INT. BATHROOM – NIGHT
FAITH, our despairing, noble heroine, sits on the toilet, squinting her eyes, trying to pee sub-humanly silently.
Only when the faucet is streaming water can she let herself pee at full throttle. Her face relaxes.
She whips out her phone and opens a video of girls using a “What is the first letter of your soulmate’s name” filter, then flips her camera around and uses it herself.
The letter it lands on is, E. She gasps.
MUSIC IN: Le Temps de L’Amour by Francoise Hardy
INT. FAITH’S BEDROOM – NIGHT
A sunset lamp spews light onto caramel colored bedsheets. The walls reverberate contained giddiness.
EVATT, short, scruffy, crooked smile, sits on her desk chair, drawing on a piece of paper. Faith tries to peek, Evatt coyly shields. He hands her the drawing:
It’s a duck with big boobs.
FAITH
What am I looking at?
EVATT
A commentary on society’s
animalization of fertility.
FAITH
It’s a duck with tits.
Evatt feigns confusion.
FAITH (CONT’D)
You’re full of shit.
Evatt sits next to her while she deconstructs it. He smiles like he’s already touching her, her eyes stay glued down.
He kisses her cheek, then her neck. She unravels into him. CUT TO:
INT. CAR – DAY
Faith drives. SOPHIE (22), derisively inexpressive, occupies the passenger seat.
TWO WEEKS LATER
SOPHIE
But he did text you.
FAITH
It doesn’t count
SOPHIE (CONT’D)
You always do this, you meet a guy, find a way to self sabotage.
SOPHIE (CONT’D)
I don’t get why you’re all upset.
FAITH (CONT’D)
It’s not me this time, I swear/
FAITH (CONT’D)
He might as well have deleted my number.
SOPHIE
WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE TEXT?
Faith hands over her phone showing their text stream. The last message is a PHOTO OF A STROOPWAFEL, captioned:
“Whatchu know about the stroopwafel?“
SOPHIE (CONT’D)
(under her breath)
Whatchu know about the… what? What does that–
FAITH
I don’t know, Sophie. I don’t fucking know.
SOPHIE
Is that like an inside joke, I mean did you guys–
FAITH
I think he thought it was funny.
Sophie zooms.
FAITH (CONT’D)
If he doesn’t want to see he can just tell me like a normal–
SOPHIE
(interrupting)
Wait. Why are his hands so grubby?
FAITH
Really?
SOPHIE
What’s wrong with his hands, how tall is he?
FAITH
Can you just- tune in. When was the last time I liked somebody?
Still looking at his hands:
SOPHIE
Can’t recall. We all thought you turned gay.
FAITH
I did. He de-gayed me. You know what type of seductive sorcery you have to have to do something like that?
SOPHIE
The same that convinced you that LACMA is a romantic date spot?
FAITH
You know what? Yes.
SOPHIE
Why don’t you just text him back?
FAITH
What the fuck are you on?
SLAM! Faith hits the breaks. A road block ahead shows a flipped car, crowded by cops.
MUSIC CUE: The Swan by Camille Saint-Saens
INT. TRADER JOES – DAY
Faith walks the halls of frozen seasonal foods and refreshes her texts with Evatt.
In a montage, she angrily grocery shops. She grabs offbeat items like pumpkin pasta.
A wave of choral music floods in as the check out line reveals a heaping TOWER OF STROOPWAFELS.
Suddenly, the leg of the cart breaks. The Stroopwafels topple down. One lands right in front of Faith.
She bends down, in awe. She caresses a packet like a fragile beating heart. The sound of a heart beating carries us to Faith…
INT. FAITH’S BEDROOM – NIGHT
Faith is wide awake, fiddling with the STROOPWAFEL WRAPPER. She peels the wrapper back. The slogan:
IF YOU’RE GOING TO INDULGE, DO IT RIGHT.
She looks ahead and she shrieks. An indistinct dark blob sits at her bedside.
She flips her lights on to reveal:
A pile of clothes.
EXT. PORCH (DREAM) – DAY
Rocking chair creaks. A MOTHER, teary eyed and awe-struck, gazes into lush forest.
MOTHER
Your grandmother said she’d communicate with me in the form of
a bird when she passed.
There’s no bird in sight.
MOTHER (CONT’D)
A red cardinal.
A crow caws. Perched on a branch, the crow lowers its neck, reaches into the PACKET OF STROOPWAFEL, and guzzles one down its throat.
CUT TO:
INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT
Faith wakes up in a sweat. She checks under her pillow and pulls out an empty hand. Where’s the packet?
INT. KITCHEN – DAY
She checks drawers, cabinets, the fridge, the trash. Sophie strolls by.
FAITH
Have you seen my stroopwafel?
SOPHIE
No?
Faith grunts and keeps looking.
Across the room, A CAT flings a plastic packet back and forth.
FAITH
Ah hah!
She shoos the cat away. Underneath the packet, a FLYER for: THE THIRSTY CROW.
INTERCUT WITH:
EXT. PORCH (FLASHBACK)
A crow guzzles a Stroopwafel.
BACK TO:
INT. APARTMENT – DAY
Faith analyzes the flyer, then the Stroopwafel.
FAITH
(under her breath)
He’s communicating with me.
To Sophie:
FAITH (CONT’D)
I think Evatt’s phone is broken.
SOPHIE
What?
FAITH
He’s been communicating with me.
She shoves the wrapper in her face.
SOPHIE
Through a dutch pastry?
