo says nothing. He's in a bit of shock. She passed around ten this morning. That's so lame. I was doing the laundry when she died. Was she peaceful? Elaine nods, unable to speak yet. So, you're an orphan now? Elaine looks up at Matt. I fucking told you. Your kids only said that because you raised them to be as worried as you. Rose cuts them off before they get too far down the rabbit hole. Mom, are you okay? I've got good support. I will be. I love you guys. I have to keep going with my paper. Didn't you book an extension just because my grandma died? I mean, yeah. Most likely. Leo hangs up the phone. Do you want me to come home? I feel like I should come home. No, no. We're not having a funeral, so you won't miss anything. She didn't want one. Okay, well, call me if you need me. I made it, Mom. I made it. I'm here. Elaine nods and hangs up the phone. She rolls her shoulders back, releasing the stress. Well, that's two people. Now we have to tell the rest of the world. Do you think it's off-color just to send a Facebook post out? Or like an e-bite? Like, surprise, Mom's dead. I'm not even going to answer that. She thinks for a moment. It would be faster, though. Anna would be pissed, though. Anna's eyes go wide as she smacks a hand to her forehead. You forgot about Anna, didn't you? I'll give $100 if you make that call. I'll give you $200. Elaine sighs in resignation, then looks at Matt. You and I both know there's only one way to settle this. Are you sure you want to do that? We haven't played since 2012. It got so violent last time. Elaine nods solemnly. Matt shrugs and comes to stand in front of her. Both of them raise their right fist. Peter stands between them, hands raised in the shape of a zero. Let's keep this clean and fair. At the end of the day, it's just a phone call. There's a beep. Peter inhales deeply. You play by my rules, all right? Make your move after I say shoot. Best two of three, okay? The siblings nod, eyes locked. Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!