a look of suspicion on his face, he turns and starts back down the hall toward the living room.
as he marches across to his father.
watching all of this with increasing apprehension.
watching. he looks as though he is about to throw up.
he sits in the living room watching television, a chocolate doughnut in one hand and a remote control device for watching television in the other.
he starts to crawl into bed.
as he stirs, in his sleep.
suddenly he forgets his lines, looks around nervously. a moment later a very pretty young teacher leans over, whispers in his ear.
he looks her up and down, then:
who sits looking down at the plate of food in front of him as though it was a coiled rattlesnake about to strike.
weaving in and around the benches. he turns and starts back towards ted. as he does:
as he starts to fall, still holding onto the airplane.
as he hits the concrete.
as he looks up.
he lies in bed, fast asleep, his head swathed in bandages. the camera pans away from him across to ted, who sits in a nearby rocking chair, watching his son. hold for a beat, then ted gets to his feet, walks quietly to the door and steps out into the hall, closing the door behind him.
tracking with him as he lets go of ted's hand and starts to run flat out toward his mother. she kneels, opens her arms wide for him and he goes barreling into her, almost knocking her down from the impact.
eyes wide. he finds this hard to believe.
looking at his father, trying to memorize the older man's face.