by Zoe Stanton-Savitz

(Lights up on a waiting room: a row of empty chairs, a coffee table with a stack of magazines, a fish tank with a goldfish floating lifeless on its back, and a desk. HENRICK sits at the desk. VAL enters and approaches the desk.)

VAL: Hi.

(HENRICK does not look up.)

VAL: Excuse me? … I’d like to kill myself. Please.

HENRICK: (finally looking up with a sigh) Okay, ma’am. (pulling out a form from a file folder) I’m just gonna need you to fill out this form.

VAL: Form?

HENRICK: Yes, ma’am. It’s policy.

VAL: Can’t we just get this thing over with?

HENRICK: I’m sorry, ma’am. Before we go any further you have to fill out the paperwork.

VAL: Please stop calling me “ma’am.”

HENRICK: I’m sorry?

VAL: “Ma’am.” I hate it.

HENRICK: What would you prefer?

VAL: Val.

HENRICK: I’m sorry, ma’am—er, uh, miss. We cannot call you by your name.

VAL: Why not?

HENRICK: When you come here you revoke rights to your name.

VAL: But I—

HENRICK: I do not have time for ambient chit-chat, ma’am.

VAL: Right … (gesturing at the empty waiting room) because you have so many customers.

HENRICK: The form, ma’am. Unless you would prefer me to write your answers for you.

VAL: Okay. Sure.

HENRICK: Right-o. (reading from the form) Number one, how did you hear about our services?

VAL: I don’t know. It’s always been here.

HENRICK: I’ll just circle friend or family referral.

VAL: But I—

HENRICK: It’s just for our files, it has no effect on your treatment.

VAL: Okay.

HENRICK: What is the reason for your visit—

VAL: Isn’t it obvious?

HENRICK: Don’t interrupt me, ma’am. Are you seeking assisted suicide due to depression, anxiety or other mental illness, extreme guilt, grief due to death of a family member or close friend, revenge, or other? We also validate parking.

VAL: Revenge?

HENRICK: (starting to write) Don’t get that answer too often.

VAL: No, no, no. I just mean … that’s really an option?

HENRICK: It’s on the form.

VAL: Never mind. Um … depression I guess.

HENRICK: Ah. Much more common. Moving on. Which of the following would you say best describes your current emotional state. Circle all that apply: hopeless, disheartened, melancholy, angry, numb, peaceful, happy, nauseous, nervous, unordinarily warm, unordinarily cold, fatigued, sore—

VAL: Are you kidding me?

HENRICK: I’m quite serious.

VAL: I’m not answering your stupid questions anymore.

HENRICK: Ma’am, if you don’t cooperate we are going to have to—

VAL: What? Kill me?

HENRICK: We can come back to that question. Please describe the events leading up to your decision to enter our facility.

VAL: Come on.

HENRICK: It’s standard policy. I need to transcribe your story if we are to continue.

VAL: Okay … um … okay. This morning I was looking at a bagel.

HENRICK: Do bagels usually cause you an inordinate amount of stress or sadness?

VAL: No, I just … I was looking at this bagel and—

HENRICK: Flavor?

VAL: Flavor?

HENRICK: Every detail is imperative for our doctors.

VAL: Poppyseed, I think.

HENRICK: You think?

VAL: No. Yeah. Poppyseed.

HENRICK: (recording the answer) Poppy …

VAL: Anyway, I was looking at it and it just occurred to me, why is there a hole? Like, who decided? Who in their right mind would decide to put a hole right through the middle with no one and nothing to fill it in? And then they just kept making incomplete bagels. They just kept making them and making them and making them. How cruel!

HENRICK: Would you say you feel incomplete, as you describe the bagel? Do you relate to said bagel in any way?

VAL: Not necessarily … I don’t know, maybe … It’s hard to say what I am.

HENRICK: How so?

VAL: I’ve been stripped of my name.

HENRICK: I told you, ma’am, it’s policy.

VAL: What is it with you and this … (air quotes) “policy?” What fuckwad trained you, anyway?

HENRICK: I don’t know his name.

VAL: Did you ask?

HENRICK: There are no names. Only flesh and blood.

VAL: When was the last time someone asked for your name … Sir?

HENRICK: My name is obsolete.

VAL: Tell me.

HENRICK: I cannot do that.

VAL: Tell me. (leans over the desk) I’m curious.

HENRICK: Ma’am, step away from the desk.

VAL: Why? What are you hiding?

HENRICK: There is classified material in these files. Patient confidentiality.

VAL: They’re all dead.

HENRICK: Step away from the desk.

VAL: Tell me your name.

HENRICK: No.

VAL: Please. Why do you care if I know anyway? I’ll be dead in less than 24 hours.

HENRICK: Henrick.

VAL: Henrick?

HENRICK: Half German.

VAL: Which half?

HENRICK: The left.

