This takes place a few years in the future, Rory and Tristan are both about
twenty-four years old.
Disclaimer: Don't own GG, Miss Sherman-Pallidino and the WB do.
Things Don't Change, They Adjust
I got my first hickey at three and half months old. It was from my mother. She said she couldn't stop kissing me I was just so cute. I grew up hearing about that, and today I guess that is a major part of who I am.
Ever since I was seven years old I've almost always had a girl on each arm. I never believed in cooties, or gave a damn about the penis versus vagina war of the pre adolescence life.
Back then life was great. To have a "girlfriend" was simply to say I didn't pull her hair, and she didn't step of my toes. We refrained from taking the building blocks from each other during playtime and at lunch we would sit next to each other.
Things are different now.
I've been around the block so any times it makes me dizzy. Right up until the end of freshman year at Chilton I still had a girl on each arm. The ladies swooned and in return they earned a notch of my bedpost. It was all a game to me. None of them met anything. I wouldn't even know half the names of the girls I poked if I didn't keep this journal.
There was just one girl I couldn't get to hop in the sack with me, and the truth is, I didn't want her to. Well, not right away anyways. My first true crush I guess you could call it. But it was more than that it almost became an obsession. I wanted her more than I could describe, and I think I could have gotten her if it weren't for that damn bagboy, hic, and perfect little boy toy boyfriend of hers. Damn I hated him.
Things are so different now. After spending two years in military school, three in the corps, and one as the new owner of my fathers business, I guess I've changed. Well, at least adjusted.
I no longer have a girl on each arm, heck; I don't have one on either arm. I am alone. Insignificant. A speck on the radar of humanity. Even though I own one of the top grossing firms in the country. Look where I am now.
I am twenty-four years old. No family, no kids, just me. My parents are in Cabo San Lucas, my grandparents are dead and I have no prospects for marriage in my life.
Who would have thought the nearing middle-aged reject would have been me? The almighty Tristan Dugrey.
I'll write back later. Bye.
Tristan stepped out of his apartment, keys jingling in his hand. He locked up his door and headed swiftly down the hallway to his car. He was dressed clad in a black suit, complete with a black dress shirt and black tie to complete the morbid ensemble. He climbed into his car, a nice, safe Volvo and headed to the church.
His neighbor had died a week earlier; today they were holding his funeral. He was asked to present a eulogy because he had become so close to the old man who had live across from him for three years.
He walked into the crowded church and swiftly slipped into a back seat. The old mans sister came by and took him by the arm, leading him to the front to sit with her and her family. He complied only out of respect.
After some hymns and a tearful speech by the aforementioned sister, Tristan made his way to the pulpit to give his eulogy.
He made it short and sweet, just like the old man himself, then swiftly sat back down and choked back hot tears welling in his bloodshot eyes.
After the service they went to the graveyard out back and placed the box of ashes in the ground, commemorating his spirit. They all said a tearful goodbye to the man and left to continue with their lives. Tristan legged behind.
Once he was sure everyone was gone, he crouched next to the small hole in the ground and touched the box lightly.
"When alas the darkness befalls our broken spirits, let thy light lift us high into the heavens and thou shall sing praises to thy king in Heaven and the Lord Jesus Christ," he whispered the old mans favorite saying. It didn't come from the bible, instead he made it up himself, but it held more meaning between himself and Tristan than one could ever comprehend.
Tristan kissed his fingertips and touched them to the small lid of the box before retreating back to his car, and onto another day of meaningless work.
He returned to his apartment late that night. He didn't want to go back at all, knowing again he would be all alone. He took the stair up to his floor slowly and steadily, and then emerged into his hallway. The first thing he noticed was several boxing lining the hallway outside of his old friends apartment. He didn't want to meet the person who was moving in. He knew now he could no longer go there for advice, or just a friendly chat. He felt more alone then he had since his grandfather died.
Instead of investigating to see who the new tenant was, he made his way slowly and swiftly into his apartment and slammed the door closed. He threw down his keys on the counter and his coat on a chair beside the door, and then he went straight to bed. No use in sitting up late with no one to talk to.
A knock pulled him out of his dark and mournful dream. On some level he was happy to be taken out of the miserable place, but on the other he silently chastised the unknown person for waking him up from his rest.
He stumbled through the dark before flicking the lightly switch. He squinted to get used to the new light and stumbled toward the door.
When he opened it he came face to face with a young woman. He hair was red with dark brown highlights it had obviously been dyed. She looked up and smiled lightly.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" she asked softly. He smiled lightly and shook his head.
"Don't worry about it, did you need something?" Tristan asked. She smiled radiantly and shoved out her hand.
"Well, I just moved in across the hall and wanted to meet my neighbors," Tristan took her hand and shook it lightly. His mouth bittered, seeing as a young woman had taken the place of his treasured friend.
