Finally, our last chapter.
Just a heads up, the giant paragraph in the middle is intentional. If you've read Waiting for Godot/En attendant Godot, you know what I mean.
Chapter 4: Waiting For Gilmore
« Essayons de converser sans nous exalter puisque nous sommes incapables de nous taire » - En attendant Godot, Samuel Beckett
Jess and Rory stake outside the town's theatre in hopes of finding the Phantom. Oddly, the lights are on so they sit on the bench across the seat. Instead of a masked man in a dark coat, they get the pleasure of watching man-made sunburnt Kirk unwillingly help Taylor set up for the school's play tomorrow evening.
"How much longer, Taylor?" Kirk nags, holding a poster for the play up against the theatre's exterior wall. "My mom locks and chains and locks the door if I break curfew and Cat Kirk traded the key that I was finally granted for a dead rat. Now anyone on the streets could have a key to my house and sleep in my freshly-washed sheets."
"It's crooked," Taylor states, annoyed.
"My mother said that when she checked to see if I made my bed this morning. Cat Kirk definitely did something while I was doing my morning aerobics."
Kirk rotates his arms to follow Taylor's arm gestures, probably reminiscent of his morning exercises. The poster for Waiting For Godot is even more crooked and Taylor storms over to fix it himself.
"The school couldn't have picked a better play?" Jess questions. "Not the nativity set or a mind-numbing musical number on how to tell time? I mean, you've read it."
"I don't get the prepubescent appeal for a play starring two men who talk while, as the title explains, waiting for Godot."
Jess turns to face her. "What did you say?"
Rory raises a brow. "The name of the play."
"I know. We've read it. But how did you say his name?"
"Godot."
Jess clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "No, it's Godot. Not Godot."
"Absolutely not." Rory frowns with a slight grin. "Beckett wrote this play in French; therefore it's Godot. Or my anglicized version of it. You and your New Yorker Gaw-doh are a travesty."
"Your attempt at a New York accent is a travesty."
"Estragon and Vladimir weren't waiting for Godot in a train station or Times Square."
"You don't know that. The setting isn't exactly specified because it isn't important."
Rory crosses her arms. Jess has a point and he knows it because of her lack of response. The setting in Waiting For Godot is barely tertiary in a list of importance. With a theme of stagnancy, the play centres on Estragon and Vladimir, two friends waiting for another friend, Godot. The two old men talk and talk for the entirety of the play only for Godot never to appear.
So theoretically, yes, the play could take place anywhere — even in a New York subway station. (Just change Pozzo and Lucky to a street scammer and an oversized rat).
"Kirk, you need to press down on the seams," Taylor instructs, massaging the poster they put up together. He presses down into the poster and Kirk corps. Both their hands carry the poster from every angle possible.
Rory and Jess shiver in sync, glancing at each other with smirks afterwards.
"That poor poster," Rory states.
"It should file a harassment report," Jess says, grimacing when Kirk and Taylor put their whole bodies into it. "I'm filing one just for sitting to witness it."
"We must warn the town." She looks around dramatically.
"Nobody will believe me," Jess plays along.
"Au contraire," Rory grins, beaming at him. "We've discussed that stories are exaggerated truths, satirical takes on societal truths. And do you know what people like more than the truth? A good story — hence fiction as a genre, lawsuits for journalists, and easily spread rumours here in Stars Hollow."
Jess looks at her. No snarky expression nor a grin with slightly parted lips where she'd expect some witty remark. His brows are relaxed as his eyes gaze at her. The awestruck and studious expression compels Rory to straighten her already perfect posture and look back. Her heart pounds and she's scared to breathe in case it'll come out choppy and ruin this beautifully perfect moment.
Beckett would save his limited descriptions to capture and evoke the image of wordless interactions like this one. Only honest things to say about them.
"C'est la vie…" Jess whispers so softly that he might as well have mouthed the words to her.
Rory's eyes drop to his lips as if she could read those three words. She'd highlight, circle, underline, and annotate those three words not only beyond their margins but surpassing every page. She isn't sure if she imagined leaning in (and him leaning in) but she wished she imagined Kirk randomly appearing behind them on the bench.
