A man meets a woman at a party one night. He hears her laugh and wants to record it. He’s a sound designer, he says. She lets him, on the condition that he’ll help her find her shoes. Later on, he’ll tell her that this is not something that he had to do for work – he pretended, in order to strike up a conversation. Not like she didn’t know that in the first minute. But the connection they share is magical.
It’s also trouble. She’s already in a relationship, but that doesn’t stop them. They meet, in secret. They fall into bed, in secret. She won’t stay the night, even in secret.
He’s a sound designer. She can’t hold down a job, because she doesn’t really know what she wants to do.
She won’t leave her fiancé. He won’t ask her to. She marries the other man. He loses his father to vascular dementia. They drift apart. He rides his bike too fast, without a helmet.
She gets divorced. He has an accident; out cold for thirty minutes on the street.
But they cannot be together – they have too much baggage.
She realises she wants to write. He realises that he’s beginning to forget: words, and names, and concepts, and, slowly, the memory of the single defining relationship of his life, always a secret.
And she’s the only one who can help him remember.
wildtrack moves back and forth in time, over the landscape of this one relationship, back and forth across a decade, flowing like a dream as this man tries to sift together meaning from the debris of his life, through the ears of a man who hears things in a way no one else can.
This man speaks sound.
And he heard this woman first.