"Tristan Dugrey," he announced himself.
"Rory Gilmore. Nice to meet you," the name was familiar, but he couldn't place it.
"You too, since I'm awake now, do you want to come in for coffee?" She smiled in return.
"You sure you don't want to get back to sleep?"
"I have all night to sleep, come on, I'll make a fresh pot," she nodded and walked passed him into the spacious room. He closed the door lightly and went into the kitchenette area to brew the coffee.
"So, where did you move from?" she looked around then turned her attention to him.
"Boston. I was working for the Globe for a few years, but then I really just wanted to be back in Connecticut. I guess I just missed home too much," she said with a hint of a laugh.
"Ahh, so you're a local," he said, handing her a cup of coffee.
"Well, not local local, I'm not from here in Hartford. My grandparents live here though."
"I see. So, where in this wonderful state are you from Miss Gilmore."
"A little town about half and hour from here called Stars Hollow." He knew who this girl was now. He waved a finger at her playfully.
"I know you," he said. She grinned confusedly at him.
"I got the strangest feeling that I knew you too, I just can't place you."
"Try Chilton. Romeo and Juliet. Paris and military school," he laughed as he said this. Her face brightened and she let out a wholehearted laugh.
"Oh my god! I completely forgot until now!"
"Well, don't I feel loved."
"Sorry to disappoint you. Who would have thought I would be sitting here having coffee with Evil Tristan years after I last saw him?" He choked lightly on his coffee and laughed.
"Evil Tristan? You really think highly of me, don't you Mary," he said his old cockiness returning. She smiled.
"Well, it's good to know you haven't changed. The nicknamed dubbed by my mother and myself still fit."
"Oh, well I'm glad you approve Rory, wouldn't want to disappoint you." She smiled giddily and he offered her an odd look.
"I'm sorry, this is just so strange. I never believed in coincidence but this is just too strange."
"I still don't believe in coincidence, you never know, maybe its fate."
"Fate wants me to live across from you? I think the gods have more important things to worry about, don't you?"
"What gods? There's only one God, and along with all other things he controls fate."
"I never took you as a holy person, Tristan? When did that come about?"
"Oh somewhere between my transition between the corps and being a businessman."
"The corps? You were in the marines?" she asked skeptically.
"I absolutely was."
"Where did you serve?"
"I did a tour in Iraq and one in Afghanistan," his tone was much less cocky now as he reflected.
"Wow, what was that like?"
"You could never understand, Rory."
"I could try? Come on, I could write about it in the Hartford Tribune."
"No, Rory," his tone was very final, very end-of-discussion. She was slightly taken aback by it, but let it go over her head.
"I understand. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. Lets just move on, alright?" Tristan silently berated himself for his harshness with her, but welcomed a new topic.
"Thanks, I'm sorry I snapped at you."
"No problem, I'm a reporter, I'm beyond used to it," he laughed lightly at this.
"So, no husband?"
"Wow, that was abrupt," she was laughed lightly. "No husband. Haven't had the time. I don't see a little trophy wife hanging around here either though."
"Oh, I keep one stashed in the closet," they shared a laugh.
"So, how many ladies do you have sitting bye the phone waiting for a call right now?"
"You ready to be shocked?"
"What? Less than thirty?" she said in mock amazement. He smiled and put his thumb and pointer finger together symbolizing zero.
"No way! That's impossible, you of all people with no prospects. This is definitely front page news," she began pretending to write on her hand, making him laugh. She glanced at the clock behind.
"Oh my god it got late. I should get going," he glanced at the clock and nodded.
"I guess so," she opened the door and then turned back to him.
"Hey, do you think you might like to get some coffee some time?"
"We've already done that," Tristan said with a small grin.
"Yeah, well maybe dinner then," she said with a small hope filled smile. He nodded.
"Sure, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Sweet dreams, Bible boy," she said as she opened her door across the hallway.
"Well, that's a new one."
"And there are plenty more where that came from. I'll see you in the morning," with that she closed the door behind her, while Tristan did the same.
Dear Journal,
I thought my life would be stuck in a pit forever. After John died, I had no one. I came home from work today and a new person moved into his apartment, I was pissed. Then she came over and guess who she was? Rory Gilmore, the object of my teenaged wet dreams.
I never thought I'd see her again. She came in for coffee and we really had a good talk. She is single, just like me; only she is more beautiful than ever. She cut her hair short and dyed it red with highlights her natural color. I can't believe how beautiful it is.
I don't know how this happened, Journal, but I do know when opportunity knocks to always answer. Lets see what can happen with this, maybe after so many curveballs, god is giving me a chance to hit a homerun. Who knows? Certainly not me.
I'll keep you updated. Later.
Tristan.
P.S,
She called me two nicknames tonight, Evil one and Bible boy; she said there were lots more where they came from. Who knows, maybe there'll be one that isn't insulting. Lol, bye.
