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Something To Remember
by inmyeyes
Part 9
(Late that night. Gilmore House. Stars Hollow)
'You're not in love with him.' was the statement that had been running through her mind. Her rational side whole-heartedly believed in it. Four days, however wonderful and memorable they may have been, didn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things. It didn't erase all the other things that he had put her through; the annoying persistence, the arrogant way he pursued her, the trouble he had cause at the dance, his overbearing attitude and every other thing he did at Chilton. Four days didn't have the power to turn back time.
Unfortunately, four days had the power to let her see a completely different side of Tristan DuGrey. And it made her wonder if her perception of him was off-base.
Maybe it was too rash of her to think that she was in love with him; in a way, she reasoned, she thought she was in love with the guy whom she spent those four days with. A guy who may have been specially created; a role, a character that Tristan adopted.
Maybe 'in love' was too strong of a phrase to describe what she felt for him. He made her smile, made her laugh, argued with her, shared his thoughts with her. He made her knees buckle whenever he touched her, made her drown in the blue pools that were his eyes and when he kissed her, it seemed like the rest of the world didn't exist.
'Okay then,' she conceded, 'I'm attracted to him. I like him. Hell, I may even care for him. I don't love him.'
Satisfied with her conclusion, she finally let her weary mind rest.
She paid no heed to the soft voice in her head, completing her last thought. 'Not yet.'
(Wednesday morning. Chilton)
"Are you sure you're feeling like up for it?" Lorelai asked for confirmation as the Gilmore girls sat in the parked jeep in front of the imposing building that was Chilton.
"I can't miss another day."
"That's what you said yesterday," Lorelai pointed out, earning her a dirty look.
"That was yesterday," Rory gritted out, her tone insistent.
"Of course yesterday was yesterday. Yesterday can't be today."
"Mom."
Lorelai sighed. "I'm just worried."
"Don't be; I'll be perfectly fine."
"Okay, I'll see you after school," Lorelai reminded her. "We have that appointment at the hospital today."
Rory groaned, not looking forward to it. "Yeah, I'll see you then."
Minutes later, she was at her locker, exchanging her books as fast as she possibly could. All she wanted to do was to get to class, get a seat, bury herself in a book and pretend that Tristan DuGrey didn't exist. Her luck didn't hold out.
"Where have you been the last few days?"
Rory almost groaned aloud at the sound of Paris' voice coming from beside her. Not taking her eyes off her books, she answered, "I've been..." she paused, " sick."
She could feel Paris' assessing gaze. "You don't look sick."
Closing her locker, she faced Paris. "That's because it was a mental illness," she retorted sarcastically, rolling her eyes before walking towards her first class.
"Well," Paris began, her voice casual. Rory was immediately suspicious. "It seems like a certain person named Tristan has also contracted this mental illness."
Rory tried not to blanch at the mention of his name. "I always knew something was wrong with him," Rory said, trying to sound nonchalant.
"I was just thinking that maybe your illnesses are related. You know... contagious mental illnesses."
"There is no such thing as a contagious mental illness, Paris."
Their eyes met and Rory had the disconcerting feeling that Paris knew something. Before she could say anything, Paris gave a shrug and walked away.
(After school. Chilton)
She saw him a total of seventeen times that day, not that she was counting of course. Besides, technically, she didn't see him because she always averted her eyes whenever he was anywhere near. But the tell-tale prickly feeling she got was enough to warn her whenever he was near. The same prickly feeling that urged her to turn around and just look at him.
Rory was nothing else if not strong-willed; she steeled herself against the urge to just drink in the sight of him. She only gave in once, letting her eyes quickly run over him as she entered the English Literature class they shared. She spent the next 15 minutes silently berating herself for her weakness.
Once the period was over, she took her time gathering her stuff together, waiting for him to leave before she did. She didn't have to dawdle long; he shot out of his chair the moment the bell rang. But her loitering did have an advantage; the teacher, a stout, matronly woman named Mrs. Kendle, informed her of the work she had missed and told her about the assignment for the next day that she had given out last Friday.
The assignment was to choose a poem and present it to the class. She also had to hand in a two-page essay on the poem on her interpretation of it and on the various aspects of the poem; its style, the word use etc. The essay was also due the next day but as she had been ill, Mrs Kendle gave her an extra three days to work on it.
