It was a Sunday. Jess didn't need to get out of bed right away, nor would anyone question his lying in. It was ideal really, a perfect day for it. As when he woke up, he felt that dreading pull. The slow and aching choke of devastation that tugged insistently – it felt like there was a stone on the end of a string, choking his throat with inexplicable dread and pulling the dark curtains around his mind.
He was warned of its return, but he didn't realize how utterly fed up he'd be at the feeling – how familiar it had become. It was a blessing, in reality, that he could identify it as being the rearing of his illness' ugly head.
That's why he remained in bed – his eyes open and glaring at the ceiling.
He didn't want this.
He didn't want to wallow. He didn't want to fall back into it.
He was determined to fight it – starve the depression of its very power and force it to run away – not the other way around.
He growled as he got dressed. Cussing, swearing, grunting and aggressively tugging on his jeans and ripping his jacket onto his arms. He dressed dark – pulling on his trusty leather jacket, the item that had kept him warm quite literally in so many homeless nights, and he stomped down the stairs of the diner – the scowl on his face, book in his pocket, and cigarettes held in his hand.
He pushed through the curtains to the exit, ignoring the yelps from startled patrons, and continued his mission out of the diner.
Luke didn't react – he watched Jess leave and made the wise decision to talk to him about it later. Jess was on a mission, and Luke wasn't about to get in his way. He did watch, however, as Jess marched his way to the bus stop, lighting a cigarette on the way – managing to finish it in time for boarding the next bus to Hartford.
His books were still at the diner.
He wasn't leaving – he wouldn't leave his books behind.
Luke carried on his day – ignoring the questions and trusting his nephew.
It was a fight against his own mind to lose himself in his book like he was once able to. It was a fight against something that seemed to block everything he wanted to feel. He found himself staring at the words rather than reading them, and had to visibly shake himself out of it – forcing focus on each individual word in the book until he could effectively string the sentence together in his head, sewing the image of the story into his imagination with one arduous phrase after another.
It was the announcement of another stop on the journey, jostling people out of their seats and juggling them through the crowds until the escaped the stuffy bus that triggered his reawakening to reality. He followed the crowd – an act his often loathed to do – and found himself walking with the majority until they dispersed to singulars in their many.
It was there that he found a moment to breathe. Led to an artisan area of the upper-class town – he spotted a record store and found himself naturally gravitating towards it. If a bookstore was his peace – then a record store was his conflict.
No one greeted him. There was just a nod from the textured, tattooed older lady from behind the counter and Jess was let alone to roam to surprisingly light and open shop. Record players lined the sides so he could test and listen. Genres were forgone, and it was more of a blind date with music that would fill his day.
He couldn't think of anything better.
Back in the diner, Luke feigned nonchalance over Jess' impromptu exit, but anyone watching would understand why he was excessively wiping one spot on the counter. It's why Luke jumped when Lorelai's voice suddenly invaded his sense.
"So, you're going to hate this – but I've already agreed on your behalf so there is no getting out of it." Lorelai bounced into the diner, her purse being thrown onto the counter in a flurry of extravagance, and let a smile fall across her features in an easy and obviously flirtatious manner.
Luke froze mid-action and seemed to take a second to restart his brain before slowly letting one vowel escape. "Uh..."
"We're going on a double date tonight -"
Luke groaned.
"That's not even the worst part." She continued, a twinkle in her voice to showed how entertaining she found it, "We're going on a double date with Rory and Dean."
The groan turned violent. "Why? You're looking for a particularly awkward evening or what?"
"Come on Luke! She doesn't believe me when I say I'm okay with the two of them – I want to prove it to her."
"So you are okay with the two of them?"
"Huh?"
"You're okay with Rory being with Dean again?"
"Of Course! She can make her own decisions. I'll support her no matter what."
"Okay. But I'm still uncomfortable with it."
"So you'll come yes?"
"Don't pretend like I have a choice here-"
"Great! We'll meet you here at 7."
Luke kind of wished he was where ever Jess was in that instant.
With his head tilted back against the chair, the ridiculously larger headphones over his ears, and the nostalgic sound of Bowie through his ears, Jess neglected to sense anyone approaching until there was a tap on his shoulder and he was fumbling stupidly for escape.
There was the gruff laugh of someone who'd been smoking their whole life behind him when he eventually got free of the headphones.
"Bowie huh? I fully expected Rage Against the Machine with how you stomped in here." It was the woman from behind the counter, seemingly bored and curious.
"Bowie holds a memory -" Jess explained unnecessarily. Thinking back to his one shared moment with his father.
"Ah," She said, sitting on the chair opposite him, "An escape, huh?"
"Sure..." Jess let the word elongate, waiting for her to explain her interruption.
When, instead, the old woman reached for the second pair of headphones, connected to the same record player he was connected to, Jess followed her lead and replugged himself – letting the music wash over the two of them.
They listened to a few songs together, not sharing words, but sharing lyrics.
