Voicemail

The inside of a small apartment. It’s not particularly disordered, but it’s visible that someone is living there.

The entrance door opens from the inside.

Sarah is crouched on the floor picking up bags of groceries while holding the phone between the ear and the shoulder.

I’m so friggin’ tired. It feels like it’s been a whole week already but it’s only Wednesday. The new girl is... She’s fine, just... She’s just young, I guess?

She ambles around the kitchen, storing the groceries in the fridge and in the cupboard.

I think I’ll change workplace to be honest. I like the job but... I can’t stand being here anymore. The leadership is more unstable than my mother’s mental health. And you know my mother’s mental health. Melissa keeps giving me the most boring tasks to do that no one else wants.

(sighs)

But I’ve told you enough of this. You’ve been right. Should learn to say “no” more often, I’m too kind. I guess it’s both my curse and blessing.

End of message. Press one if you want to delete the message. Press two if you want to record a new message.

The cupboard’s door slams when it slips from her hand.

Fuck.

She holds the phone in front of her face and ends the call.

Exhaling a deep breath, Sarah closes her eyes.

Then, she resumes the task of storing the groceries.

The lamplight on the nightstand is turned on, giving the room an orange hue. The shades are shut. Sarah lies on her bed.

She holds her phone close to her face, on speaker.

Today’s been... A lot.

She closes her eyes for a moment and sighs longingly.

I could really do with a hug. And your plants could do with your hands too. You know I’m not good at taking care of them. One is dying, I think. The leaves are all yellow. I don’t know if it’s just because of the season change or...

She pauses.

Well, I might just look online. I’ll do it tomorrow. I should go to sleep.

Pause.

Speak to you soon.

She closes the call and turns on her side, cocooning herself in the blankets.

Her right hand reaches for the lamp and switches it off.

Dark.

Sunny day. The place isn’t too crowded.

Hey, you’ve reached my voicemail. This means I can’t reply now. Please, leave your message and I’ll try my best to call you back.

Sarah sits on a bench in casual clothing.

Do you remember our Sunday walks? Well, I guess it’s a stupid question. Now that the weather is chill finally, I can go for walks without sweating like a pig.

(pause)

I also re-did my resume. It’s better than the last time, I think, at least I have more things to put in it.

(chuckle)

I wish you were here so you could give your feedback. Yours is the only one I trust.

Sighs. Takes a break. Looks in the distance.

There’s a young couple sitting on a blanket on the grass, being all sweet and romantic. Sarah’s eyes are fixed on their backs, somewhat pensive.

Yeah. Okay. I’ll-- I’ll stop being cheesy. Have to go now or I’ll never finish this walk.

She closes the call and stands up quietly, throwing one last glance at the sweet couple.

Sarah sits on the floor, her back against the bed.

She holds her phone.

The phone rings, she’s waiting for the usual automatic reply of the voice-mail.

But--

Yes? Who is this?

Her eyes almost bulge out of her head.

H-- Hi. Ehm... Sorry, who I’m talking to?

This is Paul. Who are you? Why are you calling at this hour?

Paul? No, no. This is wrong. This is Kail’s number. How did you...

You must have a wrong number.

No no no no no no. It can’t be. I--

I bought this number this morning. I don’t know who this Kail is. And this is a very late hour to receive phone calls.

Wait, I just--

Goodnight.

The line is cut off.

Sarah’s lungs struggle to catch air. With shaking hands, she calls Kail’s number again.

The phone rings two times but then whoever is on the other side hangs up on her.

She’s hyperventilating.

No no no no no no no no no! Fuuuuck!

Her body is tossed on the floor. She tries to call again but this time the call doesn’t go through at all.

Tears stream down her cheeks and a raw, loud sob escapes her lips. She curls up on the floor in fetal position, tears and drool wetting her shirt in a mixture of insurmountable pain, as she bawls her eyes out.

Sarah stands at the tall counter of the store, her back seen through the clean glass.

The place isn’t busy, there are two MALE CLERKS, one of them serving an elderly lady.

Sarah speaks to the tall, lanky one.

I’m sorry for your situation, but when phone numbers are deactivated, they can be given to a new customer. It’s an automatic process, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m really sorry.

Sarah looks down, her gaze full of sorrow.

Are you sure?

He’s compassionate.

I’m sorry.

Tattooed hands push a cup of tea towards Sarah on a coffee table. The hands belong to LANA (30s).

She and Sarah sit on the couch, drinking tea.

Sarah’s hands wrap around her cup of tea.

When my mother died, I kept sending messages to her number.

Sarah sips.

Just to tell her random things about my days, even if I knew she couldn’t reply, obviously. Then, one day, someone answered. It was an old woman who got my mother’s old phone number. It scared the shit out of me because I thought I was talking to a ghost. The woman was very nice about the situation, she understood. This Paul guy has been a proper dick.

Sarah offers a weak and painful smile, staring into her cup.

How long it’s been? Six months?

Yes.

I apologize if this is going to sound harsh but... Maybe it’s time to let go. Start a new chapter. You’re only hurting yourself this way.

She drinks her tea.

But how-- How do I even do that?

You could start by deleting Kail’s number. Rip off the bandage.

I guess... I guess you’re right. I got blocked anyway.

I can delete it for you, if you want.

Sarah shakes her head vehemently.

No. _I_ need to do that.

I’m here for you. You know that.

Sarah’s gaze is lost somewhere in the distance.

The house is bright and quiet.

Sara sits on a chair and takes out her phone, searching in her contacts list to find Kail’s number.

She clicks on it and scrolls to the end of the settings. The last option is **“delete”.**

Her thumb hovers over the button. Sarah squeezes the phone in her hand...

Then she looks up and jolts towards the--

--where she goes to the closet, rummaging on the top shelf.

She picks up a heavy urn with ashes and, holding it tight, brings it to the kitchen table.

She puts on her coat and scarf, takes the urn again in her hands, walks towards the door, opens it, steps outside and closes the door behind herself.

TITLE CARD: VOICEMAIL