As she sat on the front steps of Chilton, waiting for her mother to come pick her up, she mentally went over the options she had for her choice of poem. Unbidden, the first one that came to her mind was "If I Could Tell You" but in her mind, she associated it too much with Tristan and well, she was trying her best to not think of him.
Keats? Shakespeare? Wordsworth? Yeats? Whose poetry should she choose?
"Luke! Coffee!" Lorelai bellowed as Rory and her made her way to an empty table in the corner. Moments later, Luke came to their table and set down two tall glasses of water.
Lorelai shuddered in distaste. "What is this useless liquid doing here?"
"It's water."
Lorelai gave Luke a scathing look. "Yes," she said, slowly, "I know it's water. What I want to know is what it's doing here."
"For you to drink." At this, Lorelai shot an amused look to Rory, who just sat back to enjoy the conversation between the two.
"I don't drink water. Coffee is my beverage of choice. Did you not hear me scream "Luke! Coffee!"? I didn't go "Luke! Water!". I don't want this. We don't want this." Lorelai waved her hand dismissively. "We want coffee."
"There's no more coffee."
Lorelai twisted around in her seat and craned her neck. Seconds later, she turned back to Luke, her smile truimphant. "You lie! I see two coffee pots full of coffee right there."
Five minutes later, the two had full cups of coffee in their hands.
"Is your head feeling fine?" Lorelai asked. "Do you need to take the medicine?"
Rory gulped down her coffee, shaking her head. "No, I'm fine. The doctor said that those pills are only for any headaches I get."
Lorelai nodded. "Have you gotten any of those headaches?"
"Nope, I'm been feeling okay. No headaches, no nothing. Good as new."
"Uh oh," Lorelai muttered, her gaze on something beyond Rory's shoulder. "Guess who just came in."
Rory winced, knowing exactly who it was.
"Rory!"
At the sound of his familiar voice which used to send tingles running down her spine, Rory turned around and gave a small smile. As he made his way to her, she inhaled deeply, trying to get herself together. Across from her, Lorelai reached out and gently squeezed her daughter's hand, trying to give her encouragement.
"I'll be at the counter, getting more coffee," Lorelai said, getting up. Her eyes met Rory's which implored her to stay but she lightly shook her head, knowing that the young couple needed to talk.
Rory sighed. "Okay, mom. Get me a cup, too."
When he was finally at her table, he leaned down to kiss her but Rory quickly turned her cheek so that his lips didn't meet hers. She looked down at the table, her fingers playing with the napkin. She didn't want to see the confused look in his eyes.
"Hi Dean," she mumbled.
"Hey... I haven't seen you around in a few days. How are you doing?"
Her eyes stayed on her coffee cup. "I'm doing okay."
"I called you at your grandparents' during the weekend, but you never called back."
Rory finally raised her eyes to his and bit her lip when she saw the hurt look in his eyes. "I didn't get any of your messages. I think they probably forgot to tell me." Not that I would have known who you were anyway.
"Oh."
There was an awkward silence.
"How was the weekend?" he asked.
Rory jerked her eyes away from his, guilt overwhelming her. "It was... good." Too good to be true. She could feel his gaze on hers, and she looked up, meeting his pensive gaze.
"Are we okay? 'Cos I have the feeling that-"
"Rory! We should get going," Lorelai called out. "We have a date with Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise, remember?"
Rory silently thanked her mother for her impeccable timing. Apologetic, but secretly relieved, she said, "You heard my mom. We have plans."
The conversation took a more light-hearted turn. "You have a date, huh? What about me?"
Rory grinned. "What about you?"
"Doesn't your boyfriend get a date with you too?"
Rory tried not to wince at the term 'boyfriend'. It reminded her too much of Tristan. She tried to smile, but knew that it probably came out wrong. "Of course. Call my secretary and make an appointment."
"Ro-ry!" Lorelai said in a sing-song voice. "Brad & Tom are waiting..."
Rory laughed, and quickly gave Dean a perfunctory kiss on his cheek. "Bye."
Before Dean could say anything, Rory had bounded out of there, with Lorelai at her heels.
"Oh, before I forget, thank you."
Lorelai grabbed a jar of cookies before turning to Rory. "For what?"
"For your wonderful diversion tactics," Rory clarified.
The two of them took their coffee and trudged out to the living room with all the tid-bits that they could carry with them. After putting in the tape of "Interview With A Vampire", they settled comfortably on the sofa.
