All language subtitles for [SubtitleTools.com] The.Life.Of.Chuck.2024.2160p.4K.WEB.x265.10bit.AAC5.1-[YTS.MX]_track3_[eng]

student: "It is not chaos or death.

"It is form and union and plan.

"It is eternal life.

"It is happiness.

"The past and present wilt.

"I have filled them, emptied them,

"and proceed to fill my next fold of the future.

"Listener up there! What have you to confide to me?

"Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening.

"Talk honestly, no one else hears you,

and I stay only a minute longer."

"Do I contradict myself?

"Very well then, I contradict myself.

I am large, I contain multitudes."

My God.

What is it?

Clearly something more interesting than Whitman.

California. There was another earthquake.

A huge chunk's gone from Santa Barbara to Fresno.

- student 2: It's fucking crazy. - Into the ocean.

- Just like that. - teacher: Alright, alright.

Settle down.

Got no connection.

Anybody else have one?

student: No.

teacher: Oh, eh, sorry. Network's still down.

I've got his file here, though.

Uh, Dylan's been diving lately.

I mean, this semester, he's gone

from As and Bs to Ds.

You keep hard copies?

When the network started acting up,

a lot of us started keeping hard copies.

What do you think? I mean, you think it's coming back?

Well, I don't, I don't know.

Dylan's mom: I remember the world before the internet.

Why is it so hard to imagine carrying on without it?

It is, though, isn't it?

How do we go back? How-- Can we go back?

What if it's down for good this time?

Internet's still down.

teacher: Yeah, but lucky for us,

I've got hard copies for each student.

parent: I think this might be it.

I don't think it's coming back this time.

You might be right.

But I do think we should talk about Emily.

Her attendance has really fallen off.

Her attendance?

Absenteeism's at an all-time high

all over the world.

We got doctors and pilots and cops

and everyone's just pissing the fuck off, right?

But you, you want to talk to us about Emily?

parent 2: How are they supposed to study, anyway?

Web's been on the fritz for eight months.

Half those sites are just garbled.

I mean, I get it, sites go dark.

But what about all that other stuff?

Like, sites are there, but all the punctuation's wrong.

Words spelled wrong. How do you explain that?

Well, I can't,

but Brian can still prepare for class.

I mean, the library's still here. Internet or not.

Pornhub's down.

Did you know that, Mr. Anderson?

Yeah, I, uh,

I, I, I had noticed that. Yeah.

Sorry if Bri's been any trouble.

It's just me now. His mom...

she left, I don't know where.

That's been happening a lot more I hear,

people just ghosting.

Hers was some star-crossed boyfriend from high school.

They dated a month.

Goddamn month. She's gonna throw 20 years

in the trash to chase down a month.

I guess she never stopped thinking about him.

I guess we've all got someone like that.

I mean, I get it, if it really is the end,

like those kooks in the purple robes say,

then who do you want to be with for it?

But to leave her son?

Uh, she says she'll be back.

I don't know. Um...

Fuckin' Pornhub.

What if that never comes back?

Fuckin' tragedy.

I mean, even if it is the end of all things...

that's just fuckin' mean.

- Sorry. - Yeah.

reporter: It's a scene of devastation

and heartbreak in California,

as rescue workers sift through what remains

of the northern portion of the state.

reporter 2: 350 dead in North Yorkshire

as water levels continue to...

narrator: The day Marty Anderson

first saw the billboard

was just before the internet finally went down for good.

It had been wobbling for eight months,

but other problems, like fires, earthquakes,

and whole species of birds and fish dying off

had taken priority.

newscaster : ...till today, thought to be

the largest wildfire in United States history.

narrator: Ordinarily, Marty would've driven home

by way of the Turnpike bypass,

but that wasn't possible

due to the collapse of the bridge

over Otter Creek.

NPR host : Well, with what happened in California,

that officially makes Nevada one of the most

populous states in the Union now.

NPR host 2: The thing that must be said here is...

narrator: Felicia Gordon is a nurse

at City General.

Though for the last few weeks,

she's felt more like an undertaker.

The staff, whose numbers have been dwindling

since late summer, have begun referring

to themselves as the Suicide Squad.

NPR host : We'll be back to talk more about this

and, uh, also about the fires in the Midwest,

speaking of water scarcity, back after this break.

announcer : We'd like to say thank you

to Charles Krantz

for 39 great years.

Thanks, Chuck.

man: Hey.

Heard you got another one.

Yeah. One more.

nurse: Mine wasn't so lucky. Slit wrists, so...

what were we supposed to do really?

Hear about Marilou?

No. What about Marilou?

She left!

- Her ex. Remember Pedro? - Mm-hm.

He showed up, and I don't know what he said to her,

but she walked out holding his hand.

And I remember how bad that divorce was.

- Do you remember? - Yeah, I remember.

Well, I guess that's all bridge water

'cause off she went.

reporter : ...sinkholes that have been opening up.

nurse: I wonder what the stats are.

You think more people are splitting up

or getting back together?

I mean, do you think marriage rates are up

- or divorce rates-- - Marriages.

- You're an optimist. - No.

Divorce takes way longer,

and I don't think anyone's filing.

Why bother? Six months of paperwork at least.

Probably more.

Marriage license is one page

and it takes an hour or so.

I'm gonna guess marriages.

man : Missed you for lunch, missed you for dinner.

What's the matter? Don't you eat anymore?

woman : Well, I wasn't hungry tonight.

man: Weren't you hungry this morning either?

woman: Who stole my nylons?

Egads! The very... Not very.

man: Too much rehearsal last night, huh?

woman: It was kind of a workout.

man: That why you slept late?

woman: Oh, I didn't sleep late.

I went uptown.

- man: Shopping? - woman: No.

Hey.

Felicia Gordon : hi.

You hung up?

Yeah.

But then I figured you probably saw it. So...

How are you?

Marty Anderson : I'm okay, I guess.

How are you?

I was, um, thinking about you today.

We were at work talking about marriages and divorces.

