AUTHOR'S NOTE | So I have recently become re-obsessed with Friends, because it's clearly the best show on the planet. Okay. My name is Rachel, so obviously, Rachel is my favourite character, and Jennifer Aniston is one of my idols and she is amazing and this is a very long run-on sentence. Ross and Rachel forever, lobsters are cute, the whole works. I think Rachel is really interesting as a character and so I'm going to be a nerd and literally go through every episode of Friends and do it in her point of view because I can. And because I have no life. So, enjoy!

THE PILOT

You don't love him.

Really, you know that Barry Farber is everything you should want. He's rich and your parents love him and everything he stands for seems to scream safety. He's good for you, and if you walk down that aisle, if you go through with this, you'll be all set up for the rest of your picture-perfect life.

Of course, you also know that you'll regret it.

Because maybe the safe, easy way isn't the right way. Maybe you don't want to have everything lined up perfectly, the way that Barry likes it. Maybe you'd like a little tiny sliver of indecisiveness, just so that every time something happens, you can know that it wasn't planned out at least a year in advance. Because Barry started talking about children fourteen minutes after the rehearsal dinner, and that scares you.

"Rachel!" It's your father, pounding on the church's bathroom door like he means business, the way he used to when he knew you'd snuck out to go to a party back in high school. You look up quickly, frown deepening. "What's taking you so long?" he snaps from the other side of the locked door.

Honestly, you've spent the last eight and a half minutes pacing back and forth with your white skirts brushing across the linoleum floor behind you. You doubt that your father is going to be happy with that, but you hesitantly try it anyway. "I - um - cold feet?" You curse yourself for asking it like a question, resting your elbows on the counter and your chin in your hands as you wait for his irritated sigh.

It comes quickly, proving just how well you know Leonard Green. You hear a rustle as he leans against the door. "Rachel, this is ridiculous. You've been perfectly fine with that rock on your finger for five months, and you choose now to weigh your pros and cons? Everyone's waiting for you." When you don't answer - just stare at your engagement ring and fight back the overwhelming urge to throw up - he knocks forcefully again. "Rachel -"

"I'm fine, Daddy. I'll be out in a minute." You force yourself to sound calm, cool, collected. Your words come out right, but your fingers are trembling. Yes, you'll be out in a minute - just not walking down the aisle. Waiting for your father to answer or for his footsteps to retreat or something, you cross to the window. "Just go. I'll see you in a second," you lie, and he sighs and walks away.

You open the window as far as it will go, but there's still not enough for you and your admittedly-large dress to slip out unscathed. As quietly as you can, you climb up over the windowsill and drop the few feet to the grass outside, ripping apart your skirts in the process. And then you run for it; you've always been good at running in heels, at hailing taxis, and perhaps your new skill can be pretending not to notice the strange look that the taxi driver keeps shooting you in the rearview mirror. You give him an address that you aren't even sure you've gotten right because it's been so long, seven years, and you don't even know if she'll remember you.

But when you step out of the backseat of the taxi onto the New York City sidewalk (a homeless guy looks you and your dress up and down like he think she's hallucinating), you recognize the apartment building's walls from a picture you saw a few years ago at your mother's birthday party, when her mom was proudly showing everyone how much weight her daughter had lost. The guy in the lobby directs you to a coffee shop next door when he finds out who you're looking for, and you burst through the doors there with a sense of urgency in every step. You reach the counter quickly, but the woman standing behind it seems too confused by your ripped wedding dress to actually help you.

"Rachel?"

You spin around and recognize the woman standing in front of you instantly (you think she's maybe even lost a little more weight since that picture was taken). "Oh, God, Monica, hi," you blurt out, and hug her without even taking a breath before you hurry on. "I just went to your building and you weren't there and then this guy with a big hammer said that you might be here and you are, you are!"

"Can I get you some coffee?" asks the girl behind the counter, who seems to have overcome her shock. You turn to face an old orange couch as Monica answers for you, trying to take in the four other people sitting around it. Your fingers are shaking and your heart is pounding out a steady (though a little too fast) rhythm.

Monica guides you around the couch, hands on your shoulders. "Hey, everybody - this is Rachel, another Lincoln High survivor. This - this is everybody. This is Chandler, Phoebe, and Joey, and do you remember my brother, Ross?"

"Sure!" You're pleased to see someone that you recognize, and start forward, hand outstretched with its still-trembling fingers. He's grown a little since your senior prom, which you think is the last time you saw him, and he's better-looking now, too - he's lost the mustache and his hair is shorter and he's not slouching the way he always used to. The only thing that seems to have stuck with him is the awkwardness, and as he reaches out to shake your hand, he accidentally opens his umbrella in the direction of your knees and nearly falls over trying to shut it again.

