THE SETUP
Vincent calls and leaves a message on his girlfriend Gabby’s answering machine, trying to make amends for a major fight they had, and explain one of the sources of his frustration in trying to grieve for his friend Byron and move on with his life.
“I’m forgetting Byron’s voice. …Like my memories still have the script but lost the soundtrack.”
VINCENT
Have I apologized for being a complete idiot yet? If I didn’t, I meant to. I hate not being with you. Talking with you, you know.
Here’s the thing. I’m forgetting Byron’s voice. That’s what really bothers me lately. Like my memories still have the script but lost the soundtrack. I can remember his face, I have photos. I can even remember the wording of things he said. But I forget what he sounds like. I’d give anything to hear his voice again. Just once. I know I’d recognize it in a second, even if all I did was just hear him, like on the phone. He wouldn’t have to even say who he was. I’d know. It’s right on the edge of my mind but I can’t reach it. Why didn’t we ever use one of those stupid camcorders? I hate those things, but at least we’d have something. I could listen. I could remember. There are so many things I want to talk to him about. I envy Cian. Hearing Byron in his head. Still. He’s so damn lucky he’s nuts. I’d give anything to be that kind of crazy.
(photo: 1997-1998 production by The Subterranean Theatre Company (Los Angeles, CA); Tom Sonnek as Vincent)
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