She eventually knocked off the dial and got his attention back. "He's come in here before, you know?"
"Huh?"
"Bowie."
"What? Bullshit" Jess instantly responded, before catching himself and apologizing.
The old woman laughed, her head thrown back as her dyed red hair with gray roots shone under the bright lights. "You don't have to apologize for shit in here." She chortled, letting Jess choke on his manners. "I'll prove it – come on."
Jess was led behind the counter where the woman produced an album full of pictures. Polaroids of her with various famous artists – some he had absolutely no clue about, but still nodded along to her stories, some he was in absolute awe of. The album held autographs, trinkets taped in, stamps and postcards – each with their own story and background.
When she had finally patted the back of the album, signaling its end – the light of the afternoon seeping to a coolness of evening, Jess pulled back and thanked her.
"I needed something like that."
"I know you did, hon – that's why I showed it to you."
"I – uh – what?"
"I know the look of a broken artist. A lot of those people in that book came in here with the same look on their face – when something is attacking their soul – be it the world, their mind, whatever. That's what music is for. That's what art is for – an escape. You look like you needed it." She said the words with an airy smile, but a certainty that told Jess she meant every word.
He said his leave, thanking her again, and got quickly back on the bus back to Stars Hollow.
A broken artist. He liked that idea.
He returned to the apartment to Luke putting on a blazer and brushing his hair back after being in a cap all day.
"Are you going to a wedding?"
"No – I." Luke grumbled, "I'm not going to a wedding – Jeez. I've got a date."
"You look that nice to all your dates?"
"Shut up Jess."
Jess saluted his uncle with a smirk on his face and dove into his pile of books, looking for one he'd been craving on the bus journey back.
"Good day?" Luke asked.
"Interesting." Jess responded, "Definitely interesting." He said, cheering once he'd found his book and making his way to his most comfortable spot in the flat.
Luke didn't push, and Jess was thankful for it, only teasing him once more when he left the apartment to go and meeting Lorelai for their date.
The cigarette dangled loosely in his hand, the stick hanging outside as he sat on the window-sill, his knees crouched up to his face and the book he was reading resting carefully on his knees. The air was cold as it drifted in through the window, and the silence of the street made it feel like each page he turned echoed through the town.
When he had first gotten to Stars Hollow, the town that would have made Richard Yates cry, he found the silence of night unnerving. Usually, silence meant trouble in New York. When it was quiet, you knew there was something to fear. It was difficult readjusting and once again becoming comfortable to the complete lack of noise, and with it lack of drama, intrigue, or scandal. In its place was just a whole lot of mundanity and quiet.
Sitting there, watching as the late-night stragglers returned home to their abodes at, gasp, nine-thirty in the evening, Jess concluded that the town was, admittedly, a whack-job, but it did offer the perfect setting for his preferred escapism.
Turning back to his vehicle of choice to somewhere far from where he was, he pulled the cigarette to his lips and inhaled sharply and deeply, letting his hand dart back out of the window to dispose of the ash he'd created in its wake. He let the smoke out carefully, letting it dance from his lips as his tongue ran over his teeth to savour the taste and his eyes slipped over the page to savour the words.
Tolstoy spoke to him, and already covered in his own notes, Jess felt like the book was reading him rather than the other way around.
He'd reached the ninth chapter, reading intently as he lazily danced the cigarette through his fingers;
The place where she stood seemed to him a holy shrine, unapproachable, and there was one moment when he was almost retreating, so overwhelmed was he with terror. He had to make an effort to master himself, and to remind himself that people of all sorts were moving about her, and that he too might come there to skate. –
With the ring of the diner bell below and the bellowing of laughs, the image faded from his mind and Jess was sucked back into reality by the sound of her voice. The changing enigma in a town that seemed to never age.
"So you've never seen it?"
"Pippi Longstockings? Why would I ever willingly see Pippi Longstockings?" Luke replied.
"You shouldn't have asked that -" Dean quipped, ignoring Luke's responsive grumblings.
"How could you even ask that?" Lorelai bounced in.
"Was coffee a really good idea?"
"Have you forgotten who you're speaking to, Luke."
"Oh, Joy." Their voices began to trail off, and Jess watched from his perch as the four of them began to walk slowly across the quarter. The men of the group standing as far away from each other as they possibly could – Jess could feel the tension. Luke was dressed up, as were the women in their almost Friday Night Dinner posh wears getting thrown around them as the cool wind seemed to pick up. Lorelai continued forward, leading the group in a bounce as she continued the conversation with her daughter with frankly unfathomable enthusiasm.
Jess brought the cigarette to his lips, the pencil whose home usually sat behind his ear, taking the place of his smoking appendage between his fingers, all done as a matter of subconscious as his eyes drifted from the elder Gilmore to the younger.
