Krystal Page #3

---

I'm too high.

Jesus. Me, too.

Do you think they'll notice?

Just sit in the back,

pretend you're invisible,

just like school.

All right.

Pull.

Right.

[all] God grant me the serenity

to accept the things

I cannot change.

The courage... I don't think

she's here, sweetheart.

Perhaps she's at

the gallery.

You work at the gallery,

don't you? If memory serves.

[woman] We have quite

the crowd today.

And there is no mystery

as to why.

Unfortunately,

our speaker has been delayed.

- [door opens]

- So in the meantime... Oh.

Well.

Here he is now.

My, my, my.

Hi. I'm Bo.

And I'm an alcoholic

and an addict.

[all] Hi, Bo.

When I first joined AA,

I was hoping that the men would fear

me and the women would love me.

Now the men love me

and the women fear me.

I started smoking pot

when I was 12.

My parents told me

every time I got high,

I was welcoming Satan

into my soul.

Satan?

He's being metaphorical, dear.

And it took 30 years

of using,

and a million miles

of bad road

to realize they were right.

Satan was in my soul.

- I guess he's not being metaphorical.

- Satan became my best pal.

I have something to confess.

Again?

The devil has been in my soul

since I was seven,

and, I'm very, very stoned.

Fear, the fear

that woke me in the morning.

Fear of the dark.

Too much light.

My reflection in the mirror.

Girls.

Clowns.

My father.

Silence.

And just about everything

in between.

But with my best friend Satan

I was never afraid.

And I was never alone.

And then one afternoon,

I woke up in Motel Hell.

We've all been there.

Empty bottles of Thunderbird

all over the place, roaches.

Both kinds.

Weird sh*t written

all over the walls.

Flies buzzing

around a syringe.

And something really

sticky in my hair.

And then a voice.

"Welcome to the end

of the line."

Whose voice?

And then I'm praying. To who?

Then I'm on my Harley.

Who's driving?

Then I'm in a meeting.

Who brought me here?

We know who.

We all know who.

God as we understand him.

I think God brought us.

All of us together.

And I think faith

keeps us coming back.

The faith that gives us wings.

Or at least a soft place

to land.

[Taylor] In my father's book,

The History of OM,

all the major guys, you know,

Buddha and Christ and Muhammad,

all talk about

how you must be reborn.

Thou must be reborn.

But I'd always get bored

and stop reading,

so I never knew exactly

why you had to be reborn.

Until now.

Hey, Sport.

What happened to you?

He not busy being born

is busy dying, y'all.

- You want a ride?

- My back of the bike days are long gone.

Now why is that?

I get the wind in my hair

and I start feeling

a little too free,

if you follow me.

So I walk.

One step at a time.

The boy...

in the penny loafers

and the sport coat

on the beach?

What about him?

A lie.

In a coat and tie.

I was thinking

that if I looked normal...

I get the picture.

Inside I was a zoo parade

of fear.

Fear of everything.

Fear of the dark,

my reflection in the mirror...

girls,

my father, clowns,

thunder, my shadow,

the sound of my heartbeat,

life,

death,

and everything in between.

I guess that would explain

the whole heart thing.

I guess it would.

I think God got us here.

All together.

And I think faith

keeps us coming back.

The faith

that gives us wings...

or at least a soft place

to land.

How old are you?

Eighteen.

You sure don't talk 18.

I have a very old soul.

Hey, Mom.

I got math.

Hey, baby.

[door closes]

[car approaching]

[muffled hip hop on radio]

Evening, son.

And what a lovely evening

it is. Am I right?

Soft. You know what I mean?

Like velvet.

Like that part of a woman.

Can I help you?

You know, a night like this

makes a man wish he was

big enough to f*** it.

And I am.

You don't believe me,

ask her.

[muffled music resumes]

- Holy sh*t.

- Yeah.

Your P.A.T. thing

must have gone crazy.

That's the strange part.

It didn't.

Why do you think?

- I think it's because I was being Bo.

- Who's Bo?

I think I could

be really good at being Bo.

What the f***

are you talking about?

Bo is my paint brush.

Henceforth,

I paint myself in Bo.

Who the f*** is Bo?

And why are you walking

like that?

It's my Bo walk.

- Your...

- You know. Cool.

With an undercurrent

of tragedy.

Detached from worldly bullshit

but in touch with the pain.

Mm-hm.

There she is.

Dude. She is too much

for your little life, Tay-Tay.

Not for Bo's.

All right.

[exhales quickly]

- Son of a b*tch!

- What happened?!

My kid, he got into a fight.

What kind of sick f***er would start

a fight with a kid in a wheelchair?

My kid started it. Bobby.

Bobby always starts it.

The boy has stones.

Does he ever actually win?

Bobby always wins. He runs them

down and then he runs them over.

Lot of anger, your boy.

You know what? Pardon my f***ing French, but

exactly what the f*** are you doing in my car?

Just riding shotgun,

trying to be your pal,

and searching the horizon for the serenity

to accept the things that I cannot change.

He's got a lot

to be angry about.

His father was driving.

He was so loaded he backed over

him in the driveway.

Didn't come back either.

This is usually where

my gentleman callers get out.

Yeah?

Well, f*** 'em

if they can't take a joke.

[school bell rings]

Which?

Just suspended,

because I didn't start it.

- Give me the cigarette.

- What cigarette?

Why don't you give your mother

the cigarette?

Why don't you eat my ass?

Who the f*** is this dude?

Can I... help.

Nope.

You trick that thing out

yourself?

Trick?

Guess who I think I saw today?

- I have no idea.

- Oh, I bet you do.

- He went back to Savannah.

- Says you.

I saw him out the window

in Biology, lurking.

- No, you didn't.

- Yes, I did.

I know lurking when I see it

and that f***er was lurking.

Freaking me out while I was in

the middle of dissecting a frog.

What the f*** is he doing here anyway?

Lurking like a motherf***er.

Can we watch the language

for one f***ing second, please?

Who's the kid lurking

in the back seat?

Hi.

Did my mom tell you

about Lurker Number One?

I guess your mom will tell me all about

whomever when the time is right.

[chuckles]

What makes you think you're

going to be around long enough?

I have to go back to work

or the manager will fire me.

Keep f***ing smiling.

Could you get this dimwit home

for me please?

That's okay, Mom.

I can walk.

Yeah.

I feel bad

that you're in a wheelchair

but not that bad.

I got enough sh*t

to keep me awake at night.

And if you think that I'm going

to act like I feel bad for you

in front of your mother

just so I can get in her pants,

well, you got your head up

your young ass.

And know this...

I'm not just another guy that's out of

your life before you know his last name.

Kid.

How old are you, man?

Eighteen.

You're hitting on my mom and

you're two years older than me?

F***ing beautiful, 18.

I have a very old soul.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes