Every Parent's Dream
(An elementary school office. The CAREER COUNSELOR sits at her desk, across from MOTHER, FATHER, and JACOB. Jacob sits silently as Mother and Father talk.)

MOTHER: He's just so quiet all the time. He doesn't seem interested in anything.

FATHER: Oh, it'll pass. He's in the third grade, Maureen, give the kid a break. (To Counselor) We can't expect him to make any career choices yet, can we?

COUNSELOR: Actually, recent advancements in aptitude dynamics and skill assessment can tell us a child's ideal occupation with a 98 percent accuracy rate.

FATHER: Seriously? How does that work?

COUNSELOR: Mr. Corman, what do you do for a living?

FATHER: I'm a--

COUNSELOR:--Wait, don't tell me. (takes out a flash card) What does this remind you of?

FATHER: Paris.

COUNSELOR: How many times has the phrase, "How do you want your eggs" been used in a major motion picture?

FATHER: I don't know, seventeen?

COUNSELOR (scribbling down quick calculations): You are a tax attorney with a suppressed interest in dentistry.

MOTHER (gasps): How did you know that?

FATHER: Is this some sort of voodoo?

COUNSELOR: No, not voodoo. Science. Social science.

(We hear a buzzing sound. Jacob turns his head slightly, then reaches up quickly and grabs a fly out of midair. The buzzing stops.)

MOTHER: Then what about Jacob? What did your tests say about him?

COUNSELOR: Well, let me say that Jacob here is an exceptional little guy. I haven't seen talent like his in years.

FATHER: So? What's the kid gonna be? A lawyer? A race car driver? (To Jacob) Whaddya think, champ?

(Jacob looks at his father with a cold, exacting stare. Eats a cookie.)

MOTHER (to Jacob): Honey, where did you get that cookie?

COUNSELOR: According to our exhaustive correlation exams, psychiatric assessment, and tactile manipulation testing, Jacob has a 98 percent aptitude for becoming an assassin.

MOTHER: A what?

COUNSELOR: A trained assassin, a master of the deadly arts.

FATHER: Like a ninja?

COUNSELOR: Now let's not get fanciful, Mr. Corman.

MOTHER: What does this mean?

COUNSELOR: For now, it means to keep Jacob focused on his studies, especially math and science. And in a few moments, we'll be sending him to an undisclosed location for operative training.

MOTHER: You're taking our baby away from us?

COUNSELOR: Only for ten years or so. After that he'll be classified and stripped of any identity.

FATHER: You can't do this. Don't we have a say in our son's future?

(Two GOVERNMENT OPERATIVES enter and stand on each side of Jacob.)

COUNSELOR: I'm afraid it's fate. You should be proud of your son. You've raised him well, and he's going to serve some country proudly.

FATHER: Some country?

COUNSELOR: Probably Cuba or Sweden. We can't disclose that.

FATHER: You can't do this. This is a violation of our rights! (grabbing Jacob) Get the hell away from them, son. You're not going anywhere.

COUNSELOR: Now don't get Jacob upset, Mr. Corman. You don't want him to go and assassinate you, do you?

(Counselor and Operatives break out laughing, then quickly snap back into sober business.)

MOTHER (lunging for Jacob, holding him close): Jacob, sweetheart, are you listening to this? They're going to take you away from Mommy and Daddy. You don't want that, do you?

(Jacob shrugs. Sips from a juice box.)

MOTHER: Where did you get that juice box? (in a mild panic, to Counselor) Where did he get this juice box?

COUNSELOR (shaking her head): See what I mean? His talents are beyond our comprehension.

(Operatives move forward in unison, each placing a hand on Jacob's shoulders.)

COUNSELOR: It's time.

(Mother weeps, Father consoles.)

COUNSELOR: Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Corman, it is time to let go. You've had Jacob to nurture and guide for eight years now, and it is time for your son move on. To the wide open fields, the bell towers, the ruthless cabals and simmering jungles. Those places we all have to face at some point in our lives. Stand proud. You've realized every parent's dream, to turn your only son into a faceless killing machine. For that, we all pitched in and got you this cake.

(Counselor takes out a cake from under her desk, hands it to Mother. Mother and Father eat the cake with their bare hands, stuffing their weeping faces.)

(The Operatives ceremoniously lead Jacob out. Not looking back, Jacob finishes his juice box, sucking on the straw until it makes that final, empty slurping sound. They exit.)

(Fade out.)



© Jeremy Richards 2002