After that, he seems to give up on trying to greet you and just sits down, avoiding your eyes. Your skirts brush up against the blonde girl - Phoebe? - as you move to sit down in the empty spot at the center of the couch.

"So," says Monica, who's taken up residence on the armrest, "do you want to tell us now, or are we waiting for four wet bridesmaids?"

"Oh, God," you say, brushing at your skirt. It is wet. Is it raining outside? You can't really remember, but you shake that off. "Well, it started about a half hour before the wedding." Their eyes are all on you, eagerly waiting for the story, and you carefully divide up your time between looking at Monica and looking at Ross, who is holding his umbrella tightly in his lap as though he's scared it's going to burst open again. "I was in this room where we were keeping all the presents and I was looking at this gravy boat. This really gorgeous Lamauge gravy boat, and all of a sudden, I realized -"

You cut off abruptly when the coffee shop woman hands you a cup of coffee over your shoulder. "Sweet and low," you tell her, then keep going, taking only half a second to gasp for breath. "I realized... I realized that I was more turned on by this gravy boat than by Barry! And then I got really freaked out, and that's when it hit me - how much Barry looks like Mr Potato Head! You know, I mean, I always knew he looked familiar, but..." They all just stare at you, deadpan, like they think you're joking. But it's true, he does kind of look like Mr Potato Head, and every time you let yourself think about it, you just picture it more.

Passing your sweetener to Ross, you keep going. Nobody else is talking, after all. "I just had to get out of there, and I started wondering... Why am I doing this, and Who am I doing this for? So, anyway, I just didn't know where to go, and I know that you and I have kind of drifted apart - but you're the only person I knew who lived here in the city."

Monica looks determinedly at the coffee table. "Who wasn't invited to the wedding," she adds for you, and you wince.

"I was kind of hoping that wouldn't be an issue," you mumble while Ross stirs your coffee for you. When you've drained your cup (not without spilling a little decaf coffee on your wedding dress, due to your shaking fingers), they all surround you like five bodyguards and lead you out onto the sidewalk again. The one in the leather jacket - you think he's Joey - glares menacingly at anyone who starts to laugh at your fashion choices for a rainy day in New York, and Monica talks brightly about something you aren't really paying attention to. They lead you up to a door marked with a brass 20 and Monica lets you use her phone while the rest of them sit down and turn on the television, switching it to some show that you can't even understand because they aren't speaking English and besides, your father's answering the phone now.

"Hi. It's me."

"God, Rachel, where the hell did you run off to?" he snaps, without even saying hello, which is kind of rude. Leonard Green has always been this way, really; he reaches his breaking point easily and now he's yelling at you and you have to hold Monica's phone a few inches away from your ear so it hurts less. "Do you realize that I waited outside that bathroom for you for twenty-five minutes before I had to find someone with a key? And you weren't even in there! Barry looked like a fool, standing up there at the altar, and you'd run off without saying anything to anyone, and your mother and I are losing face. What am I supposed to tell everyone?"

You reach the fridge (you didn't even realize you were pacing) and turn around, moving around the kitchen table as your grip tightens around the phone. "Daddy, I can't marry him." He starts to speak again, but you cut him off. "I'm sorry. I just don't love him."

"Why does that even matter?" your father starts. You have to interrupt him again when the next thing that he tries to say begins with something like, "You could do a hell of a lot worse than -"

"Well, it matters to me!" After that, you can't get a word in edgewise for a good minute. When he finally pauses to take a breath, you jump in hurriedly. "Come on, Daddy, listen to me! It's like - it's like, all of my life, everyone has always told me, you're a shoe! You're a shoe, you're a shoe, you're a shoe! And then, today, I just stopped and I said - what if I don't want to be a shoe? What if I want to be a purse? You know? Or - or a hat?"

"You want me to buy you a hat?" your father asks slowly.

"No, I don't want you to buy me a hat!" It comes out incredulous, which is a big word. "I'm saying that I am a - it's a metaphor, Daddy!"

You give an exasperated sigh and Ross leans forward from beside the refrigerator, frowning. "You can see where he had trouble," he tells you carefully, and when you just look at him, unamused, he heads for the couch, nodding to himself.

"Look, Daddy, it's my life," you say, turning slightly away from the five faces now staring at you from the direction of the living room. Your father spouts some more unintelligible arguments and all you really pick up from it is that you're not supposed to go back home. "Well, maybe I'll just stay here with Monica." He starts yelling again, and you think it's sort of an accomplishment that you don't feel the need to hold the phone a foot away from your ear again. "Well, maybe that's my decision."

The next thing that he says is that he's cutting you off financially, which are four words that you've always been afraid of. But there's some kind of adrenaline rushing through your veins and what comes flying from your lips is, "Well, maybe I don't need your money!"

