I Miss You
Chapter 16: (but already) I'm Wasting Away
The sun rises slowly, illuminating the roofs of the buildings below her. She is curled up on a wicker rocking chair on a balcony. She breathes deeply, inhaling the last remnants of autumn in Rome. She cradles the porcelain mug in her hands and brings the rim to her lips, blowing gentle puffs of air across the surface of the scalding liquid. She cautiously takes a sip, then chugs the remainder of the cup. She drags the back of her hand across her mouth and licks her lips. Leaning forward, she places the cup on the ground beside her and settles back into her chair.
She takes in the now familiar scenery. She feels a pang of regret that she will be leaving all of it behind in a few short days. But the semester is over. It's time to go home. She sighs deeply. She can't wait to see her family and her friends, but she isn't sure that she's ready to face him again.
She can't deal with his ever changing moods. First he pursues her. Then he pushes her away. Then he wins her back. And then he pushes her away again. Though, in all fairness, she hasn't exactly been consistent with her emotions either. The bottom line is that she issued an ultimatum. He called her bluff. But now he wants her back. Well at least he did two months ago, when he weaseled her number from her mother and called her. She couldn't bring herself to go back to him and be cautiously happy for a few months waiting for the other shoe to drop. Time to break the cycle.
She shakes her head. She tells herself the same thing every time but it hasn't worked yet. She gets the feeling they will never be over each other. She rolls her eyes at herself. She needs to get out of her own head and think for awhile. She heads back into her apartment to change. She knows where she needs to go.
***
She bypasses the grassy bank and instead heads for the rocks and boulders leading to the edge of the river. She effortlessly steps from boulder to boulder, being careful not to lose her footing on the slippery rocks. She finally comes to a stop right at the waters edge, where the smaller rocks and pebbles line the shore. Grinning, she picks up a handful of pebbles. Sifting through them carefully, she picks out the round flat stones.
Her feet assume a more secure stance as she bends slightly at the waist. Fingering the stone between her thumb and forefinger, she flicks her wrist and sends the rock hurtling toward the water. She counts the skips. One...two...three...four. Four. Not bad. The irony of trying not to think about him while skipping stones is not lost on her.
Long before they had become a couple, they had been friends. It had been a typical spring day in Stars Hollow that Rory Gilmore had learned to skip stones. It had taken them well over an hour to find a good amount of "skippable" stones. She had stood on the old wood bridge by the lake, the pile of stones at her feet. He had sat on the wood post at the end of the bridge, leaning over with his elbows resting on his knees. His teasing smile had mocked her inability to properly skip a stone. The pile of rocks dwindled quickly without a decent skip among them. Finally, he had stood, ready to show her how it was done. She remembers the way his hand naturally curved around the stone, turning it over and over again in the palm of his hand. He had crouched by the edge of the bridge and, with an expert flick of his wrist, skipped the stone seven times.
Her mouth set in a grim line of determination, she had glared at his smug expression and chose her rock. She mimicked the way he had handled the stone. With a flick of her wrist, she released the stone and watched in amazement as the stone skipped twice. She had let out a squeal of excitement and performed her own little happy dance. He had rolled his eyes, but his mouth had broken into a full fledged smile.
She remembers that day above all others, mainly because it had been the first time they had really connected. Though they had reached the point where they were comfortable enough around each other to reasonably expect that they would not start bickering, that had been the day they became friends. They talked about everything that day: school, family, life in general. In fact, somewhere in her bedroom in Stars Hollow, a souvenir rock sat on a shelf somewhere, a memento of that golden afternoon.
Ever since then, whenever she needs an outlet, she always seeks some body of water and sends rocks flying. Somehow, seeing the stones break the glassy image of the water and watch it settle once more gives her some sense of peace. She can't explain it, but whenever things get rough, she finds herself near water.
She watches as the last rock skips across the surface of the lake. Wiping her dusty hands on the front of her jeans, she begins the ascent back up to the grassy bank. She settles on the grass. She retrieves her journal from her messenger bag and begins to furiously scribble.
A half hour later, her fingers are beginning to cramp but she is finally feeling at peace. She closes the journal and places her pen inside the metal spiral. She tucks it back into her bag, then places the bag behind her. She scoots forward and lays down, the bag cushioning her head from the grass. She closes her eyes, shielding them from the blinding afternoon sun.
Her eyes snap open at the sound of someone calling her name. The voice sounds vaguely familiar. Scratch that. It sounds very familiar. It sounds like...
"Dean?"
16/21
Where am I going with all this? Beats me. Too contrived? Possibly. Am I having fun? You bet. Five more to go!
