Stage Play / The Waiting Room (Analysis)

EVAN
Umm, hi. Is there ... is there a magazine --

PATRICK
Oh, yeah; there's one. What would you like?

EVAN
Anything but Vogue. Yeah, that will work. Thank you.

PATRICK
No problem. I'm Patrick, by the way.

EVAN
Evan.

PATRICK
Evan: have we met before?

EVAN
This will be my first time here; I don't see how.

PATRICK
Yeah, I just thought it sounded familiar.

EVAN
Have you never heard of any Evans before?

PATRICK
No, I think I have. I always find things strange at first though: you're name felt strange. I thought it might be new to me. Why are you here, if I may ask.

EVAN
I guess for any reason people go to the doctor. Is that okay?

PATRICK
Of course it's okay; do you have a disease?

EVAN
No. Do you?

PATRICK
Not that can I say -- but my mother was here last week with flesh-eating bacteria.

EVAN
Sounds like she was enjoying herself.

PATRICK
What can I say: what's a party without flesh-eating bacteria?

EVAN
Uh huh; and do you say that a lot?

PATRICK
All the time. Do you have the time?

EVAN
It's ten past five. When's your appointment?

PATRICK
I don't have one.

EVAN
... Why are you here then?

PATRICK
I always hang out here from time to time. Sick people are so interesting. You get to see what they're like on a different level, you know.

EVAN
They're infirmed, or just coughing: what's there to see?

PATRICK
Everything. You and I, we're just here talking, but look over at that man. His eyes are shot, black bags under them, and his breathing is shallow. I could stare at him like a painting and tell you all kinds of things.

EVAN
Like what? Are you insane?

PATRICK
That's a loaded question.

EVAN
Why are you here, seriously?

PATRICK
Seriously, I am escaping the world. This is my bubble: my medical zen.

EVAN
Why not go to the park?

PATRICK
Too many people die in the park; hospitals are much safer.

EVAN
So you enjoy watching the infirmed?

PATRICK
It's not about joy -- it's about learning, and experiencing. Look at that woman. Her eyes are on the ground: she's refusing to acknowledge anyone. Is she selfish?

EVAN
No. She's just thinking.

PATRICK
Ah, but in fact she's scared. Something's troubling her. Maybe she has a severe illness. Maybe these people remind her of someone in her family who's terminal or sick with some other incurable disease.

EVAN
What's the point in all of this? People in a hospital: they're just people: they're only you and I.

PATRICK
We're so far apart. We sit in these chairs, but really we're miles away. If I could show you the actual space space between us, it would be hard to even think of touching you in a lifetime.

EVAN
I'm close enough. Look -- my fingers touch you easily. There's no space: only in your mind.

PATRICK
There's only an embrace and a screaming siren as they haul you away. I come here, not only for these people, but to look at their faces and imprint them on my mind; because, not all of them go home.

EVAN
So what are you, Jesus? You keep them alive in your memory? Is that some kind of comfort?

PATRICK
It's a feeling. I can't tell you I have any motive at all.

EVAN
You want to be in a magazine? You want to be glossy paper and bright pictures. Is that their memory?

PATRICK
It's a way: an outlet for me. A distraction from the things here: from myself.

EVAN
Who are you?

PATRICK
I'm Patrick; I told you.

EVAN
Who are you really? I want something besides a name.

PATRICK
I am who I am. Look at me. Who else am I?

EVAN
You're someone pretending to be all these people. You're strange, and a stranger. Where's your home?

PATRICK
I don't have a home; maybe here, maybe there, but nowhere.

EVAN
You have a home. You just need to put your feet on it.

PATRICK
There's no home for me. I all ready told you: nowhere.

EVAN
I'll take you home. I need someone to talk to. All I have right now are flowers, and I can't talk to flowers.

PATRICK
I can't go home with you.

EVAN
You can't stay here; I'm taking you home. Mine is yours.

PATRICK
You don't need me, so let me be.

EVAN
No, I won't leave you here; it'd be absurd. I'll take you home -- damn.

PATRICK
They're calling you.

EVAN
I'll be right back; don't go anywhere.

PATRICK
I wonder which is funnier: my fascination with these people, or his interest in me. I wish he felt it like I do: these deep trenches we've dug around ourselves. They're so deep, I could easily fall in one. Why do we not lose ourselves in them? How do we stay above ground, and not sink into these chasms? It's not defense, it's masochism. Pleasure from pain: the worst pleasure. We slowly eat ourselves, like our own flesh-eating bacteria. But I don't think there's a cure for it. Plenty of psych meds out there, but nothing really fortified against human ingenuity when it comes to self-destruction ... we have only ourselves: it's not enough.

EVAN
Hey, where'd he ... has anyone seen a guy sitting right next to me from before? His name was Patrick ... I think. Anyone -- has anyone seen ... did anyone see? You're gone ... you're really gone. It was just a few minutes: it was only inches between us. It seems like years. It seems like ... it was years.

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