DISCLAIMER: I am in no way shape or form affiliated with Warner Bros., Amy Sherman-Palladino, or their hit series "Gilmore girls." I do not own any of the following characters, or the settings in which they take place, or the scenarios.
SUMMARY: This chapter is Rory's POV on the situation with her mother, and her decisions about Jess and Dean. This song is loosely based on the song "Reflection" by Christina Aguilera.
PAIRING: Eventually R/J.
RATING: PG (for language)
In the Blue of the Morning
Cry Myself to Sleep
It's that time of day again.
I've been lying here for hours, under the covers, with my clothes on. I'm not sure how long I've been here. I'm not sure how long I've been home, or how long it's been since I got my wakeup call. I've lost a sense of time.
I thought about changing into my pajamas awhile ago, after I stopped crying. I thought I had no more tears left at that point. But, when I got out of bed, and started rummaging through my dresser, I realized that all my summer pajamas were still packed. They were still packed, in the suitcase that was still locked, sitting in front of my bed, staring at me. If I unlocked that last suitcase, if I unpacked my pajamas … then I would have to suffer the realization that my summer in Washington, the time I bought, and the time I'd had to think … was over.
So I didn't. I've been lying here for the past few hours thinking. I'm not sure what I'm thinking about. For the first two hours, I was crying, and I really didn't put together much coherent thought. And now … I've just been thinking about … nothing, really.
I think I've become an insomniac.
Here I am … at 5:45 in the morning. I've been here since last night, and I still haven't slept. I can't lie here anymore. I need to move. I need to breathe.
So, I get up and open the door to my room. The cool air in the rest of the house hits me like a ton of bricks, but the change in temperature reminds me that I'm alive.
I go into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. My under eyes are swollen and dark from tears and lack of sleep. My face, my body, the clothes on my body, my hair … they all show the signs of the hours that have passed, the events that I've outlived. They make me look tired. Maybe, somewhere, deep down, I am tired. But not now. I can't sleep now.
And so I make the executive decision to go for a walk. I'm not sure where I'm going to go, or what I'm going to do, or if, given the lack of coffee I've had, it would safe to go out alone and unsupervised. But I'm still standing in the bathroom, staring at the mirror … and for the first time, in a long time … I just don't want to be me anymore.
If I'm going to go out, I need to change. I don't want to feel the weight of everything that has happened covering my clothes. It's suffocating me, it's inhibiting me, it's lagging me down. I don't want to wear anything that belongs to me. I don't want to be Rory. I just want to go out, and walk the streets of Stars Hollow and observe, and exist like an innocent bystander or a tourist who knows nothing of what goes on this town.
I drag myself away from the mirror, hit the lights and step into the hallway. I hear the lull of the TV and the flash of the lights. They collide with the light streaming in past the curtains blending to make a brilliant blue, that touches my heart and gives my soul life, and power.
Sure enough, Lorelai has fallen asleep on the couch, again. Ads on QVC flash by, and I laugh a little – the last thing that we need in this house are any of those knick-knacks. I hope that she hasn't spent anytime trying to order those things … but the cordless phone is in her hands as she dozes. Leave it to Lorelai.
I admire my mother. She has a lot of great qualities about her, and while some people, like my grandmother or Luke, would like to argue that her being slightly insane or childish is not an attribute to her personality, I think it's one of her best qualities. I admire that she can still have fun and act like a kid sometimes. I wish I could. I wish I could just feel free … free of pain, free of hurt, free of confusion. I mean, she gets her fair share and it packs a pretty fair punch when she gets it … but at least she has those moments of sweet release to tide her over, to remind her that life didn't always have to be the grown up world of jobs and colleges, politics and opinions, love and heartbreak … black and white.
And then, suddenly, I am upstairs rummaging through my mother's clothes, picking out an outfit, and putting it on, shedding the clothes that were stained with my tears and my pain. I was brushing my teeth and washing my face, and pulling my tangled hair off my face in a messy bun. I was standing at the counter, signing a note to my mother "Gone for a walk, meet you here or at Luke's later. Love, Rory." And then … I was out the door, shutting it quietly behind me.
The funny thing is that I don't remember the in-betweens. I kept getting from point A to point B, with no recollection of how I got there … which parallels my life, if you think about it. It parallels aspects of my life that I don't want to think about. So I'm not going to.
And then I think about how I signed my "Love, Rory" so typically, just like I always do. But I wonder who I'm signing for. I mean … who is Rory?
I am Lorelai Leigh Gilmore, the third, otherwise known as Rory. I am a daughter and a granddaughter. A student at Chilton, one of the elite, the vice president of the student body. I look like I'm dressed by the birds. I like to read. I am a girlfriend. I am the town's little princess. That's the Rory I signed for.
But is that really who I am?
I'm not sure it is.