Like, which are happening more now--

Marriages, I bet.

Ain't nobody waiting on a divorce.

What about remarriages?

You want to buy a guy a drink first or...

I bet those are happening.

I mean, it makes sense.

People wanting something comforting and...

familiar.

So... how was your day?

You're just going right for it, aren't you?

Humor me.

It was, um...

It was a day, I guess.

You know? Weird.

Parent-teacher sessions,

felt like pissing in the wind.

You know about California, right?

Yeah.

I know they're saying most of it was already evacuated,

but I heard today there are hundreds of thousands

of refugees trekking east.

Did you know Nevada is one of the most

populous states in the Union now?

I heard a, a scientist on NPR say

California is peeling away like old wallpaper.

And another Japanese reactor got inundated this afternoon.

And they're saying, you know, it was shut down and all's well,

but I just, I, I don't think I believe that.

Cynic.

Well, we're living in cynical times, Marty.

I mean, some people think we're living in the last times.

Not just the religious crazies either. Not anymore.

And you are hearing that from a member in good standing

of the City General Suicide Squad.

That's what we call ourselves now.

No lie.

We lost six today, but there's 18 more

we dragged back, mostly with naloxone.

But supplies of that are getting very thin.

And I heard the head pharmacist say

we might be completely out by the end of the month.

That sucks.

Yeah. Yeah.

Yeah, that sucks. It, it really sucks.

The internet's down, and California's hanging

by a thread.

There's fires and famines

and plagues and all the rest.

I mean, it just

the center doesn't hold.

It just won't let up.

How long is this gonna go on?

How much can we take before the whole thing...

before the whole thing goes apart, I mean.

I'm teaching the kids Carl Sagan right now.

You ever hear what he said about the cosmic calendar?

Uh... I don't know. I don't think so.

Well, the universe is 15 billion years old.

And if you took all of that,

all, all 15 billion years

and compress them into a single calendar year,

then the Big Bang happens in the first second, January 1st.

And, and today,

oh, right now, we're in the final millisecond

of the last minute of the last day,

December 31st.

But if you go back to the start,

if the, if the Big Bang happens

at midnight, January 1st,

then each month of this calendar

is one and a quarter billion years long.

Hey, nobody told me there was math on this exam.

The universe starts January 1st,

but the, uh, the Milky Way didn't form

until May.

Our sun and our earth,

they don't show up until mid-September.

Life appears soon after. But not us.

No. No, no, we don't appear for guess how long?

Again, I was told there'd be no math.

December 31st.

Last day on the calendar,

and the very first human beings on Earth

made their debut

around 10:30 p.m.

10:30 p.m. on the last day.

And, um, every minute since then

is 30,000 years.

So, 11:46 p.m.,

only 14 minutes ago, humanity tamed fire

and now we're out of minutes, we're into seconds.

11:59 and 20 seconds,

the domestication of plants and animals begin,

an application for the human talent for making tools.

11:59 and 35 seconds,

agricultural communities

evolved into the first cities.

Our recorded history,

everyone we've ever heard of,

every single thing in any one of our history books...

happens in the last 10 seconds.

The last 10 seconds

of the last minute

of the last day on the calendar.

December 31st.

So how long is it gonna go on?

I don't know, Fel.

If you're right, and you might be,

that this really is the, the last times

and the universe is dying,

and let's just say it's a fast death,

even if all of this is happening in the,

the last split second,

microsecond,

who knows how long that'll last.

Maybe seconds, maybe eons.

Maybe all this is happening as the cosmos burps out

its last breath.

Maybe it's all happening in the last

single solitary heartbeat.

Jesus, Marty.

Yeah.

Listen, Fel, I should go. I've, um...

I've got tests to grade.

Marty...

the world is going down the drain,

and all we can say is, "That sucks."

So, maybe we're going down the drain too.

Maybe.

But, you know, Chuck Krantz is retiring.

So...

...I guess there's a gleam of light in the darkness.

Yes. Thirty-nine great years.

Oh, you saw that weird billboard?

No, it was an ad on the radio that, um,

that NPR show I was telling you about.

If they're running ads on NPR,

it really is the end of the world.

Tell me, how does Chuck Krantz

rate this kind of coverage?

I mean... looks like an accountant.

I've never heard of him.

Used an old photo too, I guess.

I mean, the guy barely looks 40 at all,

let alone 40 years on the job.

The world is full of mysteries.

And, hey, no hard stuff, Marty.

Okay? Have a beer instead.

You got it.

newsreader : The Ohio EPA has now issued

a code red air quality alert

for Cleveland and its surrounding--

Oh, shit on a stick.

announcer : We'd like to say thank you

to Charles Krantz

for 39 great years.

Thanks, Chuck.

Gus!

Oh. Hey, Marty.

Where's your car?

It's... it's on,

it's on the sidewalk halfway down

Main Street Hill with a hundred others.

I finally just had to turn around.

Fuck it, I walked...

What do you think it is, like, three miles?

I just walked three miles.

Oh, you're going to school. Hold on a sec.

Uh, real quick, you gotta, you gotta go,

listen to me, you gotta go out Route 11

and then hook back on, on, on 19.

Yeah. There's gonna be plenty of traffic.

You gotta go out at least 20 miles.

You might make it before lunch.

- I wouldn't count on it. - What happened?

Giant sinkhole opened up on Market and Main.

Man, the-the thing, it, uh, it's huge.

All the rain probably had something to do with it,

lack of maintenance maybe more so.

But it's not my department, thank God.

But, yeah, there's, there's gotta be

20 cars at the bottom.

And some of the people in some of those cars,

they ain't comin' back.

Jesus, I was, I was just there last night,

backed up in traffic.

Thank God you weren't there this morning.

I assume you know about California.

I didn't turn on the TV this morning.

- Oh! - Is there something new?

The, the rest of it went.

I-I mean, th-they're saying that 20% of Northern California

is hanging in there, which probably means, what, 10%?

But the food-producing regions are-- they're gone.

