My mother practices civil law. She devotes herself primarily to cases of child abuse and neglect. Many of her clients are young parents struggling with addiction. Outside of the courthouse, she gives them clothing and finds furniture for their homes and drives them to appointments and answers their phone calls late at night when no one else will listen.

My father is a family physician, and my two younger brothers are currently in medical school. So, once they graduate in a few years, caring for the health and safety of others will be a daily practice for everyone in my family but me. At least, this is the story I told myself. How could I take care of anyone like they do? Are stories ever helpful? Do they have to be?

This play is for my family. To write it was to make a renewed commitment to my chosen profession, which is maybe not a typical one, but in it I find meaning without having to search very hard. In this story of puzzles and riddles and word play, I encourage you not to look very hard either. While my brothers cut open cadavers, and my father makes his rounds, and my mother takes those late-night calls, I have my word to give and keep.