His eyes met blue and he caught himself startling back slightly at the connection before quickly letting the smirk he knew frustrated her fall onto his cigarette-filled lips. He raised the hand which wielded the pencil up in a slight wave of acknowledgment, inwardly beaming when he saw her falter at being actively caught looking from over her shoulder. When she smiled back at him, the sight as clear to him as if she were standing a foot away, and lifted her hand in just a slight a wave, his smirk may have become more of a grin.
She turned quickly around, gripping hold of Dean's arm and pulling him quicker down the streets and toward the cinema and out of sight.
Letting his head fall back roughly, the pain of the wall sending a jolt through his system and a groan leaving his mouth at his idiocy – the smoke billowing out with it, he turned back to the book and almost laughed.
He walked down, for a long while avoiding looking at her as at the sun, but seeing her, as one does the sun, without looking.
He underlined the passage until lines bled graphite over the page and crumbs obscured words.
And it was with that jolt. With that pathetic symbolism and Tolstoy uttering his depressing words in his ear that Jess made the decision. He stubbed out his cigarette, throwing the stub into the makeshift ash tray of a glass.
It was a conversation that had taken him a whole day of solitude to build up to. It was one that was confining and restrictive – he knew that going in to it. So, rather than make it worse on his already overpowered nerves, he dragged the phone over to the window. The frame rattled as he settled back on his perch, a leg dangling over the edge, the other securely inside the apartment – a position he took many a time during his last lifetime in the town. He could feel the breeze rushing around the corner. He could hear the shrill tones of the townsfolk, but not their words – not could they hear his. The bell of the still open diner – manned by Lane and Caesar in Luke's absence, an occasional familiar tune to sooth his thoughts.
He unfolded the piece of paper that had been crumpled, felt, thumbed, through his thoughtful day, and careful put the numbers into the phone and waited for the dull rings.
He pulled out a fresh cigarette ready in his fingers, rolling around them, soothing and comforting – and a book prepared for if the sudden and intense require to run came over to him. It would act as his own form of escapism.
Jess was a little unprepared when Lily answered.
"Isn't it a bit late?"
"Jess?"
"Hey, Lils,"
"Did you forget about the time zones?"
"Oh – uh – probably."
Her twinkling laugh calmed him. No matter how little time he spent there – Jess was envious, but also kind of proud of the little girl who was growing up with the father he should have had. She went off on a rambling tangent quite quickly. Telling Jess about her school work – the books she was reading, the weird people she'd met at Jimmy's Hotdog stand.
"Jimmy said you're sick, Jess. Are you sick? Are you feeling any better? I had a stomach bug a few week ago and that was awful -"
"It's not that kind of sickness, Lils."
"Oh – but you are sick?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I am."
"Oh. Oh – okay. Jimmy just walked in – it's was nice speaking to you, Jess."
"You too, Lils."
There was a fumble on their side of the line before Jimmy's breathless voice greeted him down the line.
"Hey." Jess replied, leaning back against the window sill and squeezing his eyes shut in preparation for the conversation.
"Why didn't you call? Why didn't you say anything? I had to hear from Liz – after she had a few choice words to input about me first, let me add."
"I've got it under control."
"You tried to kill yourself Jess."
Jess winced, but didn't let himself audibly react. "Luke and I have it under control."
"What are you doing about it?"
"I've got medication – I'm going to therapy. I'm not better. I'm no where near normal, but it's working. It's slowly doing what it should be doing – it's under control."
"Therapy?"
"Yes. But don't worry Jimmy – my dad abandoning hasn't actually come up yet."
The silence on the end of the line said it all.
"You don't have to worry about me Jimmy. I'm an adult – you only met me as an adult – you have no responsibility to follow up on me. I'll keep you updated on my life if that's what you want, but I won't ask anything else of you."
"I wasn't – I'm not. Jess, I was just worried – I want to help where I can."
"You won't help."
"Jess-"
"No. I don't mean that in a malicious way. I don't mean it that way at all. But it's true. You won't be able to help me Jimmy – you're a stranger. Luke is helping in every possible way and that's all I need."
Jimmy was quiet for some time. Jess let him be quiet. Just the sounds of their breathing going back and forth as Jess looked over the darkening town as it dipped into the late evening.
"Well, I'm glad you're getting the help you need, Jess."
"Thanks."
"I know Lily would like to hear from you more, so if you're ever bored-"
"I'll call."
"Good – great. Uh, I'll, uh – speak soon."
"Bye Jimmy."
"Yep."
The dial tone rang out and the flat above the stairs had never seemed so quiet. But he felt relaxed. He felt so at ease that he wasn't really sure what to do with himself.
Jess put the phone down, grabbed the book from next to him, and reached to light up the cigarette – breathing in deeply and letting a smile fall easily onto his lips. He felt like he'd just let something big off of his chest. He felt the same in that moment as he did after telling that short-haired, angry, running, ranting love of his life his feelings for the first time.
All he'd done was tell his father that he was a stranger to him. He'd told his father that he didn't need him after all of those years.
God, it felt good.
It was like an odd juxtaposition of whimsical, freeing melancholy.
He felt so alive.