Page 15 of Penalty Shot

“I’m the starting goalie on Thursday,” I announce. “Wanna watch some hockey? I’ll leave you and your friends tickets at the will call. Text me how many you’ll need.”

“I’ve never been to a hockey match.”

“Game, baby,” I snicker. “It’s a hockey game.” I rake my hand over my hair and cringe at the sweat. I hadn’t even bothered removing my jacket.

“No pressure if you’re busy. Have a great class.”

She smiles. “Yes, sir.”

Dear Elise Chen,

On behalf of Imagination Ohio, I am thrilled to inform you that your playBlood Will Have Bloodhas been selected to be a part of our summer programming for the upcoming season. Congratulations!

After careful consideration and review, our selection committee found your play to be not only compelling and engaging but also a perfect fit for our theater’s vision and themes for the season. We believe that your work will captivate our audiences and bring a unique perspective to our stage.

We are excited to collaborate with you on bringing your vision to life. Our team will be in touch soon to arrange a meeting next week to determine the production timeline, rehearsal schedule, and any other details related to the staging of your original play. We are honored to haveBlood Will Have Bloodas part of our lineup and cannot wait to share it with our theater community.

Warm regards,

Antonio Chaudhuri

Artistic Director

Imagination Ohio

Cleveland, Ohio

It takes me more than five reads to register that this is reallyhappening. My play. On stage. For real. This summer. Oh my god, this is the chance of a lifetime. I’m a playwright. An honest-to-god fucking playwright. Whose work will be staged. For real. This summer. Oh. My. God.

I love everything about being a theater junkie: the comradery and the thrill, the creativity and the work, the shine and the grind. Even the shitty parts of production, like technical challenges when you’re under a shit budget or having to work through hell when you’re sick because, as clichés would have it, the show must go on—I love all of it. Being part of a production is its own immersive world, its own twisted logic, its own manic obsession shared with a community of people as crazy as you are. What’s not to love?

Enter imposter syndrome, stage left.

Maybe no one else submitted a play to be considered? Or the company felt obligated because I’ve worked for them in the past? Or perhaps this was a typo? An embarrassing mistake that I should point out right now.

Stop!Negative bullshit only ever made things worse. It doesn’t matter how or why my play was chosen. Only that it was. I’ve got an email to prove it.

“Is everything OK?” my mother answers. I’m a texter so a phone call worries her. But I had to say the news out loud to make it feel real.

“Yes! I got it! The play was chosen for this summer!” I blurt it all out quickly, not having to explain how or why I’m thrilled. She knows what this means to me.

“I knew it!” she squeals. “Elise’s play was chosen! Sienna! The play! Elise’s play is going to be performed this summer!”

I hear Sienna’s woohoo and a few other people’s praises. This is a supportive Moran Bank branch my mother runs. She’s always bragging about my shows, even if her coworkers and friends wonder why I’m never on the actual stage.

“When did you find out? Just now?”

“I got an email,” I confirm. “Ma, what if…what if it was sent by mistake? I mean, that’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Elise Sophia Chen, it was not sent by mistake! You have evidence in your email, and you doubt yourself? This is not acceptable. Repeat after me:My talent is a gift I unwrap for the world.”

“Ma, I’m not ten years old.”

“I will stay on this call until you say it,” she insists.

I mumble the words she always makes me say when I’m nervous about something important to me. It isn’t the corny message that affects me. I barely make out the words because I’ve said them so often.

Like a short prayer or a trusted mantra, the ritualistic cadence of the sentence is the point. The repetition of it. The moment the words leave my lips, I feel bolstered and calm.