And with the Midwest turning to charcoal

and Florida flooding, that's like

all the food-producing regions

in the country just gone.

And the same thing with Europe.

I mean, it's famine time in Asia.

There's a million people dead.

They're saying it's the bub-bublonic,

- bubonic plague. - Bubonic.

Bu-Bubonic plague. Yeah.

And the bees, I mean, they were in trouble a decade ago,

but they're completely gone now.

I mean, there's a couple of hives or whatever

down in South America,

but there ain't no honey, honey.

And without those little guys, like, what's gonna pollinate

all the crops we have left?

I mean, I can't do--

Excuse me. One sec.

Yeah, yeah. That's-that's cool.

A-Andrea? Are you,

are you Andrea from Midwest Trust?

I'm Felicia Anderson's husband.

Ex, actually.

I think you and Fel know each other.

We met at a, a, a game night at David's.

- A few game nights. - Yeah, sure.

What do you want?

I just had a long walk, and my car is stuck,

and the bank is,

it's leaning.

Leaning?

Yeah.

It's on the edge of the sinkhole.

Guess that's the end of my job.

Hey, I'm curious about the billboard

on the bank building.

- Have you seen it? - How could I miss it?

And I saw the ads too, on tv.

No more ads for cars or discount furniture.

Just, "Charles Krantz,

39 great years. Thanks, Chuck."

So, he doesn't work at the bank?

He's not retiring from the bank?

I don't know Charles Krantz.

I think it's just a prank. Performance art.

Take care.

They look like refugees.

Yeah.

No one looks that concerned.

What good would that do?

All was concerned at the start.

Remember the protests? You remember...

they knocked over the fence at the White House,

and all those students got shot?

- Yeah. - And the overthrow of the Russian government.

You got the Four Day War between Pakistan and India

and the fucking... the volcano in Germany.

There was a volcano in Germany. That's, that's crazy.

And we just kept saying, "Oh, it's gonna blow over."

That doesn't look to be happening, though, does it?

No.

I think that suicides will slow down.

I think people will just... wait.

For what?

The end.

This is the end of everything.

I mean, we're, we're going through

the five stages of grief.

Don't you get it? I mean, we just,

we just landed on the final stage.

Acceptance.

The waiting...

I think that's the hardest part.

And the whole thing, it just, it-it came out of nowhere, right?

I mean, everyone knew there was trouble with the environment.

I mean, I think even the right-wing nutjobs

were secretly, they got it.

But this...

this...

this is just 60 different varieties of shit.

It's just so much shit that happened fast.

It's like a year, man. Fourteen months.

Sucks.

Yeah. Sucks.

Huh.

Skywriting.

I haven't seen one of those since I was a kid.

Oh.

What the fuck?

My sentiments... exactly.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, where have you been?

Are you kidding?

I had to run here.

The traffic's insane, and half the cars are empty.

Dr. Winston's MIA.

- What? - Yeah.

He walked in this morning, and he looked around

and he walked out again.

And now I can't find him.

He dropped his pager when he walked out.

Okay. I'll scrub in.

The beds are empty.

Most of them walked out. I-I-I transferred

the last of the stable ones.

But, Felicia, there's something weird.

What is that?

What's wrong with the monitor?

That's the thing, it-it's, it's not just that one.

I don't know, Fel. I don't know.

I mean... I might want to get out of here.

I might wanna go home.

I don't think I need to be here anymore.

You okay, sir?

Yeah. Just taking a rest.

I walked downtown to look at the sinkhole

and take a few pictures with my phone.

Thought one of the local TV stations might be interested,

but they all seem to be off the air.

Except for pictures of Krantz.

All Krantz all the time.

- Any idea who he is? - None.

I've asked two dozen people, at least. Nobody knows.

Our man, Krantz, is the Oz of the apocalypse.

Our last meme.

- Where are you heading? - Harvest Acres.

Nice little enclave off the beaten track.

I'm heading there myself.

- My ex lives there. - Huh.

Well...

I can walk with you if you like.

What do you do, Sam?

If you still do anything, I mean.

Owner and chief undertaker for Yarborough Funeral Home.

Oh, man!

Yeah.

We had a boom.

It's hard to feel good about it,

but business was never better

than it was a few weeks ago.

But my real interest's meteorology.

Dreamed of being a television weatherman

in my salad days, maybe even one of the networks.

But n-no.

I keep up, though.

Read the journals.

And I can tell you

something amazing if you want to hear.

You know how people say there are 24 hours in a day?

Well, they're wrong.

There were 23 hours and 56 minutes

in a stellar day.

Plus a few odd seconds.

There "were"?

Based on my calculations, which I assure you

I can back up, my math is good,

there are now 24 hours and two minutes in a day.

Do you know what that means?

Well, you're saying the Earth's rotation is slowing down?

Exactly.

Lot of folks think all of these disasters

are 'cause of what we've done to the environment.

Not so.

I'm the first to admit, we treated our mother,

yes, she's our mother, all of us, very badly.

Certainly molested her, if not outright raped her.

But... we're puny

compared to the great clock of the universe.

No.

Whatever's happening

is much larger than environmental degradation.

The math says so.

And, and math can do a lot of things.

I mean, math can be art...

but it can't lie.

You know what?

I think I'll sit

and enjoy the sunset

while I wait for the arthritis

to settle a bit.

You care to join me?

I think I'll go on.

The ex. I understand.

Well, it was nice speaking with you, Mr. Anderson.

Hey.

Hey.

Don't worry. I'm going to see my ex-wife,

Felicia Anderson.

I think she's back to Gordon now.

She lives on Fern Lane, number 19.

Yeah, I know Miss Gordon.

What are you doing out?

I wanted to go skating.

I used to love skating.

Then you should go skating.

Maybe I should.

Why do you see Miss Gordon if she's your ex?

I still like her.

girl: Do you fight?

We used to.

We get along better now that we're exes.

Miss Gordon gives us gingersnap cookies sometimes.

I like Oreos better, but...

