What sticks to memory, often, are those odd little fragments that have no beginning and no end...

Those words, those terrible, beautiful, colds words, jumped off the page. They glared. They accused. They mocked. They and their black ink on powdery white paper imprinted themselves into Jess's mind.

He hated the cruel honesty. He hated this book. No. That wasn't right. He didn't hate this book. He hated the realness, the rawness Tim O'Brien captured. He hated that the words gave him strength to move forward. He hated that he needed something to push him in a direction.

Rory's vanilla-peach scent lingered on his jacket just as her strained voice lingered in his ears and her doe-like expression haunted his memory. Nothing was the same. Nothing would ever be the same.

Moments earlier they'd had a strained conversation about class and Fran's funeral and Luke and of course prom. What was said mattered less than what wasn't shared. The stumbled pleasantries hid desires of truth. Rory wanted to know so much and Jess had no answers.

Well, he had three answers – three very painful answers that would've shook Rory to the very core and had broken Jess. One, he wasn't graduating. He couldn't graduate. He couldn't pass a damn test. Two, Luke gave him an ultimatum (months ago). He didn't keep it and he left. Three, he joined the Army. No one knew (not Liz or Luke or Lane or Lorelai); he hadn't told anyone. Hell, he'd told Luke he wanted to go to California, which was a big fat lie.

He'd lied to Luke. Day two of being here in Stars Hollow and he lied. The memory hurt as much as the cold water of that little body of water. Jess deserved it. He never held a grudge against Luke for pushing him into the lake. It was a punishment fit for the crime. He still hated he'd lied to Luke. He'd lied to Rory, too. He lied about her bracelet and her book. In the grand scheme of things they were small things that amounted to little. But, they added up. He shouldn't have done what he did.

He stole, pulled pranks, mouthed off, skipped school and was the worst possible person he could've been. He could've been a golden boy. In utter shame and disgrace, it didn't work out that way. Life never worked out the right way. Life would never work out that way - at least not for him.

They never did fancy things. They read or watched movies. They took walks. Mostly, they talked. They were the best conversations and best moments of his life, though. They added to the memories. Eating Luke's and discussing Jane Austen with Rory and Paris felt like home. For the first, and only, time everything seemed okay. Sometimes it seemed like he was still back at that kitchen table, discussing literature with those two vibrant women. Sometimes he wished Dean hadn't interrupted.

But it had ended. Dean had interrupted. Maybe in another time, another dimension, those conversations still happened. Jess liked to think so.

Out of Stars Hollow, the bus passed the park. In the distance a little bridge arched upwards. The grasses swayed amongst the trees. For a moment, he was there was Rory in that teal dress. Her hands on his hips and her lips against his lips; it was all in the name of passion. That had felt like home, too. It seemed he lied once more – to himself. In the name of those fragments and in the name of memories he'd lied.