Jack Goes Home Page #2

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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.

- 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,

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