Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls, nor did I create it. I think that
Amy Sherman-Palladino is a genius, a goddess, and I worship her. I do,
however, own Milo Ventimiglia and this silly little story.
Author's note: Hey everybody! Ok, this is only my second story that I've ever shared with anyone besides my lit. teacher, so PLEEEASE, please, please please read and review. I need all the criticism that I can possibly get, so come on! Make me cry if you have to. This is just a little story about a Rory and Jess meeting, in the future, but not the too far future. Probably a few months before graduation or so. I need to know if you guys think it's good enough to build on, and if so, lots of suggestions so I can give you what you want to read! I really appreciate any feedback. Thanks much!!
* * * * * * * * * * *
The town is covered in a blanket of darkness as I amble through the lazy night. Everyone seems to be sleeping, except me, and I have learned from experience that the town is incredibly beautiful this time of night. It's so quiet and still-for a change-because all of the daily bustle, the hushed gossip and melodramatic "scandals" of the everyday life disappears at this hour. Everything closes its eyes to rest, appears to actually fade into time, and freezes there. I feel dangerously anonymous, but I find that I like the feeling.
As I turn the corner toward the bridge, it feels as if I am the only one in the world who is awake, the only existing member of the human race. But I'm not. Because, of course, there you are. I stop dead in my tracks and then rush behind the trees to safely watch you. It's not often that I have a chance to simply watch you, study you, and I feel as if I need to take advantage of the opportunity while it presents itself. After all, we're both leaving soon. Too soon. Me to Yale and you to somewhere surprisingly not to work in a truck stop or another diner. You're going to college. Where, you don't yet know, but the only thing that matters is that you're going. You approached me-ever so reluctantly-for help on your applications, and the news is due back any day now. I know it'll be good.
It fills me with a sense of deep pride, knowing that I was the one who helped you get this far. But it also fills me with an overwhelming sadness like no other I've ever known. Who knows when we will see each other again? Maybe never. I could go through the rest of my life never talking to you ever again. I've often found myself lately just outright staring at you, trying to engrave every last detail of your face into my mind. I try to remember every word you utter, every gesture you make. I'm terrified that one day I'll forget you. You're terribly unforgettable, but I wonder just the same. Will there come a day when you're simply a memory hanging around in the back of my mind? Will you forget me? Will we ever have any more memories together, or will we grow old thinking of what could have been? My eyes threaten to fill up at the mere thought of these questions, and my stomach is consumed with dread for the upcoming time that I've looked forward to my entire life.
But then I realize that there is something I can do. I can make sure that we have at least one more memory together. And with that final thought, I leave my fear behind, put one foot in front of the other, and venture forwards.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
I hear you coming toward me, almost timidly. You're walking faster than usual, which means that you're acting on some sort of wild impulse, but your footsteps sounds timid all the same. I wonder why you're here. Maybe you just couldn't sleep. Or maybe you too have discovered the beauty of this town at night, and the calming effect it can have on your confusing thoughts.
"Hi," you say, and sure enough, there's a mixture of impulsive breathlessness and timid hesitation in your voice.
"Hi," I reply, my voice void of any emotion. I risk a look at you, and for once I can't read the look in your eyes. They're open even wider than usual, and seem almost afraid, even sad. Maybe both. I don't know. You're not making any effort to look away. You're also not making any effort to say more, so I do.
"There's room here for two, you know." You look startled, like a deer caught in the headlights, as if I had caught you doing something you shouldn't have.
"What?"
I smirk slightly at this. "You can sit down."
"Oh, right.sit. Yeah, I was...I should. I am. Sit.sitting," you babble, and it's all I can do to keep from laughing out loud for the first time in God knows when. I do, however, give in to the secondary urge to genuinely smile, and am surprised to find I still know how.
"OK, then. Sit." You plop down abruptly, jostling me. I expect you to apologize and move away quickly, and you begin to, but then seem to have a change of heart. Our bodies are close against each other, and I can feel how cold you are even through your clothes. I see you sneak a look at me, the corners of your mouth turning up slightly. I wonder if that means that I'm fun to look at. I hope so.
