Dexter Morgenstern: The Slender Man

I can’t say I’m a spiritual person, but I definitely enjoy the Sabbath. My family is Jewish, and every weekend we get together with the Hawthorns to celebrate. We used to go to a synagogue, but ever since we moved here to Murphy, North Carolina, we’ve been celebrating the Sabbath the traditional way, at home. The closest synagogue here is two hours away and not good enough to be worth the trip, so every week we alternate houses with the Hawthorns, our best friends, to celebrate. To tell the truth, they are our only true friends out here. Shana, their oldest daughter is like my sister. Every Sabbath we take turns sleeping over at each other’s house.

I met her on my first day at school here when we moved, and was so happy that I wasn’t the only Jewish person there, because honestly this town is so under-populated for its size that I’ve met at least half of the people here. Shana has an olive complexion; a button nose that she complains is too big, long thick black hair, and beautiful brown eyes. She’s almost exactly my size and even our birthdays are in the same month, May. Ever since we found that out we always celebrate our birthdays together and even ask for the same presents. When we turned fourteen, we both got our own guitars. When we turned fifteen, we both got Labret lip rings. We’re not sure what we want this year. We will both be turning sixteen so we want it to be something special, but a car would be too much to ask of our parents.

It took us forever to learn how to play our guitars well and even now she’s still having trouble plucking. I’m a natural at it. We found that she is a much better singer though so mostly I play the more difficult notes on my acoustic guitar, and she plays single chords while focusing on singing. It works out well, but both of us are terrible at writing lyrics and guitar tabs so often we just practice our favorite songs.

Right now we are singing the prayer Adon Olam. We always play it, because it is my seven-year-old brother Adam’s favorite hymn- well, actually his favorite song in the whole world. I’ll admit that we’re a little unorthodox with the way we conduct our Sabbath. Normally a song like Adon Olam would be played at the end of a Rabbi’s sermon just before the food, but we don’t follow that anymore. Instead we play a whole bunch of songs for our family’s entertainment, and then we eat. Her sister Denise likes the song “Complicated” by Avril Lavigne, so we will do that next.

As we play I look around the room at our audience. They’re all sitting at the dining room table, eyes on us. My family, the Redwoods, is sitting to our left. Adam looks very happy and is mouthing the words while we sing. Next to him sits my mother Sarah. She has shoulder length brown hair that’s starting to gray (after all, she’s turning forty-five soon), and hazel eyes that look just like mine except… older. Mom doesn’t seem too impressed by our sometimes off-key playing. Sometimes Shana’s guitar chords and mine don’t mix well, or sometimes we’ll sing on two very different notes making it sound weird, but she still looks happy that we’re playing. Next to her sits my dad and he looks just as happy as ever. You can almost see tears of joy in his eyes through his almost rimless glasses. He is balding on the top of his head but is still very proud of the thick bushes around it. So proud in fact that he dyes it black to make himself look younger (although he isn’t pulling it off), and just covers his bald spot with his dark blue yarmulke. I modify my hair too though. I’m a natural brunette like my mom, but I think blonde looks better on me, so I bleach mine. Most people are shocked when they find out it’s not naturally blonde. Next to him is my grandmother Hannah, but I call her Bubbe. My grandmother is very old and always seems melancholy, but whenever someone speaks to her she always smiles and appears to be enjoying herself. I don’t know, maybe it’s just her ashen hair and many wrinkles that make her appear so grim. Despite being in her eighties, she’s not senile at all, but I think that has to do with the fact that she has lived with us instead of being thrown into a nursing home.

On the other side of the dining table sits Shana’s family, the Hawthorns. Her father Matt Hawthorn is fully bald but that doesn’t stop him from having a good time. He’s a joyous man that’s putting on some weight, but doesn’t even seem to care. By contrast, his wife Barbara is very slim. She has short black hair and very few wrinkles on her face. Most people don’t believe she’s over forty. Shana’s sister seems to be taking up her father’s eating habits as she is a little too big for a seven year old, but her curly brown pigtails fashioned by her sister make the mix look cute.

We finish the prayer and our families applaud us. Shana and I take each other’s hand and give a low bow as a single unit before playing our next and last song for Denise. I let Shana sing this one alone while I play guitar. We found that only one guitar is necessary and well, I’m not so good at singing this one either. We play it a little differently than the original version. Shana starts with the first verse and when she finishes I come in slowly with the guitar.

After that song we have a little more applause but then we set our guitars down and join our families at the table.

Our moms get up and run into the kitchen to fetch the challah bread and the meal.

“Alyssa?” asks Mr. Hawthorn.

“Yes?” I answered.

“Your brother is going on the camping trip to the lake tomorrow right?” he asks.

“Yes, he is,” I say, ruffling Adam’s hair. He hunches forward. Adam hates when I touch his hair, but it’s a habit I picked up when he was a baby and still haven’t dropped. “Do you two mind if Denise stays over tonight, too? So she can just be dropped off with Adam? I’d appreciate getting to sleep in for the weekend, and she’s got everything she needs in her backpack in the car,” he asks. I look at my Dad and he just shrugs.

“Fine with me,” he says.

I look back at Mr. Hawthorn and smile. “Sounds like fun. She’ll get to play with Adam,” I answer. He nods his appreciation.

At that, our mothers reentered the room carrying trays. Mrs. Hawthorn sets hers down first and quickly heads back to the kitchen. My Mom sets her tray down and we sing the Motzi before she removes the cloth to reveal two warm loaves of challah-braided bread. While doing this, Mrs. Hawthorn returns with one final tray with nine shot glasses. Seven are full of red wine and two are separated from the rest full of grape juice for Adam and Denise. It’s a Jewish custom to enjoy wine at the Sabbath but all our parents agree that children can only have it when they turn thirteen, so the two younger ones have a ways to go. As Mrs. Hawthorn distributes the glasses, she waves one hand to cue the blessing over fruit and the Sabbath.

“Baruch atah Adonai…” I start.

“Elohaynu melech ha’olam,” Shana joins followed by the rest of them, until we all finish the prayer with a loud

“L’chayim!” which is toast that means “To Life!”

After we eat the breaded chicken, baked potatoes, and green beans, Barbara and Matt Hawthorn say their goodbyes and then take their leave. Shana and I begin to rush up stairs but my mom stops us.

“Nope, not yet. You need to get these dishes done first,” she said. I sigh, but that’s the way we do things. Mom cooks, Dad cleans the counters and table, I do the dishes, and Adam stays out of the way. It would be more of a chore to wash dishes on the Sabbath because our meals were always special and since there are more people, there are more dishes, but Shana always helps and the job goes by more than twice as fast.