Tumbledown Page #8

- Hey.

- Hi.

Hey, where's Hannah?

She's been AWOL, like, all day.

Oh, no, we didn't

expect her to show.

I mean, it's just, you know,

it's their--

her wedding anniversary.

That was today?

Yeah.

Rock a little go-go, dude.

- Finn, honey.

- Hi.

- I'm going to roll, okay?

- Oh, I missed you!

- I want to climb you.

- The saps run a little wild here.

Bye, Bates!

Bye, Bates!

Bye-bye.

Oh!

Get in here!

Whoa!

Hey, Finley.

Happy anniversary.

What did you think of the song?

Um, I don't--

what are you talking about?

You forgot to rewind.

It's all right.

I don't blame you.

What did you think of it?

I thought it was beautiful.

And incredibly sad.

No, not sad.

What do you think

I should do with it?

- You're asking me?

- Mm-hmm.

No idea.

Well, if you love somebody,

set them free, right?

Right.

Sting?

I think that might have been

the Dalai Lama first

and then Sting played some incredibly

obscure instrument behind it.

Hannah...

did he have any idea

how lucky he was?

- He was lucky.

- Yeah.

Until he was profoundly unlucky.

I know how you feel.

All that uncertainty

of how and why you lost him.

What?

He doesn't deserve this,

you know?

He couldn't bear the weight,

so he put it all on you.

He traded you for some

poetic notion of immortality.

Mmm, no, Andrew, he--

Hannah, it's all--

I mean, those lyrics.

I mean, "Lay me in the snow

where I lose myself to time?

Is there more

than flesh and bone?"

And then at the end he--

I mean, he just--

I mean, he tells you

he's giving up.

I'm so sorry.

All this time and you've just

been gathering evidence

for some suicide theory.

That's-- no.

That's not true.

Because, well, whose suicide

are you trying to figure out?

Oh.

Oh, great. Oh, okay.

Psychoanalysis, hmm?

Oh, we're going to do

a little-- okay.

Because those lyrics, if we're honest

about those lyrics, it seems to me--

Andrew, the song means nothing.

- How can you say that?

- Because I wrote it.

What?

It's a poem.

It's my little jokey poem

about making frostbitten love

on top of Little Jackson.

Hunter set it to music for a surprise

or I don't know what.

It-- "Lay me in the snow"

doesn't mean "bury me."

You're the one

who's obsessed with death.

My Hunter was obsessed with life.

Go away.

Go upstairs.

Go to New York.

Do you know where

Hunter Miles is buried?

Mm-hmm.

Right here.

Thanks.

You ever heard his song

"Sweet Spring"?

Wow, right?

What's your email?

Uh...

muffinator66@outlook.

Muffinator.

Why?

I have a song for you.

Share it around if--

if you like it.

Oh!

Man:
The truth of the matter is

I raked it in last year.

Kids would much rather

hitch a ride on a four-wheeler

than take the bus.

Coolness factor.

I charge five bucks.

Marginal profit each ride,

but you get to buzz around

Franklin County all day.

Demand's high

and chicks dig it.

Feel free to print that.

Well, thank you for the scoop,

Mr. Woodcock.

You know, Miss Miles,

I don't just drive around

high school girls,

if you, ahem, catch my drift.

All right, Ethan.

Andrew on tape:

Hannah, hear me out.

I did my best to let go,

but I had to write it anyway,

a couple chapters at least,

and I think we're onto something.

Please forgive me for thinking

brilliance comes with torture,

but I'm not from

your neck of the woods.

Just read it, please?

Right now, actually,

because I'm waiting for you

to walk through the door

at Upton's bookstore.

I'll be reading "Anna Karenina,"

and if she throws herself under a train

and you haven't shown up yet, Ill--

Do you come with peace pipe

or bearing musket?

Hasn't anyone

ever told you no before?

Well, not as frequently

or as emphatically as you have, no.

You just dropped

a grenade in my lap.

What do you want me to say?

I don't know

what I want you to say.

I just like it

when you say things.

You want to go look at some ice?

Take a walk?

Get out of here?

Yeah. Are you kidding me?

Ice? Frozen water?

It's like my favorite thing

in the whole world.

Eight trillion hits on YouTube.

That ain't bad, you know,

for your first song.

How pissed is your girlfriend?

Um, I would not know.

Hannah:
God, I wish you could

see this place in the summer.

Yeah.

Oh.

You hear that sound?

What is that?

A pod of whales communicating?

Lake whales, yes.

I always thought God's belly

after a burrito.

I don't know.

Sounded like a warning.

Just winter crying uncle.

I love living in a place where you earn

your seasons, you know?

Tough it out, see the ice

return itself to mud,

slimy reeds...

become hopeful again.

Hannah, do you feel that?

I want to.

Would you mind if I kissed you?

You know, I swam all the way

across this lake once.

In the middle it feels like

it'll never end.

Yeah, but you made it.

Yeah, there again and back.

Please let me kiss you.

No.

Look at this.

Yeah.

Hi.

Mmm.

Mmm, you smell good.

Hannah, you smell

like dessert and Hawaii

and a long winter's--

He'! '

Hey' he)!' hey, hey,

You Okay?

- What's wrong?

- God.

Hey, it's okay.

It's okay.

It's okay, all right?

I get it.

I'm telling you,

he doesn't want you

to be a puddle of tears

the rest of your life, okay?

I promise you that, okay?

It's not--

it's not what he would want.

Okay?

You don't get to say that.

Why not?

'Cause-- 'cause

it's a conflict of interest.

How is this supposed to work?

Hmm?

Hmm?

I mean...

I mean, I am competing

with a saint.

What?

His recording studio

is a shrine, you know?

You've got a single album

on your iPod.

Hannah, there is grief

and then there is worship.

Yeah, please stop talking.

- Mm, I totally fell for it.

- Fell for what?

I paid you everything I had left.

Take the money.

I don't care about the money.

I put you up.

Hell, I'm even putting out.

And I'm rescuing you.

Okay? I wrote that book

so you wouldn't have to.

It's just a bunch of words.

It'll never be enough.

I know! I know.

Hunter was an amazing guy.

He really was.

But all I see is the girl that he wrote

his best songs about,

and I love the sh*t out of her.

I mean, I love her.

But she loves him.

Hannah.

Al.

I'm so sorry.

She really appreciated

all those articles you wrote about her.

We got emails about it

for weeks after.

Oh, Al.

He'! '

I hope you got

all your wishes.

You're going to come back

as one awesome kitty.

Do me a favor.

When you see him...

say good-bye for me.

Ethan!

Ethan Woodcock!

River Birch Road!

- Nobody...

- Andrew!

ls going to tell me

- That you don't love me, baby...

- Andrew!

No! no; "Q!

They just don't know

that you're an angel...

Stop the car!

Sent down from heaven...

- What are you doing?

- Stop the car!

- Nobody...

- Be careful!

ls going to tell me

that you don't love me, baby

Whoa, oh, oh

Time's going round

in circles, baby

But you know

that talk is cheap...

Thanks, Woodcock.

So...

Let me sleep

In the slumber of the morning

There's nowhere I need to be

And my dreams still are calling

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