"Fine, Rachel." And with that, he hangs up.

Your heart skips a beat. "Wait! Wait! I said maybe!" All that you can hear is the dial tone and it sounds a lot like loneliness, which is a metaphor, too. Or is it a simile? Or maybe it's personification of some kind. You can't really remember; it's been seven years since you barely scraped through an English class.

Half an hour later, Monica's sitting on her coffee table, urging you to breathe evenly into a paper bag and think of nice, calm things. Phoebe starts singing - something about roses and kittens and sleigh bells and noodles - and you turn to look at her with narrowed eyes. You force a smile and lower the paper bag. "I'm all better now," you lie, and thankfully, she turns away, looking pleased with herself.

"Okay, look," says Monica, brushing your hair away from your eyes. "This is probably for the best, you know? Independence. Taking control of your life. The whole hat thing."

"And hey - you need anything," says Joey, sitting down on the back of the couch. "You can always come to Joey." He places a hand on your shoulder and all you can really do is stare at it. Joey gestures towards the door with his sandwich. "Me and Chandler live right across the hall, and he's away a lot." He winks, and you just keep staring at him, trying to decide if he's joking or not.

Monica groans. "Joey! Stop hitting on her, it's her wedding day."

He takes his hand off your shoulder and frowns at Monica as he stands up. "What, like there's a rule or something?"

Before Monica can answer, before you can stare at Joey again, the buzzer goes off and then everyone's in a flurry of movement and exclamations because Monica has a date with some guy who has something to do with wine. The way that they all say his name sounds like the capitalize everything, just for fun - Paul the Wine Guy. Monica asks you if you want her to stay with you in a way that just screams that she wants you to say she can go on her date, and you don't think you're really lying when you say that you'll be fine. Ross almost makes her stay - you heard Chandler talking to him earlier about some woman named Carol and someone else named Sarah or Sandy or something else that starts with an S, and you think there's something going on with that, but you don't want to ask.

While Monica gets changed, Paul the Wine Guy takes a seat on the couch and eyes your wedding dress speculatively. You sit at the kitchen table and you don't realize that Ross is still in the kitchen until he speaks up. "So, Rachel, what are you up to tonight?"

"Well," you say slowly, "I was kind of supposed to be headed for Aruba on my honeymoon, so nothing!"

Ross puts a hand to his head and when he answers, he sounds like he's choking back tears. "Right, right, you're not even getting a honeymoon. No - no, although... Aruba. This time of year? Uh, talk about your... big lizards..." You don't really see what big lizards have to do with the time of year, but you don't say anything. "Anyway, if you don't feel like being alone tonight, Joey and Chandler are coming over to help me put together my new furniture."

"Yes, and we're very excited about it," adds Chandler, and Joey nods.

"Well, actually, thanks, but I think I'm just going to hang out here tonight," you answer, standing up and start for the bathroom, where Monica has told you four times that she's laid out some of her clothes for you to change into. Monica leaves with Paul the Wine Guy, and Phoebe pulls a guitar out of nowhere and disappears a few minutes after that. The guys all leave at once, Ross asking you twice if you'll be okay in the apartment alone, and you make a dash for the phone the second the door clicks shut behind them. You leave Barry six messages, trying your hardest to explain yourself, but you don't know how much of your extremely profound realization gets through to his answering machine.

You're in the guest room that Monica showed you earlier before she gets home from her date, curled up with your wedding veil stretched over your pillow.

When you wake up in the morning, the veil has left a very fine imprint across your cheek. Chandler and Joey come in, unannounced, when the coffee pot is almost full. You don't really know how to make coffee - you've never done it before - so you've kind of guessed at every step. You watched the cook do it enough times that you think you've gotten it all right, and Chandler and Joey say it's good. It doesn't taste like the coffee that Anna makes, but maybe it's Monica's coffee maker.

Paul the Wine Guy comes out of Monica's bedroom and you all watch while she says goodbye to him out in the hallway. "All right, kids," announces Chandler when Paul the Wine Guy is gone, "I've got to get to work. If I don't input those numbers, it... doesn't make much of a difference."

"So, like, you guys all have jobs?" you ask, frowning.

They look at you like they don't understand what you've just said. "Yeah, we all have jobs," says Monica, as though it's obvious. "See, that's how we... buy stuff."

"Yeah, I'm an actor," says Joey airily.

You look at him with renewed respect. "Wow! Would I have seen you in anything?" He avoids the question, and Monica and Chandler seem to view this as an opportunity to make fun of him and quote Pinnochio.

Monica looks up at you, seeming a little bit too cautious, as you sit down once Joey and Chandler have left the aparment. "So, how are you doing today? You sleep okay? Did you talk to Barry? I can't stop smiling!"