Disclaimer: Don't own GG, Miss Sherman-Pallidino and the WB do.
Things Don't Change, They Adjust
I got my first hickey at three and half months old. It was from my mother. She said she couldn't stop kissing me I was just so cute. I grew up hearing about that, and today I guess that is a major part of who I am.
Ever since I was seven years old I've almost always had a girl on each arm. I never believed in cooties, or gave a damn about the penis versus vagina war of the pre adolescence life.
Back then life was great. To have a "girlfriend" was simply to say I didn't pull her hair, and she didn't step of my toes. We refrained from taking the building blocks from each other during playtime and at lunch we would sit next to each other.
Things are different now.
I've been around the block so any times it makes me dizzy. Right up until the end of freshman year at Chilton I still had a girl on each arm. The ladies swooned and in return they earned a notch of my bedpost. It was all a game to me. None of them met anything. I wouldn't even know half the names of the girls I poked if I didn't keep this journal.
There was just one girl I couldn't get to hop in the sack with me, and the truth is, I didn't want her to. Well, not right away anyways. My first true crush I guess you could call it. But it was more than that it almost became an obsession. I wanted her more than I could describe, and I think I could have gotten her if it weren't for that damn bagboy, hic, and perfect little boy toy boyfriend of hers. Damn I hated him.
Things are so different now. After spending two years in military school, three in the corps, and one as the new owner of my fathers business, I guess I've changed. Well, at least adjusted.
I no longer have a girl on each arm, heck; I don't have one on either arm. I am alone. Insignificant. A speck on the radar of humanity. Even though I own one of the top grossing firms in the country. Look where I am now.
I am twenty-four years old. No family, no kids, just me. My parents are in Cabo San Lucas, my grandparents are dead and I have no prospects for marriage in my life.
Who would have thought the nearing middle-aged reject would have been me? The almighty Tristan Dugrey.
I'll write back later. Bye.
Tristan stepped out of his apartment, keys jingling in his hand. He locked up his door and headed swiftly down the hallway to his car. He was dressed clad in a black suit, complete with a black dress shirt and black tie to complete the morbid ensemble. He climbed into his car, a nice, safe Volvo and headed to the church.
His neighbor had died a week earlier; today they were holding his funeral. He was asked to present a eulogy because he had become so close to the old man who had live across from him for three years.
He walked into the crowded church and swiftly slipped into a back seat. The old mans sister came by and took him by the arm, leading him to the front to sit with her and her family. He complied only out of respect.
After some hymns and a tearful speech by the aforementioned sister, Tristan made his way to the pulpit to give his eulogy.
He made it short and sweet, just like the old man himself, then swiftly sat back down and choked back hot tears welling in his bloodshot eyes.
After the service they went to the graveyard out back and placed the box of ashes in the ground, commemorating his spirit. They all said a tearful goodbye to the man and left to continue with their lives. Tristan legged behind.
Once he was sure everyone was gone, he crouched next to the small hole in the ground and touched the box lightly.
"When alas the darkness befalls our broken spirits, let thy light lift us high into the heavens and thou shall sing praises to thy king in Heaven and the Lord Jesus Christ," he whispered the old mans favorite saying. It didn't come from the bible, instead he made it up himself, but it held more meaning between himself and Tristan than one could ever comprehend.
Tristan kissed his fingertips and touched them to the small lid of the box before retreating back to his car, and onto another day of meaningless work.
He returned to his apartment late that night. He didn't want to go back at all, knowing again he would be all alone. He took the stair up to his floor slowly and steadily, and then emerged into his hallway. The first thing he noticed was several boxing lining the hallway outside of his old friends apartment. He didn't want to meet the person who was moving in. He knew now he could no longer go there for advice, or just a friendly chat. He felt more alone then he had since his grandfather died.
Instead of investigating to see who the new tenant was, he made his way slowly and swiftly into his apartment and slammed the door closed. He threw down his keys on the counter and his coat on a chair beside the door, and then he went straight to bed. No use in sitting up late with no one to talk to.
A knock pulled him out of his dark and mournful dream. On some level he was happy to be taken out of the miserable place, but on the other he silently chastised the unknown person for waking him up from his rest.
He stumbled through the dark before flicking the lightly switch. He squinted to get used to the new light and stumbled toward the door.
When he opened it he came face to face with a young woman. He hair was red with dark brown highlights it had obviously been dyed. She looked up and smiled lightly.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" she asked softly. He smiled lightly and shook his head.
"Don't worry about it, did you need something?" Tristan asked. She smiled radiantly and shoved out her hand.
"Well, I just moved in across the hall and wanted to meet my neighbors," Tristan took her hand and shook it lightly. His mouth bittered, seeing as a young woman had taken the place of his treasured friend.
"Tristan Dugrey," he announced himself.