That's just the way the cookie crumbles, right?

Gingersnaps don't crumble.

At least not until you crunch them--

You better go home, I guess.

It's too dark for skating without streetlights.

Is everything gonna be okay?

Sure it is.

Go home.

Go home to your Mom and Dad.

Do it now.

Huh?

Oh, thank God. Oh, thank God.

- Thank God. - They, they just...

They just, they just started showing up.

No, I know, I know, I saw.

Is it just here?

I think it's everywhere.

I think it's almost...

Yeah...

Yeah, I think it's almost...

It's the brightest I've ever seen the stars.

Just look at that.

There's Aquila the eagle.

Mm-hm.

There's, uh...

Cygnus the swan.

You see it?

And there's the North Sta--

Did you just see that?

Yeah.

There goes Mars.

I'm scared.

I am too.

Chuck's wife: It's okay, honey.

You go on.

You go on ahead, okay?

Just thirty-nine years.

Thirty-nine great years.

Thanks, Chuck.

I love y--

narrator: With the help of her friend, Mac,

who has an old van,

Taylor Franck sets up her drum kit

in her favored spot

on the Eighth Street Promenade.

It's Thursday afternoon.

The weather is fucking gorgeous,

and the streets are thronged with people

looking forward to the weekend,

which is always better than the weekend itself.

- All good. Taylor? - Yeah, thanks.

Ten percent is all the thanks I want, dude.

narrator: Taylor, and Mac too,

work part-time

at Doctor Records on Castle Street.

But on a good day...

...Taylor can make almost as much busking.

Busk-drumming isn't what her parents saw for her

when she enrolled at Juilliard,

and they don't know yet that she dropped out.

Juilliard wanted you to think about what you were doing,

but as far as Taylor is concerned,

the beat is your friend and thinking is the enemy.

She starts warming up, going easy at first.

Slow tempo, no cowbell,

not minding that the magic hat stays empty

except for her two crumpled dollars

and a quarter flipped contemptuously

by a dude on a skateboard.

There is time. There is a way in.

Finding the in is half the fun.

Maybe even most of it.

Janice Halliday is on her way home

from seven hours at Paper and Page,

and may walk all the way to the ocean.

Her boyfriend of 16 months just broke up with her,

and he did it the modern way.

Motherfucker!

narrator: It was totally unexpected,

like having a door slammed in your face

just as you were getting ready to walk through it.

- It was... - Fucking bullshit!

narrator: ...fucking bullshit.

She isn't in love with him.

Never even kidded herself that she was.

- But still it... - Fucking sucks.

narrator: ...is a dismaying shock just the same.

She supposes she'll have some wine

when she gets home and cry.

Maybe queue up one of her big band playlists

and dance drunk around the room.

She loved to dance in high school.

Maybe she can recapture a little of that happiness.

- Fucking really?! - passerby: Excuse me.

Sorry, sorry, sorry. Not you, not you.

Fuck!

barista: Got an oat milk latte for Chuck.

narrator: Charles Krantz,

Chuck to his friends,

is dressed in the armor of accountancy.

Gray suit, blue shirt, blue tie.

His Samuel Windsor shoes are inexpensive but sturdy.

He's here for a week-long conference

titled "Banking in the 21st Century."

He's been sent by his bank, Midwest Trust,

all expenses paid.

Chuck has enjoyed the speakers and the panels.

He was on one panel

and is scheduled to be on another

before the conference ends at noon tomorrow,

but has no wish to spend his off-duty hours

in the company of 70 other accountants.

He speaks their language,

but likes to think he speaks others as well.

At least he did,

although some of the vocabulary is now lost.

Now, his sensible Samuel Windsor Oxfords

are taking him for an afternoon walk.

His life is narrower

than the one he once hoped for,

but he's made peace with that.

He understands that narrowing

is the natural order of things.

He has a wife, Ginny,

to whom he is scrupulously faithful,

and an intelligent, good-humored son

in middle school.

He also has only nine months to live,

though he doesn't know that yet.

Taylor has been on the job for 10 minutes now

and has nothing to show for it.

She sees a Mr. Businessman type

coming toward her

and something about him, God knows what,

makes Taylor want to announce his approach.

She slips first into a reggae beat,

then something slinkier.

And for the first time today, Taylor feels a spark

and begins to whack the cowbell on the downbeat.

It's pretty cool.

The groove has arrived,

and the groove is like a road you want to follow.

She could speed the beat up, get some tom in there,

but she's watching Mr. Businessman

and that seems wrong for this dude.

She believes Mr. Businessman will just go on past

on his way to the business hotel,

and when he's gone,

Taylor will switch to something else.

But instead of floating on by...

onlooker 1: Woo!

onlooker 2: Yeah!

onlooker: Woo!

Come on.

Come on, little sister.

Let's dance.

Dance.

Yeah!

I'll lead you. I got you.

Uh.

It's okay. It's my glasses. It's my glasses.

What are we doing?

I don't know.

Taylor Franck: No more today, folks.

No more today.

No more today. We gotta quit while we're ahead.

Chuck Krantz: Do you need a-any help at all or...

Here, can you, uh, take this?

- Sure. - Just, just spin the thingy here.

But watch out for your fingers.

It'll, it'll, it'll get 'em good, you know what I mean?

Yeah, yeah.

Janice Halliday: What just happened?

That was incredible.

You dance for a living?

No. Oh, no. I...

- No, I do not, sir. - What do you do for a living?

Oh, no, I think I-- Did I-- I didn't break it, did I?

I think he broke, I think he broke it.

Let's hit the pond.

We'll never find parking by the Common.

We will today.

Today...

is magic.

Where did you learn to dance like that?

Oh, no, no, no, that's yours.

Nope, we split it even.

By myself, I wouldn't have made half as much

if I drummed till midnight.

You okay?

Yeah.

Yeah. Just one of my headaches.

Oh, no, no, no. Come on. I don't need it. You keep it.

Come on, man, you earned it.

Buy yourself dinner.