VAL: Okay, fine, I get it. Too much information.

HENRICK: Indeed. Next question. Are you currently—

VAL: Your fish is dead.

HENRICK: Ma’am, I do not appreciate being interrupted.

VAL: I’m just letting you know. I mean, you don’t wanna drive people away with a dead fish in the waiting room.

HENRICK: Thank you. Now please—

VAL: Did you assist the fish in dying?

HENRICK: Excuse me?

VAL: Does the fish have a name?

HENRICK: Ma’am.

VAL: Come on. A little cutie like that. He must have had a name before his tragic passing.

HENRICK: Sir Lancelot. And he lived a very happy life. Died of natural causes.

VAL: So … Why does he get a name?

HENRICK: Ma’am, your questions are irrelevant and frankly, annoying. I have a job to do and—

VAL: I mean, he’s a goldfish. He has a ten-second memory. He can’t even remember his own name so why does he get one?

HENRICK: Because.

VAL: Because why? Because he was a living creature? Because you had to refer to him in some way? Because you grew to love him even though he never spoke a word?

HENRICK: I suppose he was a companion, yes. But that’s—

VAL: Why did you keep him in his tank even after he died? Because somewhere in that little mechanical heart of yours there is love for that fish?

HENRICK: I can assure you, I did not love the fish.

VAL: And somewhere buried deep in your brain there is someone who loves you. Who calls you by your name?

HENRICK: There is no love. Only flesh and blood.

VAL: Why? Because it’s policy? Call me by my name, Henrick.

HENRICK: I can’t. It’s … it’s policy. I can’t. I can’t.

VAL: Say my name, Henrick. Henrick.

HENRICK: Do not call me that.

VAL: If Sir Lancelot gets a name why can’t I? Why can’t you? SAY MY NAME!

HENRICK: There’s a reason you’re in here.

VAL: What?

HENRICK: You were right. I did love Sir Lancelot. So he got a name. You, however … you ended up here.

VAL: Because nobody loves me, right? Okay. Fine. Let’s go with that, Henrick. You ended up here, too. Is that why you work here? With the halfdead? Because your Nazi parents couldn’t love their son? Because no woman could love a tin man with a beer belly?

HENRICK: I’m Jewish.

VAL: Oh. Really?

HENRICK: Yes. My grandparents on my dad’s side were survivors. Not Nazis.

VAL: Sorry. I—were you close with them?

HENRICK: Yeah. I used to stay with them when I was a kid sometimes. They’d get lonely. I didn’t mind. My grandmother would make babka and the whole house smelled like cinnamon. They kept everything; receipts, take-out menus, old birthday cards, state quarters.

VAL: You miss them.

HENRICK: No, I—

VAL: You do. I can tell. Did they pass?

HENRICK: I shouldn’t have started. No more personal information. Back to business.

VAL: It’s okay, Henrick. It’s okay to—

HENRICK: Stop. (to himself) Why did I tell her that?

VAL: Because I asked. No one can resist talking about themself.

HENRICK: I am not—I mean … there is no self. Only—

VAL: Right, I know.

(uncomfortable silence)

HENRICK: (Finally, HENRICK clears his throat.) Now. If we can return to the form. Question four. Are you currently on any of the following medications: Xanax, Prozac, Zoloft, Paxil, Celexa, Lexapro, Luvox—

VAL: Huh.

HENRICK: What is it, ma’am?

VAL: I think I’m okay.

HENRICK: Please elaborate. “Okay” is a nonsensical word. It’s also not one of the options for current emotions. I could circle numb?

VAL: No, no. I think I’m actually alright. If you don’t mind I think I’ll go home now.

(VAL starts to exit)

HENRICK: I can’t let you leave, ma’am.

VAL: I shouldn’t have come in the first place.

(HENRICK leaves his desk for the first time to block VAL from leaving.)

HENRICK: When you enter, you do not exit. You will be staying.

VAL: We are more. I’m something. Not only flesh and blood. (fighting to no avail) Let me go!

HENRICK: (calm) It’s policy. You left yourself outside.

VAL: We are love. We are sadness. LET ME THROUGH.

HENRICK: Our nurse will see you now.

VAL: No! Please! Stop!

(HENRICK wrestles VAL’s arms behind her back and throws her offstage.)

HENRICK: I’m sorry. It’s policy.

(HENRICK returns to his desk but before sitting down he turns to where he left VAL.)

HENRICK: Goodbye. Val.

END OF PLAY.

Zoe Stanton-Savitz (she/they) is a playwright based in NYC and holds an MFA from Columbia University. Plays include FEMM, Selkie Woman, Rachel Berry Saved my Life, Good Numbers (Columbia), Hazel and Bea in the In-Between (Durango PlayFest), Agatha (Lakewood Playhouse), Pennies for Forgotten Words (La Mama), and Twice Gone (SLC).