The Glass Menagerie
Collaboration between thebeautifullypainfulretrospect and jlangblues891
Disclaimer: The characters Rory and Jess belong to Amy Sherman-Paladino . The poem Love belongs to Pablo Neruda .
" I look at myself and say ;'What did I find in you ? What was my inspiration?"
Inspiration found in a lack ness of life purses its lips , pushing a great motivation in moving . From lonely town to back road bar filthy with smoke and alive with life ,its scent peeking out of every crevice, and shimmying out of every silky jazz note . It envelopes your psyche and pulls you in by the lapels of your deepest desires, only to spit you out not knowing who you were in the first place.
Just like the shatter of glass pulled him as he slipped out of his former New York . A different force drew him into Hartford , Connecticut. It was so pristine , like someone had silently whisked over it with cleaning supplies while he wasn't looking . Except the grungy building on the corner .It was exactly how one would envision a go-go bar . A leering sign , sheltered in grime , flickering weakly in the hum of streetlights .
It was unlike any bar he'd been to before A crossover of a basement open mic nights in Harlem and the seedy clubs of Nevada . Yet , it wasn't like any of that . Pablo Neruda's Love crooned softly in the background , while women stripped in glass cages high above the floor . The dingy countertop was bare , save for a few Coronas nursed by recipients with half dead eyes . The bartender wiped the counter in monotonous circles , all while staring almost tenderly up at the glass showrooms above. The atmosphere was tinged with a tiredness , as if the world rested on the shoulders of every person inhabiting the bar. The only thing that seemed constant was the motion of the shapely bodies gyrating above their heads .
She didn't know how she had ended up here. She had been a debutante, once. The white dress, the long gloves... she had wanted that life. She had been sure of it. Harvard. Responsibility. Independence Independence was gone from her life. She was dependant upon men wanting more than they deserved. A new song filled the bar, easing it's way to her mind. She breathed in; all she had to offer those men was a comfort she wanted.
Somehow she had lost track. Harvard was gone. The white dress was torn and ripped. Misplaced. Her page had been lost inside an endless book, and now she was here. A go go bar, one that was miles from Stars Hollow, and light-years from what she used to be.
Hartford wasn't known for its bars. She seemed to have found the one that she should've missed. She looked down below the glass and felt like she was falling.
The glass cage didn't seem so much like a cage anymore, and the people who were there didn't seem as lonely as they once had. Maybe she was just lonely now, too.
She took another drink. The song changed again.
Love
Because of you, in gardens of blossoming
flowers I ache from the
perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no
longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white
statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your
happy voice; I have forgotten
your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am
bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing
vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem
to glimpse you in every
window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of
summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.