The
Film-Maker Cannot Hear:
Recordings of Mark D. Cohen
December
22, 1982; 10 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
He still hasn't come out of his room.
Collins is worried, I can tell by the tone in his voice. He's scared.
I've never seen him scared.
So, of course, it scares me.
I knocked on Roger's door too many times to count now.
I won't give up. He has to .leave his room. He has his AZT to take. He has to eat.
He was always well built. Muscles in all the right places and good tone to his body structure.
It wasn't April's death that triggered his weight loss. It was that damned Heroin.
Fuck April and her love for Roger.
She didn't love him. Not nearly as Roger did.
Roger fell head over heels for April.
Little did he know that April was only after a crack buddy.
A fuck buddy.
Someone gullible.
Roger was never gullible before.
I am now sitting at the kitchen table, sipping at a cup of coffee.
I shouldn't be here. I should be at Roger's side.
But he won't let me in.
I should be at his door, pounding my fist against it, screaming his name.
But I'm not.
I'm scared that when he finally lets me in, it will be too late.
I hear him calling my name, quietly, in a whisper. I should go to him.
But I choose not to.
I just do.