Jack Goes Home Page #2

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- There it is.

- There what is?

- Your father.

He had a mouth

that could run a marathon.

He could spout a thousand

words in 25 nanoseconds.

It was in him

and now it is in you.

- Jesus Christ.

How are you...

- How am I what?

- How are you you right now?

So okay?

- What am I supposed

to be doing?

Am I supposed to be crying?

- Yes. Yes.

- You're not.

- I never cry.

But you cry

every five f***ing minutes,

so what the f***?

You were in an accident.

A fatal and painful accident.

Dad got his head chopped off

right next to you.

You devoted your life to a man

who is now dead.

You lived with him.

You spoke with him.

You fought with him.

You invited him to your bedroom

and let him come inside you

to create a child.

This child.

This pretentious little f***.

I-I'm...

I'm yours... and his,

and I wanna share this pain

with you.

- Are you finished?

- I don't know. Am I?

- I'm proud of you.

I am.

You know, right out of the gate,

you had your say with me.

Bravissimo.

Now it's my turn.

I always loved your biting wit,

your acerbic observations,

and - oh, my god -

your immense vocabulary...

when it came to whining...

About something simple

in such an unnecessarily

complicated way,

but as your mother,

I'm gonna tell you right now...

To shut the f*** up.

You wanna sit across from me

at the same table

where I spoon-fed you

and dictate how

I should experience my grief?!

You lost your father

at an unfairly young age,

and that is a hurricane

of hurt and confusion,

and I respect that,

but you make no mistake,

I lost my husband.

I'm gonna tell you something.

I don't care if you are my son,

or if you were my neighbor

or you were my enemy,

I will be goddamned

if anyone is gonna tell me

how I should shed tears

in the name

of my f***ing husband!

Ah! Ah!

Ah!

Sometimes...

I regret ever spreading my legs.

Just hold on, buddy.

You are not ready for sleep,

are you?

- No!

- Okay.

Alright. Stop, stop.

One sock.

Two sock.

There we go.

- What is that, daddy?

- It's a tape recorder, my boy.

It's, uh, a device

that makes things last forever.

With this, you can hear me

no matter where you are

or where I am.

- That's weird.

- You were so good

in the car ride over here.

Mommy's not gonna

leave you alone.

She's gonna go right in with you

and make sure nothing happens

to her little love bug. No.

My sweet baby. You're so good.

- Ah, here he is!

- You're so gonna get

lots of treats.

- Oh, yeah. Oh, man.

Oh, f***, I missed you, buddy.

I don't know

why they put him up here

for a whole f***ing month.

My mom never liked him anyway.

- Is that gonna be cash

or credit?

- Uh, credit, please.

- Okay. If you wouldn't mind

just signing a few things here.

I am so sorry.

- Oh. Thank you.

- No, I really mean it.

- I appreciate it.

- Your father really loved you.

He would waltz in here

every week

for rusty's diabetes shot

and he would hold rusty

high over his head

and he would talk

about his two sons, yeah.

You and rusty.

He even made all of us...

We all got a subscription

to look alive magazine

just 'cause he said

you wrote for it.

He was a good man.

- Um... that's it.

Thank you very much... Nancy.

- Oh. Don't forget your card.

- Oh, thank you.

- May god be with you, Jack.

- Can I ask you something,

Nancy?

- You just did.

- Um, how many hours a day

do you work here?

- Twelve.

- And... how many animals

do you see die by euthanasia

or... or... or physical failure

each day?

: About 11 or 12.

- That's about one per hour.

So assuming that these pets

have families,

other than

the lonely old cat lady,

you must see double, triple,

quadruple that in...

In crying faces, right?

Devastated faces.

Tragic faces.

And yet, somehow...

you believe

that god cares about us.

- Oh, I'm so sorry.

I did not mean...

- shhh. Nancy. Nancy.

Nancy, I'm not...

I'm not challenging you.

I'm admiring you.

I'm... reminding myself

that there's still goodness

in the world.

Still good people in the world.

Good people like you, Nancy.

Doh!

Thank you, Nancy.

Mom?

Mom, you awake?

- I need to sleep!

- Okay. Just letting you know

that I... I got rusty.

- Oh, god.

Don't let him scratch the door.

I just hate when he does that.

- Will do.

Uh, Shanda's coming over

a bit later with food.

Do you want anything?

- No. I need to sleep.

- Okay.

- Did you talk

to that whore nurse, Nancy?

- At the vets?

Yeah, she sent her condolences.

- Huh.

I bet she f***ing did.

- What does that mean?

- Swear I'm gonna kill

that b*tch.

- What b*tch?

- What b*tch? Crystal!

That f***ing b*tch.

- You mean crystal,

the love of your life?

- If she's the love of my life,

f***ing shoot me

right f***ing now.

- Give it an hour, you'll be

in love all over again.

- Pfft!

Shut up and eat your burrito.

The house is so quiet.

- Yeah, it is.

Just like mom always wanted.

Guess she finally got her wish.

- Can I tell you

something that...

You probably shouldn't hear

right now?

- Please do.

Your specialty is providing

unwanted information.

- I always thought this house

was haunted.

- Really? Why?

- I don't know.

Ever since we were kids,

it just felt like

there was some dark vagina

just hovering over this place,

waiting to swallow me up.

- Maybe it was just your latent

homosexuality talking, hmm?

- Shut up. I'm being serious.

I've always been scared here,

dude.

Why do you think

we'd fall asleep in the TV room

and then you'd wake up

in the morning

and find me passed out

in the yard?

Just felt safer outside.

- You'd go outside

'cause you walked in your sleep.

- Hey, so did you.

God, we're so weird.

- Found something in the attic

last night.

- What?

- It was a tape recorder

with a full tape.

It was labeled "for Jack."

- Well, did you listen to it?

- What are you looking at?

- We're best friends.

- Yeah.

- No secrets.

- No secrets.

- To be honest, it wasn't...

Your house

that's always scared me.

It's your mom.

She always scared

the living sh*t out of me.

I'm sorry, but i...

- no, no, no, no sorries.

- Every time...

I'd leave here

to go back to my house...

I would just be thinking:

good luck.

- Hey!

Peepin' tom.

- Hey.

- What ya doing?

- Smokin'.

- You got a name?

- Jack.

- Duncan.

How come I ain't seen ya before?

- I live in L.A.

I'm just here

for some family sh*t.

- Ah. I see.

I see.

Hey, do ya wanna do some blow?

- 'Scuse me?

- Said, "do you wanna do

some blow?"

Do you want some or not?

If you don't snort it, I will.

- Symmetry.

See I... oh!

- So what do you say

you're doing back here

when you're all hot sh*t

parading around Hollywood?

Hmm?

- 'Cause there was an accident.

My dad got his head chopped off.

- Ah, so you're all

full of sh*t.

- Nah. No, truth, man.

He's dead.

Dead and gone.

As of... 48, 72 hours ago.

I dunno.

- You serious?

- Yeah.

Funeral's coming up.

F***.

Helluva lot a work, a funeral.

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