Miles Away
by inmyeyes
He loved the beauty of the night sky, glittering with the shining light from the stars above. He savoured the feeling of insignificance he derived from sitting all alone in his large garden, lying down on the soft grass and breathing in the cool night air. He welcomed that feeling - the feeling that there was much much more to the world. It was a welcome relief especially after all the adulation that was bestowed on him at Chilton. Here, as the wind ruffled his hair and the stars twinkled just for him, he felt free... he felt like himself.
But something nagged at him.
Turning over onto his stomach,
he reached for the leather bound book he had placed beside him. Uncapping
the blue pen he brought and with the help of the light streaming from the
open door of the kitchen, he furiously scribbled down the thought that
was flying through his mind.
I want you and you are not here.
He almost groaned aloud when
he read through the line. He shook his head wryly. 'It figures that
she had to come to my mind.' He had been trying not to think of her;
after all that had happened, it was clear that any chance that he had ever
had with her, if any, was gone. It was no use to harbour any hope, so he
resolved to forget about her. But the more he tried, the more she popped
up in his mind. It was as though her name that had scrawled in his mind
in permanent marker and he could never erase it.
I want you and you are
not here. I pause
in this garden, breathing
the colour thought is
before language into still
air.
He loved to write. It was
something that he never shared with anyone, something that no one knew
he enjoyed doing. It didn't fit in with his image at Chilton, so he hid
it. But if he was ever tempted to tell anyone about his love for poetry,
it would be Rory. He knew how much she loved to read, and he knew that
she'd appreciate his writing. Besides, the look of shock on her face if
he did tell her would be worth it.
I want you and you are
not here. I pause
in this garden, breathing
the colour thought is
before language into still
air. Even your name
is a pale ghost and, though
I exhale it again
and again, it will not
stay with me.
It was a weird feeling for
him; fighting for something he wanted. He never had to work for anything
in his life, least of all female attention. Everything had come easy for
him... except when it came to her. It figured that the one thing he ever
really wanted, ever really needed, he couldn't have. Fate was unkind that
way.... or maybe Fate was kind; he didn't deserve her.
I want you and you are
not here. I pause
in this garden, breathing
the colour thought is
before language into still
air. Even your name
is a pale ghost and, though
I exhale it again
and again, it will not
stay with me. Tonight
I make you up, imagine
you, your movements clearer
than the words I have
you say you said before.
So, she was only with him
in his mind. That was the only way he could have her by his side, hear
her voice whispering intimately in his ear, revel in the joy of her laughter,
see her cerulean eyes sparkle. The Rory he had with him was a figment of
his imagination, an extension of the real Rory, whom he could only dream
of having.
Wherever you are now, inside
my head you fix me
with a look , standing
here whilst the cool late light
dissolves into the earth.
There were times when he would
almost go up to her, wanting to share something before belatedly realizing
that he didn't have that kind of closeness with her, that what he was thinking
about had only occurred in his imagination. It was difficult to swallow
the fact they were, in reality, so far apart from each other. Miles away...
not just physically, but most importantly, emotionally. There was nothing
between them; he had no claim on her and she wanted nothing to do with
him.
Wherever you are now, inside
my head you fix me
with a look, standing
here whilst the cool late light
dissolves into the earth.
I have got your mouth wrong,
but still it smiles.
Recalling from memory, an
involuntary smile curled his lips as he remembered her own sweet smile.
He loved her smile, but he didn't see it often enough... and he never did
see it beamed just for him. There was no reason for her to smile at him,
after all. All he did was frustrate her, exasperate her, annoy her and
throw lewd comments. Ever since he had consciously made a decision to keep
away from her, it seemed like she smiled more. So he held on to that pleasure
of watching from afar the way her entire face would light up with a glow
that only she could have.
Wherever you are now, inside
my head you fix me
with a look, standing
here whilst the cool late light
dissolves into the earth.
I have got your mouth wrong,
but still it smiles. I
hold you closer, miles away,
inventing love, until
the calls of nightjars
interrupt and turn what
was to come, was certain,
into memory.
Memories was all he had of
her. The memory of first seeing her at Chilton and that feeling in his
gut that told him that she was special. The memory of her blaring eyes
every single time he called her "Mary" and the wonder at how beautiful
and alive she looked. The memory of the twisted feeling that overtook his
heart when she was in Dean's arms, looking lovingly in his eyes and wanting
so much for that to have been him. The memory of their first, and only,
kiss and how right it seemed and the sense of completion that overwhelmed
him.
Wherever you are now, inside
my head you fix me
with a look, standing
here whilst the cool late light
dissolves into the earth.
I have got your mouth wrong,
but still it smiles. I
hold you closer, miles away,
inventing love, until
the calls of nightjars
interrupt and turn what
was to come, was certain,
into memory. The stars
are filming us for no one.
Inventing love. That was what he did every night. Inventing a past between them that didn't happen, inventing a present that couldn't happen and inventing a future that wouldn't happen. That was probably all he would ever have.
With a flourish, he titled the poem "Miles Away." It was apt. He smiled; a melancholy, resigned smile that one wouldn't associate with Tristan DuGrey. With a heavy sigh, he closed the book, laying on his back once again.
*****
The next morning, before he left for school, he tore out a page from his notebook on a whim.
*****
Rory Gilmore was pulling out
her History book from her locker when a folded piece of notebook paper
fluttered to the ground. Wondering what it was, she picked up it.
Miles Away
I want you and you are
not here. I pause
in this garden, breathing
the colour thought is
before language into still
air. Even your name
is a pale ghost and, though
I exhale it again
and again, it will not
stay with me. Tonight
I make you up, imagine
you, your movements clearer
than the words I have
you say you said before.
Wherever you are now, inside
my head you fix me
with a look, standing
here whilst the cool late light
dissolves into the earth.
I have got your mouth wrong,
but still it smiles. I
hold you closer, miles away,
inventing love, until
the calls of nightjars
interrupt and turn what
was to come, was certain,
into memory. The stars
are filming us for no one.
It was a beautiful poem, but there was nothing else on it. No name. No little message. The only reason she knew that it was meant for her was the hastily scribbled 'Rory' that was written at the top of the page. She didn't recognize the handwriting and there was no way she could find out who it was from, unless the person came up to her. Her brow wrinkled in confusion as she tried to figure out what this all meant. She looked around the crowded hallway, looking for any sign of whoever it was who had left her the poem.
As she looked around the hallway, she caught sight of Tristan leaning casually against a row of lockers with his usual grin in place, surrounded by the group of girls she had termed the "Tristan Fanclub".
'Whoever wrote this, it could never be Tristan DuGrey,' she thought, distaste etched on her face as she watched the nauseating display of shameless flirting before her.
Placing the piece of paper in her own notebook, she slammed her locker shut and went on her way to her next class.
Had she looked hard enough, she would have caught the look of hope, then one of disappointment that momentarily flared in Tristan's eyes.
*****
Credit: The poem used in the story is one of my favourites. It's "Miles Away" by Carol Ann Duffy.
