Disclaimer: I do not own either of the characters.
A chance meeting invites the chance for two old acquaintances to air past grievances.
It happened in a moment. One minute the sun was shining, reflecting off the tall glass buildings into her eyes, causing Rory Gilmore to arc her hand like a visor to block out the light, but as the seconds ticked by dark clouds swarmed into view and heavy over-sized splats of rain began painting the sidewalk a deep charcoal. She abandoned her pursuits of hailing a taxi and ran for cover under a vibrant orange awning, cowering from the storm against the warmth of the building. She would wait here until the weather cleared; it would only cause a brief interruption to her day, although the wet streets would linger.
She unclasped her red leather messenger bag and thrust her hand inside, fishing for a book; she always carried a book for situations just like this. Her fingers reached out feeling for the familiar roughness of paper or the smooth surface of lamination. They touched the cool metal of a tin of cherry lip-gloss; then the damp, sweating plastic of a water bottle; finally they brushed against the abrasive pages of a novel. Clutching it tightly, Rory drew her hand out of the bag.
She had started rereading Ordinary People on the subway that morning to stifle the boredom of her commute into Manhattan from the Village. She had read it some years before as a high school student, but parts of the story had faded and if there was one thing Rory believed in it was remembering the past because it had a hand in creating the present. She tucked her nose into the book, content to lean against the wall, her back protected from the rough bricks by her worn jean jacket. The words flooded into her head as she read intently, untouched, undistracted by the water gushing down from the sky and exploding on the pavement some three feet beyond her.
People rushed by Rory seemingly unaware of her presence as though she had faded from sight and become one with the wall of the Levain bakery, all but one person. A young man with several days worth of stubble on her face and unkempt dark hair on his head abruptly came to a halt upon seeing the slim outline of Rory, her face still buried in the book. His eyes, dark as his damp hair, betrayed the feeling of anxiety as he looked her over and began to walk toward her, his fists tensely clenched. A well-perused novel graced the back pocket of his jeans; its pages dulled and bent by time.
Jess Mariano casually leaned against the warm wall his wet jacket leaving a watermark on the spot where it touched the bricks. Tenderly he raised his left hand and placed it on hers, mirroring her grip. Shocked out of her fictional setting, Rory immediately dropped her hands to her sides sending her book soaring through the air and into the rushing stream of water that had invaded the roadside. She instinctively ran for the book and retrieved it, sopping pages and all. A steady drip of water fell to the ground as she wandered back to the safety of the awning.
"Why did you do it?" she inquired, annoyance evident in her voice. His eyes flinched from the growing puddle between their feet to her face.
"I'm sorry. I thought you'd understand," he answered, painfully.
"When did you notice me?"
"Right away. Only you can read so intently." Her cheeks flushed slightly.
"It would have been easier if you had just talked to me."
"Talking to someone is never easy -"
"Especially when you don't try." She shook the book, sending droplets of liquid spraying onto their pants and shoes, making it look as though it had been raining under the awning too.
"I'm sorry."
"I know that. Stop apologizing, I'm over it."
"Fine, but I don't believe you. You love that book." Love. The word floated into her mind.
"Love is a strange word. Superficial really, I mean it's the meaning that matters not the word."
"But how would we define that meaning without a word to represent it?"
"We'd show it. Haven't you ever heard that actions speak louder than words? A picture is worth a thousand words?" He cut her off.
"Yes. I know." Reaching out he touched her cheek; a simple austere gesture to brush a piece of hair away from her face. He looked harshly into her eyes making her turn her head to hide from the intensity behind his pupils.
"I think it's time I left," she said. The rain had ceased and the sun was beginning to emerge through the clouds sending little funnels of steam from the sidewalk into the humid air.
"Don't go. I made a mistake. Let's talk...I'm ready."
A chance meeting invites the chance for two old acquaintances to air past grievances.
It happened in a moment. One minute the sun was shining, reflecting off the tall glass buildings into her eyes, causing Rory Gilmore to arc her hand like a visor to block out the light, but as the seconds ticked by dark clouds swarmed into view and heavy over-sized splats of rain began painting the sidewalk a deep charcoal. She abandoned her pursuits of hailing a taxi and ran for cover under a vibrant orange awning, cowering from the storm against the warmth of the building. She would wait here until the weather cleared; it would only cause a brief interruption to her day, although the wet streets would linger.
She unclasped her red leather messenger bag and thrust her hand inside, fishing for a book; she always carried a book for situations just like this. Her fingers reached out feeling for the familiar roughness of paper or the smooth surface of lamination. They touched the cool metal of a tin of cherry lip-gloss; then the damp, sweating plastic of a water bottle; finally they brushed against the abrasive pages of a novel. Clutching it tightly, Rory drew her hand out of the bag.
She had started rereading Ordinary People on the subway that morning to stifle the boredom of her commute into Manhattan from the Village. She had read it some years before as a high school student, but parts of the story had faded and if there was one thing Rory believed in it was remembering the past because it had a hand in creating the present. She tucked her nose into the book, content to lean against the wall, her back protected from the rough bricks by her worn jean jacket. The words flooded into her head as she read intently, untouched, undistracted by the water gushing down from the sky and exploding on the pavement some three feet beyond her.
People rushed by Rory seemingly unaware of her presence as though she had faded from sight and become one with the wall of the Levain bakery, all but one person. A young man with several days worth of stubble on her face and unkempt dark hair on his head abruptly came to a halt upon seeing the slim outline of Rory, her face still buried in the book. His eyes, dark as his damp hair, betrayed the feeling of anxiety as he looked her over and began to walk toward her, his fists tensely clenched. A well-perused novel graced the back pocket of his jeans; its pages dulled and bent by time.
Jess Mariano casually leaned against the warm wall his wet jacket leaving a watermark on the spot where it touched the bricks. Tenderly he raised his left hand and placed it on hers, mirroring her grip. Shocked out of her fictional setting, Rory immediately dropped her hands to her sides sending her book soaring through the air and into the rushing stream of water that had invaded the roadside. She instinctively ran for the book and retrieved it, sopping pages and all. A steady drip of water fell to the ground as she wandered back to the safety of the awning.
"Why did you do it?" she inquired, annoyance evident in her voice. His eyes flinched from the growing puddle between their feet to her face.
"I'm sorry. I thought you'd understand," he answered, painfully.
"When did you notice me?"
"Right away. Only you can read so intently." Her cheeks flushed slightly.
"It would have been easier if you had just talked to me."
"Talking to someone is never easy -"
"Especially when you don't try." She shook the book, sending droplets of liquid spraying onto their pants and shoes, making it look as though it had been raining under the awning too.
"I'm sorry."
"I know that. Stop apologizing, I'm over it."
"Fine, but I don't believe you. You love that book." Love. The word floated into her mind.
"Love is a strange word. Superficial really, I mean it's the meaning that matters not the word."
"But how would we define that meaning without a word to represent it?"
"We'd show it. Haven't you ever heard that actions speak louder than words? A picture is worth a thousand words?" He cut her off.
"Yes. I know." Reaching out he touched her cheek; a simple austere gesture to brush a piece of hair away from her face. He looked harshly into her eyes making her turn her head to hide from the intensity behind his pupils.
"I think it's time I left," she said. The rain had ceased and the sun was beginning to emerge through the clouds sending little funnels of steam from the sidewalk into the humid air.
"Don't go. I made a mistake. Let's talk...I'm ready."