Rory jumps upon seeing the lanky figure stalking behind them with red splotches on his face from his homemade sunscreen and a baseball cap from Doosey's Market. He looks like one of Jackson's scarecrows. Rory throws her hands to her chest since her heart nearly bursts out of her chest and slides to the other end of the bench. Her sweater and books fall to the ground. Jess remains unfazed by Kirk's sudden close proximity.
"Kirk," Rory exhales, "what are you doing?"
"Well, I was ridding our poster for the school play of its air bubbles," Kirk explains. "I suggested we take off the poster and put it back on but start adhering it from the corner outwards and knead it like a good bread dough or pasta dough, but Taylor disagreed. He said that if we kneaded the air bubbles out of the plastered poster, then it would mould better with the wall and, therefore, become more engrained in the theatre's infrastructure and, therefore, enhance the play. I disagreed. Not only would it be more difficult to remove, but I prefer a more methodical approach to acting. Now I memorize every line and stage directive. I like to say them aloud while reading. Seeing, hearing, and acting are the key ingredients as butter is for bread. Announcing the directives also benefit the visually impaired but directors and the other cast members disagree. Ableists. Back in my day, when I was a small boy in Stars Hollow Middle School, we did this play and I got the titular role. I played the man, the myth, the legend, the Godot himself. And nobody says his name correctly. Ever. I mean it. It's not Guh-doe or Gaw-doe. It's Go-dot, emphasis on that T. That's why it's there and nobody listens to me! After a prop tree fell on me during one of our rehearsals, I fell unconscious and had an out-of-body experience. Samuel Beckett himself came to me and said that I was whom he pictures while writing Go-dot. So when I returned to the land of the living in the ER, I was concussed and had internal bleeding in ten places. If I didn't open my eyes when I did, then I wouldn't have gotten my on-off stage debut as the titular Go-dot. The doctors were amazed that I was still alive while one nurse wished for the opposite since, apparently, I wet the bed while she was changing my saline bag. But I believe the Beckett who visited me breathed the life of Go-dot into me. So from that moment onwards, I made sure to dedicate my life to Go-dot. When I recovered, I made sure to master my craft. I stayed hidden and made sure people were always waiting for me. They should know I was there, lurking. My mother and teachers disagreed with my rehearsal tactics and didn't wait for me, but I was the best Go-dot that this town has seen. Nobody could outperform me although my mother would disagree. She thinks I had broken character near the end but she doesn't understand—!"
A gust of wind knocks Kirk's hat off and it skitters across the road. Rory and Jess watch Kirk scamper off like a squirrel to chase it. After a few failed stomps, Kirk finally claims his hat and he resumed following Taylor.
Rory exhales. Listening to Kirk rambling always tired her out.
She glances at Jess and smiles softly when she watches his perplexed face break into a grin. When his eyes flicker to her, he pulls his arm back. Rory looks around, unaware that Jess had his arm over her or, at least, on their bench. It had to have happened during Kirk's tangent. Was it intentional? Was it an accident? Maybe it was for comfort because listening to Kirk has an exhausting effect on people even if they're not weirded out (but most are).
If she didn't notice, it should've felt natural. But her heart's racing at the thought of a small and simple gesture being so normal that it's automatic.
She shouldn't like the feeling Jess arises in her. If only neither of them noticed his arm.
"Sorry," Jess says, "I got lost in Kirk's verbal manifesto."
"Right," she responds.
Rory bites her tongue but it's too late. She shouldn't have said that because now they're in a lingering and awkward silence. This must be what purgatory feels like. Waiting. It makes sense considering many interpretations of Godot are an allusion to God. Kirk's seemingly never-ending babble as well. If only — and she never thought she'd say this — but if only Kirk kept running his mouth.
"You know," Rory says, shifting in her seat, "I'm willing to accept your Gaw-doe over Kirk's Go-dot."
Jess smirks a little from the corner of his mouth. "Guh-doe and Gaw-doe over Go-dot, unnecessary iambic pentameter on the T."
"That's not how iambic pentameter works."
"Kirk would disagree."
"His mom won't."
"You're siding with Kirk's mom?"
"Well, you're siding with Kirk himself."
"C'est la vie."
"An unfortunate vie."
Jess's smirk softens the longer he looks at her. Rory notices that his upper body is slightly turned to her as if it never left the space over her shoulders. Instead, his arm rests limply at his side uncomfortably if she had to guess. His fingers move against each other, rubbing restlessly like they want to be elsewhere.
