In Have You Seen Us?, the “missing persons” mailing card symbolizes the transformation of protagonist Henry Parsons over the course of the play, from a prejudiced man callously uninterested in other people to a man seeking out human connection. The play’s first reference to the mailing card happens when Mexican sandwich-shop waitress Adela Venegas asks Henry about the paper object he’s using as a bookmark. Henry explains that he receives “missing persons” mailing cards in the mail—and, rather than look around for the missing people, he stacks the cards on his desk and uses them as bookmarks. Henry’s repurposing of the mailing cards shows that he cares more about books than about people, callously uninterested in the human suffering that the mailing cards represent.
Yet after Adela spins a speculative story about the woman and girl on Henry’s “bookmark” mailing card, casting the woman as a righteous Mexican immigrant mother who steals her daughter back from an abusive husband after a racist U.S. court system awards him custody, Henry becomes unwillingly interested in Adela and her Mexican national pride. When he asks her whether she’s homesick, the question opens a newly personal and vulnerable dialogue between Henry and Adela, who previously hated and humiliated each other for sport. At the play’s end, after the sandwich shop has closed and taken away Henry and Adela’s one point of contact, Henry admits to the play’s audience that he looked for Adela, wanting to befriend her, but he couldn’t find her without a photo to put on a mailing card. Nevertheless, he quotes the mailing card’s question—“Have You Seen Us?”—and says, “I like to believe I did.” With this statement, Henry suggests that his vulnerable dialogue with Adela taught him to recognize her humanity in a way he initially saw no one’s humanity. Thus, the mailing card helps symbolize Henry’s transformation, through his interactions with Adela, from callous and remote to open to human connection.
Mailing Card Quotes in Have You Seen Us?
Have You Seen Us? Quotes
Adela: I’m telling it. So you listen and learn, gringo. Husband is beating wife, Adriana. Right? Wife calls police and wants divorce. Okay? Next stop: court case. Police and husband tell lies in court but judge believes him because they all gringos and husband is Vietnam vet. Verdict? Court gives baby Isabella to husband. They call it American justice. But not end of story because now comes Mexican justice. Beautiful Adriana waits for time when little Isabella is playing in the street. Adriana walks—very easy, like you know—to Isabella and says . . . “Hey baby! Come with Mama! We go eat ice cream.” . . . And off they go.
Henry: [T]hat was another terrible yearning . . . watching people live their lives . . . and understanding what those lives were all about. I can’t do that here in America. I understand nothing. When I stand on a street corner here in America I feel I don’t even speak the same language. Back there it was different . . . I knew them all . . . I knew their stories . . .
Henry: I get it now. When I first walked in here last Christmas and you saw another borracho perdido . . . and you saw Roberto. Right?
Henry: Two very lost old people from the look of things, don’t you think? I wouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t get a “missing persons” card in my mail next week with their pictures on it. “Have You Seen Us?” Oh yes! I have not only seen them, my dear Adela, what is amazing is I also happen to know them.
Henry: It’s my one and only souvenir of Adela, and what happened to me that night. Remember it? “Have You Seen Us?”
It’s a good question. I like to believe I did.