"So.what are you doing?" you ask suddenly. This obvious question makes me smile for the second time in one night, probably some kind of record or something.
"Just.sitting here. Couldn't really sleep."
"Why not?"
"Had some stuff on my mind."
"Yeah.me too," you say, almost inaudibly, and I wonder about the hidden complexity of the meaning in this simple reply.
I pause before I add, "I actually come out here a lot. It's really.well, the crazy town's actually tolerable this time of night."
"Yeah, me too," you say, smiling, "Except it's always pretty tolerable for me. Just even more so at night. It's so beautiful. I love coming out here to walk around, or thing, or just.be, you know? It's comforting. I mean to just be in the quiet. It's just so hard to find someone to be quiet with. Everybody thinks you always have to be talking, or doing something, but just doing nothing, just being quiet is really, really nice." You look up at me after this little speech, and abruptly blush and look down again.
"I'm sorry, I just."
"Just.what? What are you sorry for?"
"Just babbling, I mean, I don't know-"
"No, don't be sorry. I know what you mean." You're still facing your lap, and I know you don't believe me, so I insist further.
"I do," I say forcefully and with conviction, and you look up. I meet your eyes, and we sit like that for a while, just looking at one another.
After a while you smile. "This is nice. The quiet, I mean. Just being here. With you." Then you bury your face into my shoulder and put your cold hand on top of my warmer one, and you do it as if this were the most natural thing in the world to do.
Once the initial shock passed over, I could feel yet another smile creeping over my face, this one a wide and goofy grin. I'm alarmed to feel this action becoming familiar to me, and I have to stop and wonder exactly what kind of power you're in possession of, anyway. But I decide to ponder this another night, and slip the arm with the free hand around your shoulder. Your head is still buried against me, and I wrap my fingers around yours, squeezing them lightly. With this newfound sense of contentment, my mouth finally begins to work again.
"Yeah, it is," I agree, "This is nice."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Once again, pretty please with chocolate-covered espresso beans on top, review!! Be harsh and brutally honest and give me ideas! Also, if you have the time, read my other story, Innocence. It's a Jess thought piece, and I was wondering if I should do like, a Rory counterpart or something. Just lemme know!! Thank you.
Author's note: Hey everybody! Ok, this is only my second story that I've ever shared with anyone besides my lit. teacher, so PLEEEASE, please, please please read and review. I need all the criticism that I can possibly get, so come on! Make me cry if you have to. This is just a little story about a Rory and Jess meeting, in the future, but not the too far future. Probably a few months before graduation or so. I need to know if you guys think it's good enough to build on, and if so, lots of suggestions so I can give you what you want to read! I really appreciate any feedback. Thanks much!!
* * * * * * * * * * *
The town is covered in a blanket of darkness as I amble through the lazy night. Everyone seems to be sleeping, except me, and I have learned from experience that the town is incredibly beautiful this time of night. It's so quiet and still-for a change-because all of the daily bustle, the hushed gossip and melodramatic "scandals" of the everyday life disappears at this hour. Everything closes its eyes to rest, appears to actually fade into time, and freezes there. I feel dangerously anonymous, but I find that I like the feeling.
As I turn the corner toward the bridge, it feels as if I am the only one in the world who is awake, the only existing member of the human race. But I'm not. Because, of course, there you are. I stop dead in my tracks and then rush behind the trees to safely watch you. It's not often that I have a chance to simply watch you, study you, and I feel as if I need to take advantage of the opportunity while it presents itself. After all, we're both leaving soon. Too soon. Me to Yale and you to somewhere surprisingly not to work in a truck stop or another diner. You're going to college. Where, you don't yet know, but the only thing that matters is that you're going. You approached me-ever so reluctantly-for help on your applications, and the news is due back any day now. I know it'll be good.
It fills me with a sense of deep pride, knowing that I was the one who helped you get this far. But it also fills me with an overwhelming sadness like no other I've ever known. Who knows when we will see each other again? Maybe never. I could go through the rest of my life never talking to you ever again. I've often found myself lately just outright staring at you, trying to engrave every last detail of your face into my mind. I try to remember every word you utter, every gesture you make. I'm terrified that one day I'll forget you. You're terribly unforgettable, but I wonder just the same. Will there come a day when you're simply a memory hanging around in the back of my mind? Will you forget me? Will we ever have any more memories together, or will we grow old thinking of what could have been? My eyes threaten to fill up at the mere thought of these questions, and my stomach is consumed with dread for the upcoming time that I've looked forward to my entire life.
