The Wolves: A Play

“Why would you watch a documentary?”

Here, the group discusses religion (and religious extremes), and #11 mentions a documentary she watched about religious people handling poisonous snakes. #25’s response reflects a common teenage attitude about learning, which is that learning is boring. Like most young people in America, learning is entrusted to the school system, which is flawed, as revealed by the various gaps in their education when they talk about major historical events.

“We don’t do genocide until senior year.”

#7’s comment is wry, but it suggests an enormous piece of educational neglect with the omission of any unpleasant histories. One school year out of 12 is likely insufficient for covering the many genocides in history, even with the acceptance that not all significant events can fit into the curriculum. Given the play’s theme of coming of age, #7’s school seems to have placed that milestone transition between junior and senior year.

“Okay but imagine if you did something horrible today but you didn’t think it was horrible. […] Let me finish. It was horrible. It was an atrocity, right? […] But YOU didn’t think it was an atrocity. You thought you were like saving your country like destroying the enemy to save your own people. […] But like what if after you did that, you just like lived your life, like went to college and got a job and had kids. […] And then when you were 90 and like on the verge of death with like uh emphysema, that’s when an INTERPOL guy knocks on your door and is like, we found you, we know what you did, and guess what? You’re going to prison For Life.”

#11 is describing the philosophical conundrum of evil, in which someone who commits atrocities is made to believe they are doing the right thing. It’s a type of self-perpetuating groupthink that can make killing innocent people seem like a necessary unpleasantry for the sake of patriotism and country. However, this doesn’t negate the crimes committed, and it’s a poor defense for the leaders who carried out a horrific atrocity.

“#13. Btdubs, I think we’ve synced. […] I mean we’ve like…our bodies bleed together. […]

#11. That happened to me and my sister. Our bathroom is ugh. It’s like a mass grave in that trash can.”

Synced periods become a symbol of team unity, even if some of the other girls find it distasteful. The irony in this exchange lies in #11’s statement. The team has been discussing the Cambodian genocide, which brought about the digging of around 23,745 mass graves that were the burial sites for an estimated 1.3 million victims. The girls often make unconsciously ironic statements like this, demonstrating they are privileged and have led sheltered lives.

“Just cause Nuon Chea’s weak doesn’t mean he shouldn’t pay. (#46 doesn’t know how to respond to this) The Cambodian? He deserves it. Even if he’s weak, he deserves it.”

Until the last scene, #00 almost never speaks. At the end of the first scene, alone with #46, she is the first to actually name the war criminal who has been the subject of conversation. Names are significant in the play because they are a way to label and therefore sum up a person. #00 is recognizing him as a person. Her certainty about what the Cambodian deserves demonstrates a stark sense of justice and direct thinking. She isn’t interested in debating other perspectives.

“#11. It means we’re like, we’re America, you know?

#13. Right totally, like, we’re not High America. We’re not Low America. We’re just like America America.”

In a conversation about the phrase Middle America vs. Central America, the girls display their US-centric perspective and ingrained American exceptionalism. Every country from the most southern tip of Chile to the most northern edge of Canada is in an America. But the United States claims the title of “America America.” These girls are repeating the lessons they’ve been taught their whole lives.

“I love that. I like love that we live in The Shire of America.”

This is an example of #8’s purposeful determination to stay innocent and young. She applies a fantasy lens to the country, imagining the warmth of the hobbits’ homes in the Lord of the Rings series rather a country with deep issues. These include the incarceration of immigrant children at the border, which they discuss in this scene. She also swoons over her fictional love, Samwise Gamgey, who is completely safe because he doesn’t exist.

“#2. I just really hope someone’s reading to them. Five to six is a really important age, especially for ESL.

#8. I love reading to Patrick. It’s sooo fun. I get to do all the voices like, ‘here comes grumpy Mr. Platypus.’

#2. In my youth ministry, we tutor first graders at Jessie Beck. They’re all ESL Kids.”

This exchange causes #7 to respond angrily about how out of touch #2 and #8 are. They can only visualize the children at the border through the lens of the children in their lives who they know. But they don’t get, or perhaps refuse to get, that these children are in dire circumstances. They are alone, separated from their parents, and living in poor conditions. In the hierarchy of human need, having someone who reads to children and does all of the voices is far from the top.

“#46. I think there’s a bird in the air dome. […]

#13. Dude, I do not want to be in here if there’s a hole in the air dome. […] Have you like SEEN a balloon pop before?

#46. I think it’s a tufted titmouse…you can tell by the rusty flanks.”

#13’s paranoia is almost certainly absurd, as a large structure built to act as a temporary roof wouldn’t be created with the potential to pop like a balloon. The bird is a piece of the outside world, which #46 views calmly and with obscure knowledge, as #46 has seen much of the world. #13, however, is as sheltered as the other girls. Having their shelter seemingly breached by a bird that shouldn’t be there is scary to #13, like a harbinger of what is to come, when their metaphorical bubble will be popped.

“#2. I guess what I mean is I’m…I’m sorry I said you lived in a yogurt.

#46. Right.