Chapter 16: (but already) I'm Wasting Away
The sun rises slowly, illuminating the roofs of the buildings below her. She is curled up on a wicker rocking chair on a balcony. She breathes deeply, inhaling the last remnants of autumn in Rome. She cradles the porcelain mug in her hands and brings the rim to her lips, blowing gentle puffs of air across the surface of the scalding liquid. She cautiously takes a sip, then chugs the remainder of the cup. She drags the back of her hand across her mouth and licks her lips. Leaning forward, she places the cup on the ground beside her and settles back into her chair.
She takes in the now familiar scenery. She feels a pang of regret that she will be leaving all of it behind in a few short days. But the semester is over. It's time to go home. She sighs deeply. She can't wait to see her family and her friends, but she isn't sure that she's ready to face him again.
She can't deal with his ever changing moods. First he pursues her. Then he pushes her away. Then he wins her back. And then he pushes her away again. Though, in all fairness, she hasn't exactly been consistent with her emotions either. The bottom line is that she issued an ultimatum. He called her bluff. But now he wants her back. Well at least he did two months ago, when he weaseled her number from her mother and called her. She couldn't bring herself to go back to him and be cautiously happy for a few months waiting for the other shoe to drop. Time to break the cycle.
She shakes her head. She tells herself the same thing every time but it hasn't worked yet. She gets the feeling they will never be over each other. She rolls her eyes at herself. She needs to get out of her own head and think for awhile. She heads back into her apartment to change. She knows where she needs to go.
***
She bypasses the grassy bank and instead heads for the rocks and boulders leading to the edge of the river. She effortlessly steps from boulder to boulder, being careful not to lose her footing on the slippery rocks. She finally comes to a stop right at the waters edge, where the smaller rocks and pebbles line the shore. Grinning, she picks up a handful of pebbles. Sifting through them carefully, she picks out the round flat stones.
Her feet assume a more secure stance as she bends slightly at the waist. Fingering the stone between her thumb and forefinger, she flicks her wrist and sends the rock hurtling toward the water. She counts the skips. One...two...three...four. Four. Not bad. The irony of trying not to think about him while skipping stones is not lost on her.
Long before they had become a couple, they had been friends. It had been a typical spring day in Stars Hollow that Rory Gilmore had learned to skip stones. It had taken them well over an hour to find a good amount of "skippable" stones. She had stood on the old wood bridge by the lake, the pile of stones at her feet. He had sat on the wood post at the end of the bridge, leaning over with his elbows resting on his knees. His teasing smile had mocked her inability to properly skip a stone. The pile of rocks dwindled quickly without a decent skip among them. Finally, he had stood, ready to show her how it was done. She remembers the way his hand naturally curved around the stone, turning it over and over again in the palm of his hand. He had crouched by the edge of the bridge and, with an expert flick of his wrist, skipped the stone seven times.
Her mouth set in a grim line of determination, she had glared at his smug expression and chose her rock. She mimicked the way he had handled the stone. With a flick of her wrist, she released the stone and watched in amazement as the stone skipped twice. She had let out a squeal of excitement and performed her own little happy dance. He had rolled his eyes, but his mouth had broken into a full fledged smile.
She remembers that day above all others, mainly because it had been the first time they had really connected. Though they had reached the point where they were comfortable enough around each other to reasonably expect that they would not start bickering, that had been the day they became friends. They talked about everything that day: school, family, life in general. In fact, somewhere in her bedroom in Stars Hollow, a souvenir rock sat on a shelf somewhere, a memento of that golden afternoon.
Ever since then, whenever she needs an outlet, she always seeks some body of water and sends rocks flying. Somehow, seeing the stones break the glassy image of the water and watch it settle once more gives her some sense of peace. She can't explain it, but whenever things get rough, she finds herself near water.
She watches as the last rock skips across the surface of the lake. Wiping her dusty hands on the front of her jeans, she begins the ascent back up to the grassy bank. She settles on the grass. She retrieves her journal from her messenger bag and begins to furiously scribble.
A half hour later, her fingers are beginning to cramp but she is finally feeling at peace. She closes the journal and places her pen inside the metal spiral. She tucks it back into her bag, then places the bag behind her. She scoots forward and lays down, the bag cushioning her head from the grass. She closes her eyes, shielding them from the blinding afternoon sun.
Her eyes snap open at the sound of someone calling her name. The voice sounds vaguely familiar. Scratch that. It sounds very familiar. It sounds like...
"Dean?"
16/21
Where am I going with all this? Beats me. Too contrived? Possibly. Am I having fun? You bet. Five more to go!