FAITH
And the flyer for our first date bar just magically appears on our doorstep?
She manically shoves the flyer in Sophie’s face.
SOPHIE
That’s been there for weeks.
FAITH
But I’m just seeing it now. The text. The tower. His longing for me is manifesting into objects.
They’re leading us back to each other.
SOPHIE
Faith, he knows where we live. I think he’d just–
FAITH
(interrupting)
I have to find him.
Faith sprints upstairs. On Sophie’s concerned expression:
SOPHIE
Are you sure you don’t want me to set you up with Phil? He’s nice.
FAITH(O.S.)
For the last time, no, he has a gun collection.
SOPHIE
(calling out)
He’s in real estate.
No answer.
SOPHIE (CONT’D)
He’s stable!
Crickets.
SOPHIE (CONT’D)
(calling)
He’s half-German, half-Filipino, how can you say no to that? Where are you going?
FAITH
(from upstairs)
Out!
Sophie’s eyebrows furrow: an idea.
INT. THE THIRSTY CROW – NIGHT
A speakeasy in Silver-lake with a U-shaped bar and dim nectarine lighting interrupted by pops of colored hair on pretentious heads.
Faith sits at one end of the chestnut wood bar, impatient and sad. She watches a pair of calloused hands pour whipped egg into brown liquid. His thumb has a TATTOO OF A CROSS.
FAITH
(slurring)
You think God ever messes up?
BARTENDER
No.
FAITH
What if he sets something up, but something else happens, and his, like, master plan goes to shit?
The door swings open. She checks it out, then sinks, disappointed.
A half-German, half-Filipino sits next to her.
PHIL
Hi.
BARTENDER
(to FAITH)
He’d fix it.
Disregarding Phil…
FAITH
(to Bartender)
What if you have to fix it yourself? How would you know he’s fixing it for you?
Bartender disappears to the back room. Faith watches him go. She slams on the table and buries her head in her hands.
PHIL
Are you okay?
FAITH
What? Yeah. Yeah. Long night.
PHIL
Can I ask why?
Faith skids her elbow back, lifting up the bar mat to reveal a EVATT LANGSTON’s California ID.
She basically shrieks, picks it up, and runs off.
She leaves Phil and the STROOPWAFEL WRAPPER behind. Phil picks it up, examines the slogan:
IF YOU’RE GOING TO INDULGE, DO IT RIGHT.
EXT. STREET – NIGHT
Faith stops in front of a house, doubles checks the house number. She starts to knock, but stops herself.
She leaves the ID on his door mat, pasting the POST IT on top, <3 F, scribbled onto it. She whips out her phone and drafts:
“Hey” She deletes the text, then presses the CALL icon.
EVATT (O.S.)
Hey…
FAITH
Hello?
EVATT (O.S.)
I’m sorry…
Faith’s eyes soften.
EVATT (O.S.) (CONT’D)
I can’t get to the phone right now feel free to leave a message, but I can’t promise–
She lowers her phone. Nods in acceptance. MUSIC CUE: If I Stay Too Long by The Creation
EXT. STREETS – NIGHT
Faith walks aimlessly. Her sadness is palpable. Street lights flicker as she passes them.
She pauses in front of a corner store.
EXT. LA BREA NEWSTAND – NIGHT
FAITH
Pack of Marlboros, please.
Faith takes a drag in front of a rack of newspapers with a black and white photograph of a boy on their lower right corners.
She throws the full pack at a trash can.
INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT
Faith stares at her ceiling, pair of headphones on. She gets up, looks at the sunset lamp, then turns it off. She curls on her side, baring the pain of rejection.
A knock on her door. She pops off her earphones. Sophie sits.
SOPHIE
You got ghosted, kid. It’ll be okay.
Sophie hugs her.
SOPHIE (CONT’D)
On the bright side, your kids might be taller than 5’10 now.
INT. THE THIRSTY CROW – NIGHT
Faith sips a hard whiskey, wincing and wallowing. The sound of a door draws Faith’s hopeful eyes to the exit. Disappointment washes over her.
Phil sits next to her, and nods in acknowledgement.
FAITH
I’m gonna strangle Sophie.
PHIL
Sophie?
FAITH
My roommate. You’re the half Filipino, half german, right?
PHIL
I’m from Pasadena?
FAITH
Huh. And you just… magically appeared here?
PHIL
Its a bar. I magically appear here more often than I should. I’m Frank.
FAITH
I’m Faith. I also end up here way too often. Its a romanticized place to feel bad for yourself.
FRANK
Well, if you’re going to indulge, do it right.
Faith spits up some of her drink. She nods. Smiles.
TWO WEEKS LATER
EXT. SILVERLAKE STREET – DAY
Frank and Faith walk into a coffee shop, hand in hand.
INT. COFFEE SHOP – DAY
An old man reads a newspaper. From the old man’s perspective, we watch them laugh and enjoy themselves. He turns the page.
MUSIC CUTS.
It reads, ‘Obituary of EVATT LANGSTON. Cause of death: texting and driving’.
Faith breaks a Stroopwafel in half, syrup dribbles down onto her napkin, to outline, uncannily:
… A duck with tits.
BLACK OUT.
MUSIC CONTINUES.
TITLES: “STROOPWAFEL”
Cristina Barco is a Colombian-American filmmaker and poet. She’s currently working on a full-length coming of age feature film, hand-crafted felt tote bags, and poetry all available through her creative platform, The Toy Room Collective, @toyroomcollective.