But then I realize that there is something I can do. I can make sure that we have at least one more memory together. And with that final thought, I leave my fear behind, put one foot in front of the other, and venture forwards.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
I hear you coming toward me, almost timidly. You're walking faster than usual, which means that you're acting on some sort of wild impulse, but your footsteps sounds timid all the same. I wonder why you're here. Maybe you just couldn't sleep. Or maybe you too have discovered the beauty of this town at night, and the calming effect it can have on your confusing thoughts.
"Hi," you say, and sure enough, there's a mixture of impulsive breathlessness and timid hesitation in your voice.
"Hi," I reply, my voice void of any emotion. I risk a look at you, and for once I can't read the look in your eyes. They're open even wider than usual, and seem almost afraid, even sad. Maybe both. I don't know. You're not making any effort to look away. You're also not making any effort to say more, so I do.
"There's room here for two, you know." You look startled, like a deer caught in the headlights, as if I had caught you doing something you shouldn't have.
"What?"
I smirk slightly at this. "You can sit down."
"Oh, right.sit. Yeah, I was...I should. I am. Sit.sitting," you babble, and it's all I can do to keep from laughing out loud for the first time in God knows when. I do, however, give in to the secondary urge to genuinely smile, and am surprised to find I still know how.
"OK, then. Sit." You plop down abruptly, jostling me. I expect you to apologize and move away quickly, and you begin to, but then seem to have a change of heart. Our bodies are close against each other, and I can feel how cold you are even through your clothes. I see you sneak a look at me, the corners of your mouth turning up slightly. I wonder if that means that I'm fun to look at. I hope so.
"So.what are you doing?" you ask suddenly. This obvious question makes me smile for the second time in one night, probably some kind of record or something.
"Just.sitting here. Couldn't really sleep."
"Why not?"
"Had some stuff on my mind."
"Yeah.me too," you say, almost inaudibly, and I wonder about the hidden complexity of the meaning in this simple reply.
I pause before I add, "I actually come out here a lot. It's really.well, the crazy town's actually tolerable this time of night."
"Yeah, me too," you say, smiling, "Except it's always pretty tolerable for me. Just even more so at night. It's so beautiful. I love coming out here to walk around, or thing, or just.be, you know? It's comforting. I mean to just be in the quiet. It's just so hard to find someone to be quiet with. Everybody thinks you always have to be talking, or doing something, but just doing nothing, just being quiet is really, really nice." You look up at me after this little speech, and abruptly blush and look down again.
"I'm sorry, I just."
"Just.what? What are you sorry for?"
"Just babbling, I mean, I don't know-"
"No, don't be sorry. I know what you mean." You're still facing your lap, and I know you don't believe me, so I insist further.
"I do," I say forcefully and with conviction, and you look up. I meet your eyes, and we sit like that for a while, just looking at one another.
After a while you smile. "This is nice. The quiet, I mean. Just being here. With you." Then you bury your face into my shoulder and put your cold hand on top of my warmer one, and you do it as if this were the most natural thing in the world to do.
Once the initial shock passed over, I could feel yet another smile creeping over my face, this one a wide and goofy grin. I'm alarmed to feel this action becoming familiar to me, and I have to stop and wonder exactly what kind of power you're in possession of, anyway. But I decide to ponder this another night, and slip the arm with the free hand around your shoulder. Your head is still buried against me, and I wrap my fingers around yours, squeezing them lightly. With this newfound sense of contentment, my mouth finally begins to work again.
"Yeah, it is," I agree, "This is nice."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Once again, pretty please with chocolate-covered espresso beans on top, review!! Be harsh and brutally honest and give me ideas! Also, if you have the time, read my other story, Innocence. It's a Jess thought piece, and I was wondering if I should do like, a Rory counterpart or something. Just lemme know!! Thank you.