That Rory probably wouldn't have left her house at 5:55 in the morning, in her mother's clothes without permission. She wouldn't have skipped school and gone to New York to meet up with the former Stars Hollow hoodlum who'd been banished. She certainly would not have kissed him, and cheated on her boyfriend. She also wouldn't have come home with the intention upon breaking up with him … for none other than the boy in the plastic bubble.
And I've done it again. Here I am, at Luke's … sitting outside on the porch, leaning against the window pane next to the door. I'm not sure what I'm doing here, or how I got here. I just know I'm here. I can't go without thinking about it anymore.
By "it" I mean our situation. I'm caught in a corner, tied to a pole, pleading for mercy, kicking and screaming … all the while setting gravel and dirt free that ricochets and scratches me. It's all … metaphoric. But it's true. I've done this all to myself. Lorelai was right. I do need to choose.
But it's hard for me to choose, mainly because I already have.
I've known since the Bid-on-a-Basket Auction that Dean wasn't what I wanted anymore. He couldn't fulfill what I yearned for. He couldn't satisfy my literary needs. He couldn't go head to head in a debate. And after Sookie's wedding, I know for a fact that he can't give me kind of passion fire that I need, that I want. Jess … completes all of that.
And then, suddenly, on the bus ride home, I suddenly had the confidence to tell Jess that I needed him. That he was what I needed.
But we all know how that turned out.
And now … maybe I'll never get my chance.
Suddenly, the door next to me opens. I expect it to be Luke … but it's not. And there, in all his glory, stands Jess, messy hair and all. He looks down on me, and I feel intimidated and scared. After our previous confrontation I'm not sure what to expect.
"Can I help you?" His voice is harsh at first. It can hear the hurt in it, and I feel terrible for that. I can hear the frustration too, and I know that feeling.
"I … uh …" I stammer. I'm looking into his eyes, and I feel like a puppet. I'm just waiting for him to move me the right way.
His eyes, soften and his voice softens, "I mean … do you want to come in or something? We, uh, don't open for another hour … but I could get some coffee going."
My eyes simply agree looking into his … I don't need to speak the words. He knows I want to. He knows he has that power. He uses it to his full advantage, just not always in the right way. He holds open the door, leaning his arm against it, and offering me his free hand to pull me up.
Place my hand in his palm, and try to grasp a hold on reality as he pulls me up with little effort. But I lose my footing, and stumble. I'm just not having any luck with the whole concept of standing up … I'm imbalanced. He imbalances me. But he compensates for that and stops my fall catching me with his other arm, and pulling me to him as the door swings open and we fall into it, holding it open together.
This is déjà vu, I think. I look to the clock on the inside of the diner. It's 6:05. You know winter is getting closer, because it gets lighter later. And the sky is casting it's perfect brilliant blue over the center of town and Stars Hollow. Somehow, a stream of light manages to work it's way into the entry at Luke's diner, casting Jess and I in it's spotlight. Then I realize that it isn't déjà vu at all … this isn't the same as earlier. Because this time, we're having a little help from the blue light of morning. And then, I gather the strength to look into his eyes.
SUMMARY: This chapter is Rory's POV on the situation with her mother, and her decisions about Jess and Dean. This song is loosely based on the song "Reflection" by Christina Aguilera.
PAIRING: Eventually R/J.
RATING: PG (for language)
In the Blue of the Morning
Cry Myself to Sleep
It's that time of day again.
I've been lying here for hours, under the covers, with my clothes on. I'm not sure how long I've been here. I'm not sure how long I've been home, or how long it's been since I got my wakeup call. I've lost a sense of time.
I thought about changing into my pajamas awhile ago, after I stopped crying. I thought I had no more tears left at that point. But, when I got out of bed, and started rummaging through my dresser, I realized that all my summer pajamas were still packed. They were still packed, in the suitcase that was still locked, sitting in front of my bed, staring at me. If I unlocked that last suitcase, if I unpacked my pajamas … then I would have to suffer the realization that my summer in Washington, the time I bought, and the time I'd had to think … was over.
So I didn't. I've been lying here for the past few hours thinking. I'm not sure what I'm thinking about. For the first two hours, I was crying, and I really didn't put together much coherent thought. And now … I've just been thinking about … nothing, really.
I think I've become an insomniac.
Here I am … at 5:45 in the morning. I've been here since last night, and I still haven't slept. I can't lie here anymore. I need to move. I need to breathe.
So, I get up and open the door to my room. The cool air in the rest of the house hits me like a ton of bricks, but the change in temperature reminds me that I'm alive.
I go into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. My under eyes are swollen and dark from tears and lack of sleep. My face, my body, the clothes on my body, my hair … they all show the signs of the hours that have passed, the events that I've outlived. They make me look tired. Maybe, somewhere, deep down, I am tired. But not now. I can't sleep now.
And so I make the executive decision to go for a walk. I'm not sure where I'm going to go, or what I'm going to do, or if, given the lack of coffee I've had, it would safe to go out alone and unsupervised. But I'm still standing in the bathroom, staring at the mirror … and for the first time, in a long time … I just don't want to be me anymore.