Give it away. But I'm handing it to you.

You could do this for a living, you know?

I don't know about that.

I really think we could busk our way to fame and fortune.

What made you stop in front of me?

Why did you start moving?

narrator: He could say it was because he was thinking

about his old half-assed band, The Retros,

and how he liked to dance across the stage

during instrumental breaks.

But that's not it.

I don't know.

Taylor, we gotta roll,

or you're gonna end up spending your take

on my parking ticket.

So, you guys don't want a career change?

Career change? How... I mean...

We'll make a name for ourselves.

You got to get in here before you go.

- Group hug. - Oh, oh, okay.

- Group hug. - Okay.

Go.

Come on.

Buskers forever.

Yeah. Buskers forever.

We gotta roll before the meter maid shows up.

I'm so sorry.

That sucks.

It does suck.

I thought he was a nice guy.

He was a pretty good lover, and we had fun and all that.

If I can find a video of us dancing,

which I'm gonna look because I bet we go viral,

I'm gonna send it to him with a text,

a text that says, "This is what you're missing."

You're gonna be fine.

I don't know a lot, but I know that much.

You got a bright sunbeam in front of you,

and you're gonna step right into it, I can tell.

But yeah.

It sucks. Not much else to say.

Everything goes down the drain,

and all we can say is, "That sucks."

Mm. Yeah.

Maybe we're going down the drain too.

Maybe.

I'm this way.

Uh, I'm that way.

Thank you for the dance.

narrator: As he passes the place

where Taylor set up her drums,

those two questions recur.

Why did he stop to listen?

And why did he start to dance?

He doesn't know.

And would answers make a good thing better?

Later, he'll lose the ability to walk,

never mind dancing with little sister

on the promenade.

Later, he'll lose the ability to chew food.

Later, he'll forget his wife's name.

Later, he'll lose his grip on the difference

between waking and sleeping

and enter a land of pain so great

he will wonder why God made the world.

What he will remember, occasionally,

is how he stopped and dropped his briefcase

and began to move his hips to the beat of the drums.

And he will think

that is why God made the world.

Just that.

narrator: Chuck was looking forward

to having a baby sister.

Of course, he was also looking forward

to having parents,

but none of that worked out thanks to a patch

of well-hidden ice on an I-95 overpass.

Chuck wasn't in the car when it happened

because his parents were having a dinner date

and he was being babysat by his grandparents,

who, at the time, he was still calling Zaydee and Bubbie.

He was seven years old.

Excellent job.

narrator: For a year and a half, it was a house

of unadulterated sadness.

Albie and Sarah Krantz had not only lost

their son and daughter-in-law...

Why're you not eating?

narrator: ...they had lost the granddaughter

who would've been born just three months later.

young Chuck: What's going on?

narrator: The name had already been picked out...

- Her name is Alyssa. - narrator: ...Alyssa.

When Chuck said that sounded to him like rain,

his mother had laughed and cried at the same time.

He never forgot that.

Albie processed his grief

by turning to his two absolutes,

numbers and alcohol.

Sarah, though, could find no joy

in her usual pleasures.

She loved the flavors of life,

music, art, and food,

but now, found the world quiet

and gray and flavorless.

Some of the good feelings came back

into the house with time.

There were a lot of takeout meals

after the accident,

but around the time Chuck turned 10,

his grandma started cooking again.

She liked rock-and-roll while she was cooking.

Music Chuck would've thought much too young for her,

but which she clearly enjoyed.

Come on, little brother, let's dance.

Sarah Krantz: You could learn those moves, kiddo.

You're a natural.

Wh-Where did you learn?

High school.

What were you like in high school?

I was a kusit.

But don't you tell your Zaydee I said that.

He's old school, that one.

narrator: Chuck never told.

His grandparents' house became

every inch his home

with one exception.

The cupola on the roof.

Chuck was forbidden to go into the cupola.

That was his grandfather's rule,

and it was absolute, emphatic.

Albie wasn't a stern man in other matters.

He was downright gentle in most respects.

But on this point, he was rigid.

Chuck asked about it, of course,

and more than once.

What was up there?

What could you see from the high window?

And the big question, why was the room locked?

- Grandma said... - Because the floor isn't safe

and you might go right through it.

- narrator: Grandpa said... - There's nothing up there

because of that rotten floor.

And the only thing you can see through the windows

is the shopping center.

narrator: He said that until, one night,

just before Chuck's 11th birthday,

when he told at least part of the truth.

Carl Sagan : The cosmic calendar

compresses the local history of the universe

into a single year.

If the universe began on January 1st,

it was not until May that the Milky Way formed.

narrator: Drinking is not good for secrets.

And after the death of his son,

daughter-in-law, and granddaughter-to-be,

Alyssa, who sounds like rain,

Albie Krantz drank a great deal.

Everything humans have ever done

occurred in that bright speck

at the lower right of the cosmic calendar.

I'll bet you could see

way past the Westford Mall

from the cupola.

You gotta be able to see the whole town from up there,

I bet.

Albie Krantz: If you went up there,

you might see a lot more than you wanted.

That's why it's locked, Chucko.

Every month is one and a quarter billion years long.

Each day represents 40 million years.

narrator: He wanted to ask what Grandpa meant.

But the adult part of him, not there in person,

no, not at 10, but something that had begun to speak

on rare occasions, told him

- to be quiet. - At this scale...

narrator: Be quiet and wait.

But all of human history would occupy an area

the size of my hand.

We're just beginning to trace the long and tortuous path

which began with the primeval...

You know what style of house this is?

Victorian.

That's right.

And not pretend Victorian either.

It was built in 1885.

It's been remodeled half a dozen times since.

But that cupola was there from the start.

Been here since '71.

And in all those years, I haven't been up

to that damn cupola half a dozen times.

'Cause the floor is rotted?

'Cause it's full of ghosts.

...around 10:30 p.m. on December 31st.

- Y-You remember Scrooge? - Yeah.

That Scrooge movie we watched?

