Tumbledown

It's your oldest fear

That the love you can hear

Will go r

And it's a deafening sound

We become light

on the ground

Then soil

To be one with the sky

Where the souls all collide

and turn to gold...

Woman:

In the middle,

you feel like it's never

going to end.

But he was with me.

I was going to make it.

I remember that morning.

Hunter made me a deal.

He'd clean out the basement

if I swam all the way

across the lake.

I dove right in.

Our basement was a nightmare.

But it turns out

that gliding along behind me

that's when the last song

on the album came to him.

The first time I brought him here

to show him where I grew up,

he decided that this was where

he wanted to write music,

have a zillion kids,

have a yard big enough

to get lost in...

We are stones to be seen

In the meadows

we are dreams to be free

...to become part of the wilderness

instead of just part of some scene.

It's where we bow

our heads to pray

- We are echoes...

- Most of the songs on the album,

I don't really know

where they came from,

but I was there for that one.

So I hold onto that track

as the one that we wrote together.

Together as it was

supposed to be,

because the plan was never to live

in the fricking woods all my myself.

We are free...

But here I am,

still way out in the middle...

without him.

Don't look at me

with that tone of voice.

We are stones to be seen

In the meadows

we are dreams to be free

It's where we bow

our heads to pray

We are echoes God creates

into shapes

It's where the love

can come in

Your breath becomes the wind

in the trees

We are free

We are free

All are welcome in

All are welcome in.

Mr. Popular today.

All right.

Man:
Do you have any books

on how you write books?

You know, all the rules and grammar,

semicolons and whatnot?

Yes, I would recommend

"The Voyage Out" by Virginia Woolf.

It's on the fiction aisle,

bottom shelf, lilac spine.

I'm ready for

my next assignment.

Hannah, don't waste

your time, all right?

I'm giving the column

to somebody else this week.

What? Who?

I am done playing the fiddle

to your procrastination dance.

Oh, hey, Upton, no,

don't test me today.

I worked all morning.

I did.

Give me an interview.

Come on.

And make it a good one, hmm?

Esther Greeley.

Birthdate number 88.

- Bless her heart.

- Now, 600 words,

and I insist you spend a minimum

amount of time on it.

That "Franklin Journal,"

it's always striving for excellence.

Yeah.

Did my special order come in?

The biographies?

Yes, they did.

I have to be well-versed

in the full spectrum of the genre.

Well, this ought to do it.

That's going to be

some good writing.

- Here.

- Give me that.

All right.

You're a man of such loose morals

behind the cash register.

- Thank you.

- You know what?

- Keep that one.

- I don't want that one.

Well, you might.

- Maybe I do.

- You're going to love it.

Hmm. Ooh.

Hey! Hello.

Okay, guys'

Off we go.

Come on, come on.

Answering machine:

You have two unheard messages.

First message.

Man:
Hello, Miss Miles.

It's Andrew McCabe again.

You know, I'm not sure if you're getting

any of these messages,

but I still would like to speak to you

about your late husband.

- I've been studying his work--

- Answering machine: Message erased.

- Next message.

- Come on. There you go.

Andrew:
Well, maybe you'll pick up

one of these days.

So in the meantime,

I'll just go ahead and tell your machine

a little bit about myself.

I'm a scholar, writer,

associate professor

- at Hofstra University...

- Good boy.

...in pop culture

and American studies.

Go! Go! Fetch!

Andrew McCabe.

Let's see.

Professor.

Stalker, possibly. Huh.

Uh-huh. Well, congratulations.

You write for the Internet.

Man:

Howdy.

- Hi, Hannah.

- Oh, hi.

You brought a bird.

- Had to evict this little critter.

- Hmm.

- Real little fella.

- Aw.

Thought maybe you'd want

to tend to him.

You know, I--

I actually just sat down

to do some work.

Well, I'm on my lunch break

presently

and I guess I thought

a bird in the hand

was worth me in the bush.

Hannah on machine:

Hi, I'm not here.

Leave a message.

Woman:
Noodle?

Noodle, are you there?

- It's Mom.

- Mom!

You're not going to like this,

sweetie,

but apparently there's

some tight-jeaned fast-talker

from the Big Apple

who showed up in town today

riding some fancy motorcycle.

He's been asking everybody all sorts

of personal questions about Hunter.

No.

So I guess you've got

another muckraking reporter type--

What? Mom?

Hey, what? From New York?

Yeah, hi, honey.

I guess he teaches

at Hofstra or something.

Anyway, he's in the Chickadee Suite

at the Mount Blue Motel

in case you want to pay him

a little visit.

No. Okay, Mom. I got to go.

Hofstra? Hello?

Hofstra?

You in?

What is that?

I got it.

Upton!

There's some underhanded,

citified star-humper all up my in grill.

I think he's at the coffee shop.

Will you come with me

and help me crush him, please?

- Crush me?

- What the...?

I could fling you like a Frisbee.

Okay.

- Told you she was a spunky one.

- I love spunky.

Hannah, this is Andrew McCabe.

We were just talking

about some really cool stuff.

- Yes.

- You know, he teaches at--

Hofstra.

- Hofstra.

- That's right, yeah.

You want the restraining order now

or you want to wait for the libel suit?

Huh?

' Sorry?

You parasites are done running

Hunter through the rumor mill.

- Got that?

- Oh, boy.

Talk about barking up

the wrong tree.

If you're talking about magazines,

I agree with you-- they're trash.

- No, I'm writing a book.

- He's writing a book.

Traitor.

Look, and everybody that matters

is going to be in it, okay?

But Hunter Miles

could be its heart and soul.

All right.

Well, you're awfully tenacious,

I'll give you that.

Thank you.

But my husband was a person,

a real man.

And every song he ever wrote

and everything he ever touched is mine.

Got that? Mine.

The end.

Mine.

This crazy widow routine of yours,

does that work on people?

I mean, it seems

a little over the top.

- Sorry. That's too much.

- Yeah.

Andrew:

Sorry. Um, hey, look.

I've got respect fathoms deep

for everything your husband had to say

in those shattering songs, okay?

Those too few so--

where did you get that?

Hey! What are you doing?

Hey! Hey, whoa!

Come here!

Hey! Give that back.

Okay, lady, look.

That's not yours to ruin, okay?

Sorry. One second.

Please, will you give me back

my book?

Are you-- it's like

a snow globe in here.

It's-- a lot of work

went into this, you know?

Go ahead, sir. Please, please.

Are you kidding me?

Who does this?

You make a very lousy

first impression.

You know, there are

many stages of grief.

Oh:
yeah?

Hannah's currently

going through vandalism.

Yeah.

Spunky, huh?

Thanks for the warning.

"Lend an open heart

to Hunter's words

and you soon recognize

that these were always

wounded impre--

impre-- imprecations

from some distant remove,

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