Becoming Sarah: Chapter One

Sarah Friedman scowled as rain pitter pattered menacingly outside her bedroom window. It was the last day of summer vacation and this was just not the way she had envisioned spending her final hours of freedom before entering the eighth grade. Sarah pressed her forehead on the glass and peered out, brooding over the fact that she would have to spend the day inside. As she gazed out through upturned hazel eyes, the phone began to chime but Sarah was in no mood to pick it up. Mind you, it must have only been about ten feet away from where she was hunched over, in her ball of teenage self-pity. Assuming it was nobody important, Sarah rested her head on the window and let out an annoyed sigh.

“Sarah Adina Friedman, get your butt down here right now”, yelled Doctor Friedman, more frequently referred to by the members of her household as ‘Mommmmm’.

Sarah recognized that tone even though her mother usually kept it tucked away in a jar.

“Whaaaaaaat?” called Sarah, her voice cracking slightly, as she detached her head from the window and inspected the impression it had left as a souvenir.

She turned and walked slowly out of her lilac frosted room, stopping only to plug in her beloved iPhone, feed her guinea pig Daisy and kiss the picture of Channing Tatum that sat on a throne above her queen sized bed. Sarah forgot to turn off her bedroom light as she left, and this was a constant battle between mother and daughter that was more frequently lost than won. She told herself she would turn it off later, even though later usually meant an eternity to the boisterous thirteen year old. Sarah then slid down the railing of the staircase. She gracefully stuck her landing, and grinned as she performed a gymnast’s salute to imaginary judges. Sarah slouched into the kitchen, and picked up a crisp gala apple before coming face to face with the momster.

Adelaide Friedman was a plain woman living in a sophisticated world. The word ‘caregiver’ was tattooed in invisible ink, etched in the lines of her wrinkled brow. Doctor Friedman liked to tell those who asked, that she was a part time mother and a full time clinical psychologist. She took her responsibilities regarding her family and household very seriously, with the utmost care. As attentive as she was to her children and housework, there were often more pressing issues looming over her head and consuming her thoughts. Doctor Freidman seemed to spend more time analyzing those whose worlds intertwined with her own, rather than developing a relationship with them. She took pride in her work perhaps more so than she did her appearance. It’s not to say that Doctor Friedman wasn’t a beautiful woman; her personality glowed and radiated throughout the household. The smile she wore, gleamed merrily in the sunlight. Her upbeat personality and sparkly demeanor made even her most depressed patients residing at “A Brighter Tomorrow” look on the sunnier side of life, no matter how grim their individual realities might be. No, the truth of the matter was that Doctor Friedman recently celebrated her 39th birthday for the fifth, sixth or maybe even seventh time, and age was no longer as friendly to her features as it had been in the past. Whispers of grey hid amongst chestnut locks and facial concealer embraced blemishes on her once youthful complexion. The demon of growing old set shadows before her eyes, but she refused to let them wash over and debilitate her. Adelaide was young at heart, and tried her best to live vicariously through her children, making sure to support them in all aspects of life. Whether it was showing up an hour early to help set up at Sarah’s gymnastics competitions, or baking cookies for classmates’ birthdays, Doctor Friedman was definitely the “cool mom” of Sarah’s friend group. She was like Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother. Magical in her innate goodness and spreading a little sparkle wherever she went. Doctor Friedman had made it her life’s ambition help others in whichever way she could, even if it meant sacrificing her own sanity and happiness at times to do so.

Sarah washed her apple in the sink and rearranged some magnets and old photographs on the refrigerator, since she had nothing better to do. She looked over at her mother, whose head was cocked to one side, as she sandwiched the telephone nimbly between her ear and shoulder. Sarah took a bite of the apple, and the loud crunch it made as she bit into its crisp exterior signaled to her mother that she had arrived.

“Hold on for just a sec”, Mrs. Friedman said to whoever was on the other line, as she beckoned Sarah to a nearby chair. Sarah made herself comfortable and propped her feet on her family’s 75 year old oak wood kitchen table, which had been passed down from generation to generation. Sarah sat patiently, concentrating hard on the apple; its flesh and seeds were about as interesting as listening to her mother ramble on the telephone. Sarah picked at a particularly stubborn seed and as it dislodged from the exposed core, Mrs. Friedman gasped.

“Oh, how perfect! She’d love to. I’ll let her know right away. Thank you for letting me know dear, and I hope you have a lovely day”.

“What’s perfect? Who’d love to . . . waaaaait . . . tell who, what?” stammered Sarah even though she had a pretty good idea who her mother was referring to.

Mrs. Friedman placed the phone down, and peered over at Sarah, whose hazel orbs grew milky with boredom.

“That was Julie, the youth advisor from the synagogue reminding me to tell you that your first tutoring session for your bat mitzvah is this coming Friday”.

“Faaaantastic”, remarked Sarah as she rolled her eyes and bit her bottom lip. ”

“Oh, knock it off”, said Mrs. Friedman playfully as she ruffled Sarah’s long amber hair.

“But why do I have to start my lessons so soon mommm. My Bat Mitzvah isn’t until Spring Break and school hasn’t even started yet”.

Sarah buried her head in the nook of her arm, and let out another obnoxiously loud sigh.

“This isn’t a discussion, Sarah. Besides, I’ve already paid for weekly lessons leading up to the occasion, and you’re going to need all the practice you can get”.

“But . . . stammered Sarah”.

“All of my friends at Temple Shalom still have months before they have to worry about stupid old lessons. Why do I have to start now?”

“This isn’t a game of twenty questions, missy. You’re either going to smile and take these lessons, or there’s not going to be a Bat Mitzvah celebration at all. You decide”.

Sarah’s heart thumped wildly and her temples throbbed. It’s not that she didn’t want to become a Bat Mitzvah and finally be recognized as an adult in the Jewish Community. She just couldn’t comprehend why she was going to have to spend all day in school and then have these dumb Bat Mitzvah lessons to look forward to right afterwards. Sarah sat brooding for half an hour after hearing she would have to go to even more school than she was already dreading, come tomorrow. Mrs. Friedman walked towards her impatiently and raised her eyebrows, or what was left of them, after spending years and years at the beauty salon trying to thin them out.

“Well, what is it going to be?” Sarah puffed out her cheeks and swallowed. “I’ll do the stupid lessons”, she said even though the words scampered off as they fled from her mouth.

“That’s my Sarah Bear. You’ll learn so much and will appreciate the lessons once you successfully read from the Torah or Old Testament”.

Sarah smiled feebly, and knew that even though she was giving her mother grief now, that these lessons would all be worth it in the long run.

Or so she hoped.