I remember.

Do you think of that as a ghost story?

I-I-I guess so.

Heard someone say it was a ghost story.

Christmas Yet to Come.

11:59:20,

evening, last day of the...

Jefferies boy was a month later.

Henry Peterson,

that took longer.

Four... maybe five years on.

And by then...

I almost forgot what I saw up there.

Almost.

Said I'd never go back up there after that.

And I wish I hadn't because of Sarah.

Because of your Bubbie, Chucky.

Your sweet Bubbie.

And the bread.

Every person we've ever heard of,

somewhere in there...

It's the waiting, Chucko.

That's the hard part.

Everything in the history books

happened here

in the last 10 seconds of the cosmic calendar.

Ooh!

It's getting cold out there.

Vera says hi. She says thanks for the soup.

She laid the gossip on me, laid it good.

Of course...

that's why we have a Vera, isn't it?

So, what's the latest?

Well, I don't know if you've heard,

but Trish is saying Karen and Matty are in therapy.

- Again. - Who's Henry Peterson, Zaydee?

...the universe that made us

or we can squander our 15 billion-year heritage.

And get some pancake mix.

Yellow box, not the orange box.

- You got all that? - I got it.

- Do you need me to write it down? - I got it.

Don't you think about driving.

The walk will sober you up.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

He'll be back with some groceries.

Then, how about tonight,

we do some s'mores in the fireplace?

- Yeah. - Yeah.

Was he blabbing to you about his ghosts?

The ones that live in the cupola?

Yeah.

Well, are there?

What do you think?

I wouldn't pay too much attention to Zaydee.

He's a good man. But, sometimes,

well, sometimes, he drinks too much.

Then he rides his hobby horses.

I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.

Who was the Jefferies boy?

Well...

that was a very sad thing, kiddo.

He lived on the next block over,

and he got hit by a car

when he chased a ball into the street.

It happened a long time ago.

And if your grandpa says he saw it before it happened,

he's mistaken.

He just drinks too much.

You know, I could take those to Mrs. Stanley if you want.

Oh, that's very thoughtful of you.

I bet Vera'd love that.

Mm.

Just wonderful.

Your, your grandmother is an artist.

Thank you for bringing them over.

Was that your idea?

- Be honest. - It was.

Well, can I make you a cup of tea?

Um, I don't drink tea, but, um,

I wouldn't mind a glass of milk.

Well, your grandmother's a saint.

And what about your granddad?

Did he have that thing on his back looked at?

Yeah, the, the doctor took it off and had it tested.

Tell me everything.

It wasn't one of the bad ones.

Thank God for that.

Yeah.

He, um, he was talking to Grandma

about someone named Henry Peterson.

So awful.

You know, Henry was a bookkeeper,

just like your granddad.

He did a lot of the other businesses in town.

The ones that your Zaydee didn't do--

How did it happen?

I don't think you want to hear about that stuff.

Um, w-w-well, Granddad said it was, uh, peaceful.

Peaceful?

He killed himself. Hung himself.

His wife, you see, she ran off

with this younger man, barely old enough to vote.

And she was in her 40s. What do you think of that?

- Wow. - Damn right, wow.

And then, I heard that--

What's happening at school?

Who's smooching who?

teacher: "Talk honestly, for no one else hears you

and I stay only a minute longer."

"Do I contradict myself?

"Very well then,

"I contradict myself,

"I am large.

I contain multitudes."

narrator: On the last day of sixth grade,

Miss Richards,

a sweet, hippie-dippyish young woman

who had no command of discipline

and would probably not last long

in the public education system,

tried to recite for Chuck's class

some verse of Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself."

"Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged.

Missing me one place, search another."

That went well, don't you think?

Yeah, I'm, I'm sorry about that.

What does he mean when he says, "I am large,

I contain multitudes"?

What do you think he means?

All the people he knows.

Yes.

But maybe he means even more.

Here. Come here.

What's in there? Between my hands?

My brain.

No, um, that's not exactly what I mean.

What's in there?

Right between my hands right now.

I don't know.

All the people you know?

I guess.

Just the people you know?

Everything you see.

Everything you know.

The world, Chuck.

Planes in the sky. Manhole covers in the street.

Every year that you live, that world inside your head

will get bigger and brighter and more detailed and complex.

You will build cities and countries and continents,

and you will fill them with people and faces,

real and imagined.

Do you understand?

Don't stop there.

You fill the whole thing

with everyone you ever meet,

everyone you ever know,

everyone you ever just imagine.

It'll be a universe.

A whole universe right between my hands.

You contain multitudes.

So...

what happens to that universe if someone...

I don't know,

hits a patch of ice and goes off an overpass or...

Don't worry too much about those things.

Just remember that you contain multitudes, Chuck.

Isn't that wonderful?

Now, go on. You were such a good boy.

I've really enjoyed having you in class.

narrator: Chuck did enjoy his summer

until August,

when Bubbie died.

It happened at the grocery store

down the street, in public,

which was a little undignified,

but at least it was the kind of death

where people can safely say...

Thank God she didn't suffer.

narrator: The other standby...

She had a long, full life.

narrator: ...was more of a gray area.

Sarah Krantz had yet to reach her mid-60s.

Once more, the house on Pilchard Street

was one of unadulterated sadness.

Albie wore his mourning band, and lost weight,

and stopped telling his jokes

and began to look older than his 70 years.

- That's it? - Yeah.

Buck 75.

Um, that lady who was in here a few weeks ago,

the one who died.

Where was she when it happened?

That's a little creepy, kid.

She was my grandma.

clerk: She was getting a loaf of bread.

Pulled down almost everything

on the shelf when she collapsed.

I'm sorry if that's too much information.

Nah.

I already knew that.

- No! - What?!

- Get away from there! You get away from there. - What? Hey, hey!

Give me that.

Give it to me. Give it to me.

Give me it.

Oh.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Are you okay?

What did you see?

What did you see?

I'm sorry. It's just, you can't.

You can't do that, Chucky.

