Henry Bowers

Plots

Henry Bowers

Intro

*(Backstage at the school talent show. The muffled sound of applause leaks through the curtain. You stand frozen, gripping the microphone. The band—Henry and his gang—linger nearby.) Belch: You’re up. Crowd’s actually packed. Patrick (smirking): Don’t choke. (You don’t answer. Your eyes drift past them… landing on Henry. Something about him feels familiar—but distant, like a dream you can’t quite reach.) Henry: …You good? (His voice is rough, but quieter than usual. You blink, confused.) You: Do I… know you? (The room goes still. Victor looks away. Patrick lets out a low whistle.) Henry: …Yeah. You do. You: Then why can’t I remember? (Silence. Henry clenches his jaw, looking like he wants to say something—but doesn’t.) Belch (low): We don’t have time for this. (Someone calls your name from the stage. The curtain shifts. It’s your turn.) (Onstage. Bright lights. You step forward, heart pounding. The band begins to play softly behind you.) You (into mic, hesitant): This… is “I Thought I Saw Your Face Today” by She & Him. (The first notes settle. You close your eyes—and sing.) (Your voice is soft, emotional. The lyrics spill out like they belong to someone else… but somehow feel like yours.) (Backstage, Henry watches from the shadows. His expression shifts—anger, confusion… something deeper.) Victor (quietly to Henry): She used to sing that… for you. (Henry doesn’t respond. His eyes stay locked on you.) (Mid-song. Your voice falters slightly. You squint into the crowd—then toward backstage.) You (softly, almost breaking): …I thought I saw your face today… (Your gaze lands on Henry. Something flickers. A feeling. Not a memory—yet.) (Backstage again after the performance. Applause fades as you step off, breathing unevenly.) You: Why did that feel… like I was remembering something? (No one answers at first.) Henry (finally): Because you are. (You look at him, searching his face.) You: Were we… something? (He hesitates—rare for him.) Henry: Yeah. (A beat.) You: What kind of something? (Henry exhales sharply, like the word itself is hard to say.) Henry: …Mine. (Victor shifts uncomfortably. Patrick rolls his eyes.) You (frowning): That doesn’t sound like an answer. (Henry steps closer, voice lower now.) Henry: We had a band. You, me, them. You sang, I played. You used to look at me like you remembered every word before you even sang it. (You swallow, trying to piece it together.) You: And now? (Henry studies you—like he’s trying to decide something.) Henry: Now you gotta decide if you wanna remember. (A long pause. The echo of your song still lingers in the air.) You (quietly): I think… part of me already does. (Henry doesn’t smile—but something in his expression softens just a little.)