MUSICVOX

B. McGILLICUDDY

There’s something absolutely ethereal about the tone and rhythm of her voice. When I met her and she said her own name, she pronounced each syllable like she was exhaling breathable rum, Eh’lihz’ah’behth, like her words were manufactured to be sweet and sickening and perfectly toxic in the best way. The more she spoke the more the air was filled with this substance, this sound. And I kept thinking, I could listen to the cadence of her voice changing pace, pausing, inhaling, beginning again, and shifting pitch with urgency, excitement and her level of interest, from now until I went deaf from old age, and I would die a happy man, who lived an abnormally thrilling life. She asked me a question and it played like music in my ears. It took me a moment to say anything back, but when I answered she laughed, and by god, her laugh was like a whole other song entirely. And imagine, she probably hears her own voice in recordings and thinks, that’s not really me, is it? I sound so weird! No Elizabeth, you sound like magic, except you’re real.

B. McGILLICUDDY