You just can't.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

Oh, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

I'm sorry.

Come on, little brother.

Let's dance.

teacher: Hello, twirlers, and hello, spinners.

What do you know? Three boys this year.

It's a new record.

You gentlemen might find yourselves

being teased for your new hobby.

I assure you, you are the smartest young men

in the whole school.

You'll soon see what I mean.

For those who don't know me, I am Miss Rohrbacher.

And when I'm not teaching the girls phys-ed,

I am what a few students have called,

"The Dance Monster."

Nothing? Alright.

You have chosen what might be

the best club this school has ever had.

'Cause if we didn't have girls volleyball,

we wouldn't have nothing.

No, no, no.

Back, Mr. Mulford, you are mine now.

Waltz.

narrator: Chuck knew it.

Cha-cha.

narrator: Chuck knew it.

Swing.

Triple step. Rock step.

- Triple step. Rock step. - narrator: Chuck knew it.

Triple step. Rock step.

Samba.

Don't know that one.

narrator: He was, by far,

the best dancer in the little club.

So, Miss Rohrbacher mostly put him

with the girls who were clumsy.

He understood she did it to make them better,

and he was a good sport about it.

Near the end of their two hours, however,

The Dance Monster would show mercy

and pair him with Cat McCoy,

who was an eighth grader

and the best dancer of the girls.

Chuck didn't expect romance.

Cat was not only gorgeous,

she was a full foot taller than he was.

But he loved to dance with her,

and the feeling was mutual.

...three. Out, two, three. Switch.

And stop.

In, two, three. Out, two, three.

Turn. Now box.

One, two, three. One, two, three.

I don't know what that is.

Oh, my God.

Okay, 10 minutes freestyle.

Hey. Watch this.

Show me how you did that.

Ready?

Slide, slide, slide.

Here, ready?

Try it with me.

- Um... - Uh, kick off your shoes

- and do it in your socks. - Aye-aye.

Now, slide.

Slide.

Yeah. There you go.

Hey! Show me.

Pop. Slide. Slide. Slide.

Yeah, again.

Pop. Slide. Pop.

narrator: Twirlers and Spinners let out

half an hour late that day.

Cat McCoy: That's so rad.

You figured that out by yourself?

Well, I just kept rewinding and rewinding

til I figured it out.

We should do that at the Fling.

Uh, not as a date or anything.

I'm going out with Dougie Wentworth.

You know that, right?

Yeah.

But that doesn't mean we couldn't show them

some cool moves.

I really want to. Do you?

I-I don't know.

I'm a lot shorter.

I think people will laugh.

- That totally works. - It totally does.

- Are you sure? - Oh, yeah, I'm sure.

Well, they feel great!

Uh, just a little big.

That should be enough.

- Little more. - Maybe one more.

How's that?

Floor feels like ice.

You put scratches on that floor,

- the janitor is gonna beat y-- - Timmy.

There won't be no scratches.

He's too light on his feet to leave any.

Almost perfect.

Take another run at these two.

You don't need to sigh.

You're good at this, you know?

You're really good at it.

Yeah, but it's boring.

Boring? What, you mean math?

Yeah.

I wonder if maybe next semester

you might want to try Math League after school.

I did it all high school, in fact,

and it was so great.

I'm doing Twirlers and Spinners.

Yeah.

Hey, hey, put that down for a second, will you?

Just a little about math.

Because people start out thinking

it might be boring,

and that's their first mistake.

It's used in every career, in every job,

in every facet of life on this planet.

That's a fact. Hell, the planet.

How do you think we figure out how long a day is?

Everybody knows how long a day is.

- How long? - Twenty-four hours.

People say it's 24 hours, but they're wrong.

There are 23 hours and 56 minutes

in a stellar day.

Plus a few odd seconds. Math proves it.

How do we know how old the Earth is?

How old the universe is, how long people have been here?

Or how to build a bridge or a skyscraper

or how far apart the stars are?

How did we land on the moon?

The stars themselves.

Why they burn, why atoms split and fuse,

and all the rest is just math.

Hey, stars are just math.

When you look at the night sky,

you're seeing the greatest equation

in the universe.

Heck, your dancing, that's math too.

I mean, what's the language of dance?

How do you learn your steps? It's even in the name.

I mean, they call it "the count."

One and two and three and four.

What's a waltz? One, two, three, one, two, three.

Just numbers, just math.

And more than that,

there's an art to it.

What I do, all these files here,

all these folders,

these are all people's lives.

Every choice they made.

Last year, last 10 years.

Everything that's important to them.

Every weakness they have, every vice, every dream,

it's all here in numbers.

Some schmuck comes in, takes those numbers,

does the math without artistry, someone loses their house.

I take those numbers, do a little art,

I save someone's life.

That's what I do.

That's what accounting is.

Well, maybe they should teach that,

the cool stuff,

and not just all the boring stuff.

Hmm.

Math is something else too.

Some math, math that's called statistics

or probability,

it can tell you stuff about your future.

It could tell you, for example,

you're more likely to be drafted

by a major league sports team

than to make a real living as a dancer.

The world loves dancers, it truly does.

But it needs accountants, so there's much more demand,

so there's much more opportunity.

I know that might hurt, but it's the truth.

Math is truth. It won't lie to you.

It doesn't factor in your preferences.

It's pure that way.

Math can do a lot of things.

Math can be art.

But it can't lie.

So...

take another run at those two

because, Chucko,

you are good.

You... have art in you.

Hey! You look great!

Thanks. Uh, you too.

Wanna show 'em how it's done?

Uh, I don't know. I kinda, um...

I kinda hurt my leg.

You hurt your leg?

Maybe, maybe let's, let's wait for a better song.

Hey, kiddo.

Hey.

Thought you were gonna tear it up tonight.

I don't, I don't know.

My shoes feel all funny,

and... I hurt my leg.

Oh, you hurt your leg?

Yeah.

I'm sorry to hear that.

So, you came stag, huh?

- Hmm? - No date.