Jess leans in closer, but not as close as Rory is ashamed to desire. Still, the close proximity heats her cheeks and speeds up her heart. If they were any hotter and louder, respectively, he might feel, hear or even sense the effect he has on her without his effort to invoke it.
"An unfortunate vie indeed," Rory mutters.
She nods to herself, straightening as she looks up and sighs. Another instance where she should've kept quiet but she didn't want to stop. Estragon and Vladimir talked for the whole play and never tired each other out. They weren't capable of doing so.
"Give me your sweater for a second," Jess says.
Unlike at Chilton, Rory doesn't hesitate to hand her sweater to him with the books wrapped inside. Jess adjusts the items, making sure the books are peeking out of the neckline. He holds it for another second before handing it back to her.
"What was all that?" Rory asks.
"I wanted to give it back to you formally, so here."
Rory smiles, taking the sweater and the books back. "Thank you."
"Nobody noticed me at Chilton because we were all wearing the same overpriced and branded paper bag. I'm glad for that since I didn't want to be thrown in Chilton's underground dungeon."
"Only the best writers end up in jail."
"Sometimes. Maybe that's when I'll know I made it."
Rory looks away for a second. Then, she reaches into her pocket and holds out a key with a coffee cup keychain. She remembers when her mom looped it onto Luke's spare key. He objected and claimed to hate it, but he never took it off.
"This belongs to Luke," Rory says.
"I know," Jess responds. "I would've let you keep it. Help yourself to Luke's coffee whenever you want."
"No…" Rory mutters, still dangling the spare key in his face. "Jess, I won't. That's Luke's key."
"He uses it like, what, twice a year? I'll just make him another one with a dorky keychain."
"Why not just make me a copy with a dorky keychain?"
Jess raises a brow, nodding a little. "Good point. This is why the sweater is yours."
"We're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Stalling."
"Me? Stalling?" Jess holds a dramatic hand to his chest. "Rory Gilmore, I would never."
"You so would."
"I don't stall. I wait until the last possible minute before making my heroic escape into the final act."
"If you make it that far." She grins, still holding the key in his face.
"Now you're stalling."
Rory copies his hand gesture. "Me? Stalling? Jess Mariano, I would never."
"You so would."
"I don't stall," Rory guffaws dramatically, "I wait until the last possible minute before making my coming-of-age, ahead of its time, heroine voyage into the final act."
"If you make it that far but I believe in you," Jess's voice softens as he silently looks at her for a moment. "Rory, what are you doing?"
Her brows furrow a little. What is she doing? She's stalling, he's stalling. Dean would never stall like this. Rory straightens as she gathers her sweater and the books. As she quickly stands, she nearly drops them on the bench.
Jess doesn't move. Rory freezes, her heart stopping when they lock eyes. She knew this would happen. She shakily exhales, breath visible for a second as she takes another deep breath to calm herself. He leans forwards, remaining in his seat and raising a brow at her.
She hates when he does that to her. A guilty part inside her loves it but she plays it off as envious of anyone who could raise one brow at a time. Jess counts as anyone.
"Rory," Jess repeats, "what are you doing?"
"Nothing," she responds.
"Not stalling?"
Rory shrugs one shoulder. "Maybe waiting."
"For what? Or for whom?"
"Gaw-doe," she mimics his pronunciation and emphasizes each syllable. "What about you? Who are you waiting for?"
"Guh-doe," he copies her responding method.
"No love for Go-dot?"
Jess smirks again. "Not a chance. Guh-doe is more my type."
Rory nods, starting to back away. Maybe Gaw-doe is her type too. She can't say. She steps backwards so she can still see him sitting on the bench with the only light being the dim lamp post and emitting aura from the town's nightly storefronts and the gazebo in the background.
"Beckett only has good things to say about you," she tells him.
"Some would disagree," he says.
"C'est la vie."
Rory looks at him for a second more before turning on her heel and heading home, hugging her sweater and the books tightly to her chest.
An unfortunate vie indeed.
Kirk's verbal manifesto was so much longer in my notebook. It was about a page.
Thank you to anyone who has read this story. Please let me know what you thought. If you have a story idea that you want me to write or a story that you want me to beta, don't be afraid to ask!
~ MysteryGal5