"Rory Gilmore. Nice to meet you," the name was familiar, but he couldn't place it.
"You too, since I'm awake now, do you want to come in for coffee?" She smiled in return.
"You sure you don't want to get back to sleep?"
"I have all night to sleep, come on, I'll make a fresh pot," she nodded and walked passed him into the spacious room. He closed the door lightly and went into the kitchenette area to brew the coffee.
"So, where did you move from?" she looked around then turned her attention to him.
"Boston. I was working for the Globe for a few years, but then I really just wanted to be back in Connecticut. I guess I just missed home too much," she said with a hint of a laugh.
"Ahh, so you're a local," he said, handing her a cup of coffee.
"Well, not local local, I'm not from here in Hartford. My grandparents live here though."
"I see. So, where in this wonderful state are you from Miss Gilmore."
"A little town about half and hour from here called Stars Hollow." He knew who this girl was now. He waved a finger at her playfully.
"I know you," he said. She grinned confusedly at him.
"I got the strangest feeling that I knew you too, I just can't place you."
"Try Chilton. Romeo and Juliet. Paris and military school," he laughed as he said this. Her face brightened and she let out a wholehearted laugh.
"Oh my god! I completely forgot until now!"
"Well, don't I feel loved."
"Sorry to disappoint you. Who would have thought I would be sitting here having coffee with Evil Tristan years after I last saw him?" He choked lightly on his coffee and laughed.
"Evil Tristan? You really think highly of me, don't you Mary," he said his old cockiness returning. She smiled.
"Well, it's good to know you haven't changed. The nicknamed dubbed by my mother and myself still fit."
"Oh, well I'm glad you approve Rory, wouldn't want to disappoint you." She smiled giddily and he offered her an odd look.
"I'm sorry, this is just so strange. I never believed in coincidence but this is just too strange."
"I still don't believe in coincidence, you never know, maybe its fate."
"Fate wants me to live across from you? I think the gods have more important things to worry about, don't you?"
"What gods? There's only one God, and along with all other things he controls fate."
"I never took you as a holy person, Tristan? When did that come about?"
"Oh somewhere between my transition between the corps and being a businessman."
"The corps? You were in the marines?" she asked skeptically.
"I absolutely was."
"Where did you serve?"
"I did a tour in Iraq and one in Afghanistan," his tone was much less cocky now as he reflected.
"Wow, what was that like?"
"You could never understand, Rory."
"I could try? Come on, I could write about it in the Hartford Tribune."
"No, Rory," his tone was very final, very end-of-discussion. She was slightly taken aback by it, but let it go over her head.
"I understand. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. Lets just move on, alright?" Tristan silently berated himself for his harshness with her, but welcomed a new topic.
"Thanks, I'm sorry I snapped at you."
"No problem, I'm a reporter, I'm beyond used to it," he laughed lightly at this.
"So, no husband?"
"Wow, that was abrupt," she was laughed lightly. "No husband. Haven't had the time. I don't see a little trophy wife hanging around here either though."
"Oh, I keep one stashed in the closet," they shared a laugh.
"So, how many ladies do you have sitting bye the phone waiting for a call right now?"
"You ready to be shocked?"
"What? Less than thirty?" she said in mock amazement. He smiled and put his thumb and pointer finger together symbolizing zero.
"No way! That's impossible, you of all people with no prospects. This is definitely front page news," she began pretending to write on her hand, making him laugh. She glanced at the clock behind.
"Oh my god it got late. I should get going," he glanced at the clock and nodded.
"I guess so," she opened the door and then turned back to him.
"Hey, do you think you might like to get some coffee some time?"
"We've already done that," Tristan said with a small grin.
"Yeah, well maybe dinner then," she said with a small hope filled smile. He nodded.
"Sure, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Sweet dreams, Bible boy," she said as she opened her door across the hallway.
"Well, that's a new one."
"And there are plenty more where that came from. I'll see you in the morning," with that she closed the door behind her, while Tristan did the same.
Dear Journal,
I thought my life would be stuck in a pit forever. After John died, I had no one. I came home from work today and a new person moved into his apartment, I was pissed. Then she came over and guess who she was? Rory Gilmore, the object of my teenaged wet dreams.
I never thought I'd see her again. She came in for coffee and we really had a good talk. She is single, just like me; only she is more beautiful than ever. She cut her hair short and dyed it red with highlights her natural color. I can't believe how beautiful it is.
I don't know how this happened, Journal, but I do know when opportunity knocks to always answer. Lets see what can happen with this, maybe after so many curveballs, god is giving me a chance to hit a homerun. Who knows? Certainly not me.
I'll keep you updated. Later.
Tristan.
P.S,
She called me two nicknames tonight, Evil one and Bible boy; she said there were lots more where they came from. Who knows, maybe there'll be one that isn't insulting. Lol, bye.