#2. I think it’s neat…a yurt sounds pretty neat. (#46 stares at her for a sec and jogs off)”

#46 doesn’t seem to know what to do with #2’s feeble attempt at an apology, seeing as she is only sorry she got caught. The unspoken rule that #46 is not allowed to gossip about the other girls has been firmly enforced, but they are still allowed to gossip about her. Considering #2 thought she lived in a “yogurt,” it’s doubtful she knows what a yurt is and whether it would be nice to live in it. #46 wants to belong, but she shows repeatedly she won’t sacrifice her dignity for it.

“They’re just a bunch of dumb virgins. […] Or like secret lesbians.”

#7 is trying to insult the other team, but she is inadvertently insulting her own teammates and their individual paths of coming of age into womanhood. Only #7 talks about being sexually active or having partners, and it’s entirely possible all of them are virgins. The play also hints #25 might be a “secret lesbian” and exploring that with her new friend Louise. #7 is making a value judgement in which a woman’s worth is measured by attention from and sex with men, which is misogynistic.

“#8. Yeah, I don’t know. He like made fun of my calf muscles and tried to stick his hand down my shirt.

#7. Cool.

#8. Um, not really.”

Whether or not she recognizes it as such, #8 is talking about sexual assault. Sexual assault and harassment are ubiquitous for most high school girls, and many girls have come to accept it as normal, especially when it is “just” unwanted touching and doesn’t progress to rape. #7 calls it “cool,” because she thinks attention from men is a compliment rather than something that sometimes needs to be fought off.

“#8. Wait you mean like Coach Neil? Like Neil Neil?

#14. The creep who asked us to scrimmage in our sports bras?”

What #14 is describing is sexual harassment that should have immediately ended his coaching career. But whether these girls are so used to being harassed that they didn’t tell anyone, or whether they told adults who failed to protect them, they are stuck with a predator who doesn’t even coach them. This again speaks to the dangerous situations high school girls live in.

“#7. We’re paying out the ass for a coach.

#11. Our parents are paying out the ass for a coach.

#7. Still a fucking rip-off. Tony would never do this to boy’s U-17 indoor.”

The girls’ team is undefeated at this point in the play. They are excellent players. But their coach is inept, and he’s being paid to not coach them. As is frequently the case, girls’ sports teams are underfunded and treated as less than the boys’ teams.

“If he’s America’s best, America is sorely fucked.”

#7 is challenging the American exceptionalism that has been evident in earlier conversations. Their coach was in the National Guard and was deployed to Afghanistan. He has the implicit stamp of approval by the US government, and he is likely afforded the reverence and respect often given to veterans.

“#25. Well, thanks for coming out today.

#7. Got nothing else to do with my fucking Saturdays.”

Now that #7 can’t play, it’s becoming evident how central soccer is to her life and how devastating it is to lose that. All of the girls push themselves hard, often to the point of injury. This demonstrates how much they deserve to be treated and funded better.

“Whatever. Pain is a state of mind, you know.”

#7 likes to put on a tough face, but obviously her statement isn’t true, since she can’t play on her knee. She’s denying the emotional pain of watching her team play without her and seeing #46 take her place and play well. The quote is indicative of #7’s rebellious character.

“My mom travels a lot for her job, so we move uh pretty much constantly. And everyone plays football, um soccer, like everywhere. Like Jakarta, Krakow, La Paz, uh Kampala. Even if you don’t speak the language. So it’s uh, it’s uh a good way to uh make (self-conscious) friends.”

#46 is exposing a vulnerability by admitting soccer is a way to make friends. She’s never had the stability these girls take for granted; they’ve been friends since early childhood. Ironically, joining a team for the first time makes her more isolated than ever.

“You know what? Fuck you guys. Fuck this. What I do with my body is my own fucking choice. I don’t need this.”

#7 is confronted with the realization that the entire team thinks she had an abortion, when she really only took Plan B, which was supposed to be private. Her statement is true, but it is also ironic. The rift between #7 and #14 occurs because #14 didn’t want to do sexual things with a boy she didn’t know.

“I got the cold that was going around.”

#46 is the last team member to catch #14’s cold. In a sense, it’s an initiation rite. But it’s also a tiny bit of #14 that is still alive, even if it’s not something anyone enjoys or appreciates.

“My dad keeps wanting to talk about it. Like even in the car over here, he was like trying to talk about it. But I’m like not interested. I don’t want to—I don’t want to talk about it. […] I’ve talked about it. […] It’s like all I’m talking about. (pause) Especially when it’s like I’m driving and he’s like trying to pump the brake in the passenger seat. It just feels like, I don’t know, like…disrespectful.”

#11 is describing the strangeness of grief and not wanting to be vulnerable with her dad. Driving feels disrespectful because #14 was hit by a car. It doesn’t make sense, but neither does grief to her.

“#8. I keep looking at that picture with the orange slices.

#11. I can’t. It freaks me out too much.

#8. I can’t stop checking it.”

#11 sees reminders of #14 as mines in a minefield that must be avoided. She can’t look at the photo. Not only can #8 not stop looking at it, she also keeps “checking it.” This raises the question as to what she is checking for, as if she expects that one time that she looks at it, something will have changed.

“Oh, it’s been yeah sorta sorta lonely…Just sitting in my yurt uh I uh missed you guys.”

#46 allows herself to be vulnerable and admit she’s been lonely, a feeling that no doubt has long pre-dated their missed game. Throughout the play, the girls talk about so many private things, almost like siblings. But they are sharing their emotional reactions, which is scarier and more intimate.