"By the way, you're welcome," Lorelai said. "I saw the distress signal you were giving out and decided to intervene and save you. What were you and Narcolepsy Boy talking about?"
Rory sighed, snuggling deeper into the couch cushions. "He was asking me how I was, and told me that he called me during the weekend but I didn't return his calls. And he asked if we were okay. And that's when you intercepted with your diversion. Wonderful timing."
"Rory, I think that you should at least tell him about the amnesia. He'll understand that."
"I know... but that doesn't make it any easier to do."
Light applause filled the room as the student made his way back to his seat in the middle of the classroom.
Mrs. Kendle smiled, her eyes scanning the students before her. "How about we hear from Tristan next?"
Tristan's head snapped up, his fingers stilling; he had been fiddling with the small piece of paper in his hands. Swallowing back a hint of nervousness, he nodded and sauntered to the front of the room, hands clutching the paper with scribbled words on it.
Fixing his eyes on his empty seat at the back of the room, he cleared this throat before starting to speak. "A Kiss On the Forehead by Marina Tsvetayeva"
He paused, his eyes wandering to Rory before he went on. "A kiss on the head wipes away misery- I kiss your head."
He inhaled deeply, his eyes on the slip of paper in his hands. He continued, his voice deepening, "A kiss on the eyes takes away sleeplessness... I kiss your eyes."
Rory's eyes hadn't left him ever since he had walked to the front and when he lifted his eyes to hers, she tried not to react to the jolt of current that ran through her.
"A kiss on the lips quenches the deepest thirst..." He licked his lips, and the motion drew Rory's eyes to his mouth. "I kiss your lips."
"A kiss on the head wipes away memory." He paused meaningfully, his eyes holding hers. "I kiss your head."
He was startled out of the small trance he was in by the applause that rang through the room. He dragged his eyes away from her and smiled as he walked back to his seat at the back of the room.
While Rory waited for her turn, the words of the poem Tristan had chosen ran through her mind, complete with the look that he had given her. That look.. it was regret? Longing? Guilt? She didn't quite know.
When her turn finally came, she told herself not to look at him. But when she looked up from her piece of paper, she realized that he was directly in her line of vision; his seat was in the middle of the room, right at the back.
"Mad Girl's Love Song," she began, her voice soft. She cleared her throat and said in a louder voice, "by Sylvia Plath."
She looked back down at the words and read them out:
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is
born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
At the last line, she purposely locked her eyes with his before going on.
"The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness
gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed
me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
'You can go through with this,' she told herself. She continued:
"God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and
Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your
name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
Her eyes had been on him since she had started reading out the poem. With an effort, she tore her eyes away and focused instead on the clock that was on the wall behind him. Her voice grew softer as she read out the last stanza:
"I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes
they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I
think I made you up inside my head.)"
She sat on the hard seat, exhausted from the day at school. The incident during the English Literature period had worn her out. She knew that the poems that they had both chosen had been designed to express thoughts and feelings thet they both didn't dare express to one another. Hell, she had agonized well into the night, thinking over which poem she would choose. In the end, it had been a fight between "Mad Girl's Love Song" and "If I Could Tell You". As she finally dropped off to sleep at nearly one in the morning, she decided on Sylvia Plath. Choosing the Auden poem would have been too obvious and too trite, she reasoned.
On the way to school, she had painstakingly planned out every single moment, telling herself not to look at him while she read it out and praying that her voice and facial expressions wouldn't betray her.
But she hadn't prepared herself for his poem. Or the rush of feelings she got whenever their eyes met. Or the way her heart constricted as she listened to him.
They were dancing this intricate dance of avoidance, yet they were both trying to communicate with each other without actually having to talk and face one another.
The dance of avoidance intensified after their Literature period. Once the bell rang, she bolted out of the room, not even stopping at her locker. She sought sanctuary at the library, finding an empty corner and trying to immerse herself in her copy of Gone With The Wind.
She had somehow managed to not bump into him throughout the day and in the classes they shared, she kept her eyes away from him and left the room as soon as the bell rang. She had never been so glad to hear the final bell and finally get on the bus home.
She knew they would have to talk, eventually. She would rather it be later than sooner.
A.N : More action in the next chapter. A confrontation between Tristan and Rory and well... feelings are let out. And the everlasting question: Will Rory dump Dean? Or won't she? Heh :D Hopefully, it'll be out early next week, if all goes to according to my master plan. Hehe. :)