Good Will Hunting Page #17

CUT TO:

EXT. WONDERLAND RACETRACK -- DAY

Will and Skylar sit in the stands watching the dogs run.

They ad lib teasing one another about England, Ireland, and

America.

SKYLAR:

You grew up around here?

WILL:

Not far from here, South Boston.

SKYLAR:

How was that?

WILL:

Pretty boring, I guess.

She smiles.

SKYLAR:

I bet you have a great family.

WILL:

You know, nothing special.

SKYLAR:

You have a lot of brothers and

sisters?

WILL:

Do I have a lot of brothers and

sisters?

SKYLAR:

Yeah.

WILL:

Well, Irish Catholic. What do you

think?

SKYLAR:

How many?

WILL:

You wouldn't believe me if I told

you.

SKYLAR:

What, five?

Will shakes his head.

SKYLAR:

Seven?

Will shakes his head. Smiles.

SKYLAR:

Come on.

WILL:

I have twelve big brothers.

SKYLAR:

Not a chance.

WILL:

Yup, you're lookin' at lucky thirteen.

SKYLAR:

Bullshit.

WILL:

I swear to God.

SKYLAR:

Your house must have been a zoo.

WILL:

It was great. There was always someone

to play with, give you advice.

SKYLAR:

Do you know all their names?

WILL:

'Course I do, they're my brothers.

SKYLAR:

Well...

WILL:

Marky, Ricky, Danny, Terry, Mikey,

Davey, Timmy, Tommy, Joey, Robby,

Johnny, and Brian.

SKYLAR:

(laughing)

Do you keep in touch with them?

WILL:

All the time. We all live in Southie.

I live with three of them now.

Skylar smiles.

SKYLAR:

I want to meet them.

WILL:

We'll do that.

CUT TO:

INT. SEAN'S APARTMENT -- NIGHT

As we pan across Sean's small apartment, we find it strewn

with dirty clothes and the sink full of dishes. Although, if

it weren't for the clutter, the place would feel pretty bare.

A framed SPORTS ILLUSTRATED cover featuring a screaming Larry

Bird and entitled "CELTIC PRIDE" hangs on the wall. Sean

sits at the table next to another nearly empty bottle of

BUSHMILL'S IRISH WHISKEY. He is deep in thought.

CUT TO:

INT. SEAN'S OFFICE -- DAY

Will strolls into the office. Sean is waiting there behind

his desk. He seems different. More calm. Will and Sean stare

at each other for a long moment.

WILL:

You again. How the paintin' coming?

Sean stands up.

SEAN:

Come with me.

CUT TO:

EXT. BOSTON COMMON -- MINUTES LATER

Sean and Will sit in the bleachers at the mostly empty park.

They look out over a small pond, in which a group of

schoolchildren on a field trip ride the famous Swan Boats.

WILL:

So what's with this place? You have

a swan fetish? Is this something

you'd like to talk about?

SEAN:

I was thinking about what you said

to me the other day, about my

painting. I stayed up half the night

thinking about it and then something

occurred to me and I fell into a

deep peaceful sleep and haven't

thought about you since. You know

what occurred to me?

WILL:

No.

SEAN:

You're just a boy. You don't have

the faintest idea what you're talking

about.

WILL:

Why thank you.

SEAN:

You've never been out of Boston.

WILL:

No.

SEAN:

So if I asked you about art you could

give me the skinny on every art book

ever written... Michelangelo? You

know a lot about him I bet. Life's

work, criticisms, political

aspirations. But you couldn't tell

me what it smells like in the Sistine

Chapel. You've never stood there and

looked up at that beautiful ceiling.

And if I asked you about women I'm

sure you could give me a syllabus of

your personal favorites, and maybe

you've been laid a few times too.

But you couldn't tell me how it feels

to wake up next to a woman and be

truly happy. If I asked you about

war you could refer me to a bevy of

fictional and non-fictional material,

but you've never been in one. You've

never held your best friend's head

in your lap and watched him draw his

last breath, looking to you for help.

And if I asked you about love I'd

get a sonnet, but you've never looked

at a woman and been truly vulnerable.

Known that someone could kill you

with a look. That someone could rescue

you from grief. That God had put an

angel on Earth just for you. And

you wouldn't know how it felt to be

her angel. To have the love be there

for her forever. Through anything,

through cancer. You wouldn't know

about sleeping sitting up in a

hospital room for two months holding

her hand and not leaving because the

doctors could see in your eyes that

the term "visiting hours" didn't

apply to you. And you wouldn't know

about real loss, because that only

occurs when you lose something you

love more than yourself, and you've

never dared to love anything that

much. I look at you and I don't see

an intelligent confident man, I don't

see a peer, and I don't see my equal.

I see a boy. Nobody could possibly

understand you, right Will? Yet you

presume to know so much about me

because of a painting you saw. You

must know everything about me. You're

an orphan, right?

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