You nod. "I can see that - you look like you slept with a hanger in your mouth." You listen to her talk about Paul the Wine Guy for a few minutes and focus on that instead of the fact that Barry's probably listening to your messages right now. "Oh! Wish me luck!" you tell her as she heads for the door. "I'm going to go get one of those job things!"

You don't get a job.

Instead, you go shopping, and when you rush into the coffee shop carrying shopping bags, everyone looks sombre. "Guess what?" you say excitedly, hoping to lighten the mood a little. Ross guesses that you landed a job somewhere; you laugh airily and answer, "Are you kidding? I'm trained for nothing! I was laughed out of twelve interviews today!"

"And yet," says Chandler, "you're surprisingly upbeat..." You show him your brand-new Joan & David boots. They're your boots that say, I don't need a job, I don't need my parents, I've got great boots! boots, and they're beautiful.

"How'd you pay for them?" asks Monica smugly, though she and Phoebe are both eying your new boots like they might make a grab for them at any second.

You put the boots away carefully. "A credit card."

"And who pays for that?"

Avoiding everyone's eyes like your life depends on it, you place the lid over your new boots. "Uh, my..." You trail off and add the last word more quietly. "My father."

After dinner, Ross and Monica lay out all your credit cards and everything your father pays for on the kitchen table with a pair of orange-handled scissors. Everyone gathers around the table like it's some kind of exciting ceremony, like people used to watch witches being burned at the stake however many years ago, because this is that deadly.

"Come on, give her a break, it's hard being on your own for the first time," says Phoebe animatedly. She seems to do everything animatedly, as far as you can tell. "I remember when I first came to this city," she says, like she's telling a story at a kid's birthday party. "I was fourteen. My mom had just killed herself and my stepdad was back in prison, and I got here, and I didn't know anybody. I ended up living with this albino guy who was, like, cleaning windshields outside port authority, and then he killed himself. And then I found aromatherapy. So believe me, I know exactly how you feel."

You stare at her, stunned, with wide eyes as she stands up and crosses to the sink. Ross takes her seat. "The word you're looking for is, anyway..." He picks up the first card and Monica hands you the scissors, and they all start some kind of weird chant to encourage you - cut, cut, cut, cut - and Ross even tells you that if you made coffee this morning, you can do anything.

As the first card falls in two jagged pieces onto the wooden surface of the kitchen table, you smile. "You know what? I think we can just leave it at that," you try, resisting the urge to throw the scissors down. That would leave them up for grabs, and someone else could cut up the rest of your lifeline to your old life for you. "Kind of like a symbolic gesture."

"Rachel," says Monica sternly, fingers closing around your wrist. "That was a library card."

Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut... Ross hands you each card in turn and with four more sharp, metallic snips, the table is covered in pieces of plastic. They all cheer for you and Monica hugs you, carefully avoiding the scissors in your hands. "Welcome to the real world! It sucks. You're going to love it."

Ross stays in the living room until even Monica has gone to bed and you're sitting in the armchair, fighting to keep your eyes open. He splits the last cookie with you, which is nice.

"You know, you probably didn't know this," he says as you procrastinate eating your half of the cookie. "But back in high school, I had a major crush on you."

You look at him carefully, trying to decide whether or not he actually thinks that you didn't notice. Eventually, you opt for answering, "I knew."

Ross nods awkwardly. "You did. Wow. I just figured you always thought I was Monica's geeky older brother."

Frowning slightly, you picture the Ross from your senior year of high school, the one with the curly hair and the horrible facial hair. "I did."

He looks disappointed, and you can't help but feel a little bad, but it doesn't seem to have dented his ego all that much, because the next thing he says is, "Listen, do you think - and try not to let my intense vulnerability become any kind of a factor here - but do you think it would be okay if I asked you out, sometime, maybe?"

Seven years ago, you would have laughed. Because, really, the thought of Ross Geller, of all people, asking you out - it seems pretty laughable. Now, though, you nod. "Yeah." You put down your uneaten half of the cookie and shoot him a tiny smile. "Maybe."

Ross examines his cookie. "Okay." He leans back, crossing one leg over the other, gaze still locked on the cookie, like he thinks that's equivalent to looking at you. "Okay, maybe I will."

You stand up and pull the edges of Monica's sweater closer together. You're going to go and get your things from your parents' house tomorrow - they'll be out on their weekly date because Monday has always been date night, and you should be able to get in and out of the house fairly easily, as long as they haven't changed the locks.

"Good night."

AUTHOR'S NOTE #2 | Well, there's the first piece of my first ever Friends story! I've noticed that most of the Rachel-centered stories haven't really been updated recently. Anyways, tell me what you guys think, and if I should continue! (