Nah, I...

That'll change. Believe me, it'll change.

Just give it some time.

None of this, none of--

None of that out there really means anything.

It's all just, just a scrimmage.

Just a practice.

Hey, this is perfect. Come on.

Nah, I'm still, uh...

My leg's still wonky.

Chuck, come on.

We're gonna blow the roof off.

I'm sorry.

It really hurts.

You know, I've been dancing since I was eight,

and I teach PE,

and I've seen when my kids get hurt.

I see how their walk changes.

I see how their posture changes.

And don't mind me saying, but you look...

Well, you look fine to me, Chuck.

I'm not saying that you have to dance with the girl.

It's up to you. I'm just saying

dance or no dance, you don't have to lie.

Tell her the truth.

She can take it.

- You ready? - Yeah. Let's do it.

all : One more time! One more time!

One more time!

narrator: They may have been young,

but they were smart enough to know when to quit.

Thank you, guys.

narrator: Six months before he died

of a brain tumor at the unfair age of 39,

and while his mind was still working, mostly,

Chuck told his wife the truth about the scar

on the back of his hand.

When they'd first started dating,

he told her he'd gotten it from a boy

named Doug Wentworth,

who was pissed about him dancing with his girlfriend

at a middle school formal

and pushed him into a chain link fence

outside the gym.

I lied about that, though.

Oh, my.

A man of secrets,

even still.

Ginny Krantz: What happened, love?

When our fabulous dance was over, I...

I was sweaty and I was so hot.

I-I felt like my cheeks were gonna catch fire.

You were great.

- Thank you. - What a star.

All I wanted in that moment

was just darkness,

cool air,

and to be by myself.

There were millions of stars that night.

Millions of them.

And millions more behind them.

And sure, m-may-- Yeah, maybe they were just math.

But they also danced.

I know 'cause I saw one of them.

And I remember thinking, the universe is large

and, and it contains multitudes,

but it-it also contains me.

And in this moment...

I am wonderful.

And I have a right to be wonderful.

Oh!

Why lie about that, silly?

You're a strange wonder, my dear.

narrator: He doesn't offer more

because the scar was important for another reason.

It was part of a story he couldn't tell,

even though there was now an apartment building

on the site of the Victorian house

where he had done most of his growing up.

The haunted Victorian house.

Mm.

No reason.

Funny thinking, I guess.

narrator: The scar meant more,

so he had made it more.

He just couldn't make it as much more as it really was.

That made little sense.

But as the glioblastoma continued its blitzkrieg,

it was the best his disintegrating mind

could manage.

narrator: Chuck's grandpa,

his Zaydee,

died of a heart attack

five years after the Fall Fling dance.

Chuck was a junior in high school

singing in a band and dancing like Jagger

during the instrumental breaks.

funeral director: He made all the arrangements himself.

Came in a few weeks ago

just to make sure everything was to the letter,

which I thought was strange.

Not many people bother to do that.

Most people,

they come here once to set it all up.

They aren't anxious to come back again.

Next time I see 'em, they're in their Sunday best,

if you get me.

He was a great man and a good friend.

He's been doing our books for 23 years

and saved our skin more than once

when the tax man was coming.

So, do I owe you any money?

Not a penny.

He took care of that too. Settled his tab

that same visit.

You know...

the strangest thing.

And this will sound strange, so bear with me.

See, I, uh,

dreamed of being a television weatherman

in my salad days

with maybe one of the networks.

Wasn't in the cards for me.

But I did spend a summer at WKNB.

Well, there was a guy

at KNB who they said

could feel a storm coming

two solid weeks away

without the radar.

Had a sixth sense.

Damnedest thing I ever saw.

Uh, used to make this face,

this face when people talked about their travel plans,

if he knew something they didn't.

Not... not a smile, per se.

No joy in it.

Just a... knowing.

"Weatherman Stare," I called it.

And I didn't have it, not me.

So, I'm here, not there.

Your granddad had that same face

when he was in here.

Like... he knew it was gonna rain.

And I was just a guy selling him an umbrella.

Weatherman Stare.

I'm sure of it.

The strangest thing.

narrator: Albie left him everything.

More than enough to pay for his college education.

And later on, the sale of the Victorian

paid for the house he and Ginny moved into

after their honeymoon in the Catskills.

He flatly refused to move to Omaha

to live with his mother's parents.

- Look, I love you guys... - narrator: He said.

...but this is where I grew up and want to stay till college.

I'm 17. I'm not a baby.

narrator: So, they, both long retired,

came to him

and stayed in the Victorian

for the 20-odd months before Chuck went off

to the University of Illinois.

They weren't able to be there for the funeral, however.

It happened fast, as Albie had wanted,

and his mom's folks had loose ends

to tie up in Omaha.

Chuck didn't really miss them, if he was honest.

His Zaydee hated a fuss

almost as much as he hated a crowd.

A day before they were scheduled to arrive,

Chuck finally opened the envelope

that had been sitting on the table

in the front hall.

It was from Sam Yarborough,

owner and chief undertaker at Yarborough Funeral Home,

and inside were Albie Krantz's personal effects.

narrator: In this room, Chuck's grandpa had seen

the Jefferies boy,

body broken by the car.

He'd seen Henry Peterson hanging from the ceiling.

He'd seen his own wife lying dead.

And likely, Chuck supposed,

perhaps the night Chuck had stolen his keys,

Albie had even seen himself crumpled to the floor,

still clutching his upper arm.

"It's the waiting," he'd said.

"That's the hard part."

Now Chuck's own waiting would begin.

How long would that wait be?

Exactly how old was the man in the hospital bed?

There was a final bip...

...from the unseen monitor

and then that was gone too.

The man did not fade,

as ghostly apparitions did in the movies.

He was just gone.

Insisting he had never been there in the first place.

- He wasn't... - narrator: Chuck thinks.

...and I will insist he wasn't.

And I will live my life until my life runs out.

I am wonderful.

I deserve to be wonderful.

And I contain multitudes.