Jack Goes Home

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- I heard a sound.

A wind.

A strong wind.

And then a whisper in that wind.

Remnants. Fragments.

Shattered pieces

of an illusive memory

steeped in pixilated streaks

and auto-tracked frames.

A laugh, a kiss.

Where am I?

In your arms? Your lap?

On your shoulders?

Tap, tap, tapping like the rap,

rap, rapping of the raven.

That wind would become rain.

That rain would become snow

and that snow would become ice.

That ice will melt back

to the sky.

We are born of muscle,

of meat and of blood.

Not from loving arms,

nor brutality or harm.

As family is, as family does.

Brother, sister, mother, father.

We are lodged and trapped

in every pore.

But that is our skin,

nothing more.

We are at one

with the floorboards,

the tin roof and the sky.

We are left with two questions.

- Hey, Jacks.

Hello?

- Hey.

- Writing poetry on our

precious company time again?

- Artists write poetry.

A**holes just complain.

- True. How long

till the big day again?

- Three more months

and I'll be a daddy.

- It's Andy, right?

- Unless he got a sex change

in the womb,

yes, that's the plan.

- That's so awesome, bro.

- Thanks. Don't call me bro.

We're not 17.

It makes you seem old.

Depressing.

- Look, a**hole, I was just

gonna get a cup of coffee.

Do you want something or not?

- No, I'm good. Thanks, man.

- I see. Man's okay, not bro.

- You are a man, right?

Thus I can call you as such.

However, you are not my brother.

Does that make sense?

You see the difference?

- Dude, you're such a dick.

See ya later.

- Jack Thurlow.

- Jack Thurlow?

- Yep. Just said it.

- Derrick Thompson with Hudson

valley sheriff's department.

I'm sorry to tell you,

but there's been an accident.

- Wh-wh-what kind of accident?

- Your parents...

Damien and Theresa Thurlow...

They... they lost control

of their car last night.

- Are they alright?

- I'm so sorry.

- Hi, babe.

- Hiya, beautiful.

- How's our tree house?

- Ah, it's alright.

Same ol', same ol'. How's, um...

How's your grandmother?

- Hmm...

Hold on.

Sorry. I just didn't want

my mom or uncle to hear this.

Baby, she's f***ing dying.

And no one will admit it.

It's like they're too English

or something.

I'm just...

tired.

- Well... why are you still up?

- Um... I don't know.

Couldn't sleep. I...

My uncle's house

is really creepy.

The wind...

Just rattles and rattles.

Taps and taps.

But, hey, the good news!

Our little one's doing well.

- Let me see.

- Hey, what's that jacket

you're wearing?

- Hmm? Oh, it's, uh...

It's my dad's.

He died today.

- What?

- Yeah, uh... he and my mom

were at the cabin and apparently

when they were driving

back to the city,

they lost control of the car

and flew off the highway.

My mom made it. Minor injuries.

She's home now, but, um...

Yeah, my dad's...

My dad's dead.

They didn't wanna give details,

but I got them anyway.

So I guess the...

The windshield severed his head

clean off his body,

or at least nearly clean off.

I guess there was still some...

Ligaments attached

to the back of his neck.

And then the wheel

broke all of his ribs

and caused

massive internal bleeding,

which would've killed him

anyway,

regardless of his head

getting chopped off.

F***, man.

- Baby...

Love of my life...

I-I don't know what to say.

I don't know... what to do.

- Do? Say?

There's nothing to do or say.

Um... we live, we drive,

we crash, we die.

Had to happen sometime.

- Jack... you're scaring me.

- What do you mean? I'm fine.

Like,

I'm already at peace with it.

It's weird. It's crazy, right?

- Your dad was your best friend.

God, I'm so sorry.

- Shhh. Stop it. It's fine.

I'm... I'm fine. Really.

I mean it.

- Hey, it's Shanda.

Leave a message.

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

- Hey. It's me.

Um, I don't know if you got

the voicemail I left you earlier

about the accident

and my parents.

Uh... yeah, I...

I just wanted to touch base.

I'll probably get in

around 1:
00 tomorrow,

just cab it from the airport.

Uh, anyway, I'm fine.

Excited to see you, shithead.

- Yeah, I had...

I had to come out here.

He's my best friend.

I changed my flight to his.

I think he's asleep.

Yeah, yeah,

I'll see you... then.

Yeah, love you, too.

Okay, bye.

Ahem.

- Ah...

- Jack?

Jack, I think

you're sleepwalking again.

- Ah...

- I don't wanna wake you

or upset you,

but you need to go back to bed,

okay?

You have to wake up early

tomorrow...

For the airport.

Jack, what...

What are you saying?

What are you saying, Jack?

- Anne frank.

- What?

- Up there.

I... want... you...

- Up where?

- I'll go up there, too.

Attic.

A...

- What's in the attic... Jack?

- Oh.

Uh...

I'm in the attic.

Oh.

Oh!!!

Fuuu...!!

I'm in the attic!!

- It's okay.

I'm in the attic!!

I'm in the attic!

Hey, hey, hey!

Hi.

- Hey.

- I don't remember

falling asleep last night.

- Hmm. F***.

What time is it?

- Seven-ish.

You sleepwalked last night.

- Did I?

F***.

I haven't done that in years.

- Yeah, well... you went crazy.

You beat the sh*t outta me.

- Jesus Christ. I'm so sorry.

- Hey, better me

than your baby momma, right?

F*** it.

So, uh, what's in the attic?

- The attic?

- Yeah, you, uh, kept screaming

on and on about... the attic.

- I have no idea.

- Look, just so you know...

I'd do anything for you,

you stupid b*tch.

- I'd do anything for you,

you lazy whore.

- We better start packing.

You're going home.

- Mom?!

Mom?

Mom?

Mom?

- Oh...

Oh, Jack.

My god. You're here.

- 'Course I am.

Give me this.

- Be very careful.

Careful, careful, careful.

- How's your pain level?

- Oh.

It's... it's good.

Not bad at all, really.

- Where's rusty?

- Oh, my god.

He's still at the vet.

We didn't take him to the cabin.

- Why not?

- The owls.

They drive him crazy.

You can get him tomorrow

afternoon, if you want.

Well, for godssake,

give your mother a hug.

Oh...

- I'm so sorry, mom.

I'm so sorry.

- For what?

- For... the accident,

that I wasn't here sooner.

- Well, that makes no sense.

You're sorry?

You had nothing to do with it.

- I wasn't saying I'm sorry

like it was the conclusion

of an argument.

I was just being nice.

- Well, you don't need

to be nice.

None of this is nice.

You need to be here

and you are, so I thank you.

I thank you for that.

Because your daddy

would appreciate it too.

One hour, honey.

- Awesome.

So are you gonna play?

- Play? Wh-what do you mean?

- Violin. At... at the funeral.

- Oh. Um...

Whoo...

I don't know what I would play.

- I dunno...

Dad always liked that Chopin

piece that you transposed.

- No, no, no, no.

That piece is for keys,

not strings.

But if it's really important

to you, I-I'll...

I'll see what I can do.

- Look, I swear to god,

nobody on this planet

makes better f***ing lasagna

than you.

- Hey now. Is that any way to

talk at the dining-room table?

- Please. My table etiquette

was intrinsically bound

from within

at far too young an age.

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