Forrest: you’re kinda shaking. Everything ok?
Marie: it’s just George again.
Forrest: just George huh?
Marie: I just keep thinking back to when he died. It was so sudden.
Forrest: yeah. It was. You want to talk about it a bit?
Forrest: okay then. What happened after that night? The days following?
Marie: well… I went to everyone I could think of, asking for help.
Forrest: no one did anything, did they?
Forrest: I’m so sorry. You both deserved different.
Forrest; what was after that?
Marie: well.. there was the funeral.
Forrest: they let them have a funeral for him?
Marie; yeah. In the church, just down the street from the station.
Forrest: that’s a pretty little church.
Marie; it is. And it was. Went there every Sunday. I’d see George there with his family, too. No surprise they went with it for the funeral.
Forrest: how was the funeral?
Forrest: what do you mean you don’t know?
Marie: I didn’t get to see it all.
Marie: when I went up to his body to say goodbye my parents dragged me out and sent me home for making a scene. Because I got mad and started cursing at the people who did it.
Forrest: did you get to watch the burial?
Forrest: oh, Marie. You needed to see his body in that casket. You needed to see them put him in the ground. God, no wonder you’re so messed up. They didn’t let you grieve even a little.
Forrest: I’m not saying you’re ‘messed up’ messed up, I’m saying there’s a reason this has bothered you so much for so long. You got absolutely no closure. You should’ve been there for the whole funeral. You should’ve been there for the burial.
Marie: not much I can do about that now, I’m afraid.
Forrest: talking about it is helping, I think. It has to.
Marie: hopefully you’re right.