If I'm going to go out, I need to change. I don't want to feel the weight of everything that has happened covering my clothes. It's suffocating me, it's inhibiting me, it's lagging me down. I don't want to wear anything that belongs to me. I don't want to be Rory. I just want to go out, and walk the streets of Stars Hollow and observe, and exist like an innocent bystander or a tourist who knows nothing of what goes on this town.
I drag myself away from the mirror, hit the lights and step into the hallway. I hear the lull of the TV and the flash of the lights. They collide with the light streaming in past the curtains blending to make a brilliant blue, that touches my heart and gives my soul life, and power.
Sure enough, Lorelai has fallen asleep on the couch, again. Ads on QVC flash by, and I laugh a little – the last thing that we need in this house are any of those knick-knacks. I hope that she hasn't spent anytime trying to order those things … but the cordless phone is in her hands as she dozes. Leave it to Lorelai.
I admire my mother. She has a lot of great qualities about her, and while some people, like my grandmother or Luke, would like to argue that her being slightly insane or childish is not an attribute to her personality, I think it's one of her best qualities. I admire that she can still have fun and act like a kid sometimes. I wish I could. I wish I could just feel free … free of pain, free of hurt, free of confusion. I mean, she gets her fair share and it packs a pretty fair punch when she gets it … but at least she has those moments of sweet release to tide her over, to remind her that life didn't always have to be the grown up world of jobs and colleges, politics and opinions, love and heartbreak … black and white.
And then, suddenly, I am upstairs rummaging through my mother's clothes, picking out an outfit, and putting it on, shedding the clothes that were stained with my tears and my pain. I was brushing my teeth and washing my face, and pulling my tangled hair off my face in a messy bun. I was standing at the counter, signing a note to my mother "Gone for a walk, meet you here or at Luke's later. Love, Rory." And then … I was out the door, shutting it quietly behind me.
The funny thing is that I don't remember the in-betweens. I kept getting from point A to point B, with no recollection of how I got there … which parallels my life, if you think about it. It parallels aspects of my life that I don't want to think about. So I'm not going to.
And then I think about how I signed my "Love, Rory" so typically, just like I always do. But I wonder who I'm signing for. I mean … who is Rory?
I am Lorelai Leigh Gilmore, the third, otherwise known as Rory. I am a daughter and a granddaughter. A student at Chilton, one of the elite, the vice president of the student body. I look like I'm dressed by the birds. I like to read. I am a girlfriend. I am the town's little princess. That's the Rory I signed for.
But is that really who I am?
I'm not sure it is.
That Rory probably wouldn't have left her house at 5:55 in the morning, in her mother's clothes without permission. She wouldn't have skipped school and gone to New York to meet up with the former Stars Hollow hoodlum who'd been banished. She certainly would not have kissed him, and cheated on her boyfriend. She also wouldn't have come home with the intention upon breaking up with him … for none other than the boy in the plastic bubble.
And I've done it again. Here I am, at Luke's … sitting outside on the porch, leaning against the window pane next to the door. I'm not sure what I'm doing here, or how I got here. I just know I'm here. I can't go without thinking about it anymore.
By "it" I mean our situation. I'm caught in a corner, tied to a pole, pleading for mercy, kicking and screaming … all the while setting gravel and dirt free that ricochets and scratches me. It's all … metaphoric. But it's true. I've done this all to myself. Lorelai was right. I do need to choose.
But it's hard for me to choose, mainly because I already have.
I've known since the Bid-on-a-Basket Auction that Dean wasn't what I wanted anymore. He couldn't fulfill what I yearned for. He couldn't satisfy my literary needs. He couldn't go head to head in a debate. And after Sookie's wedding, I know for a fact that he can't give me kind of passion fire that I need, that I want. Jess … completes all of that.
And then, suddenly, on the bus ride home, I suddenly had the confidence to tell Jess that I needed him. That he was what I needed.
But we all know how that turned out.
And now … maybe I'll never get my chance.
Suddenly, the door next to me opens. I expect it to be Luke … but it's not. And there, in all his glory, stands Jess, messy hair and all. He looks down on me, and I feel intimidated and scared. After our previous confrontation I'm not sure what to expect.
"Can I help you?" His voice is harsh at first. It can hear the hurt in it, and I feel terrible for that. I can hear the frustration too, and I know that feeling.
"I … uh …" I stammer. I'm looking into his eyes, and I feel like a puppet. I'm just waiting for him to move me the right way.
His eyes, soften and his voice softens, "I mean … do you want to come in or something? We, uh, don't open for another hour … but I could get some coffee going."
My eyes simply agree looking into his … I don't need to speak the words. He knows I want to. He knows he has that power. He uses it to his full advantage, just not always in the right way. He holds open the door, leaning his arm against it, and offering me his free hand to pull me up.
Place my hand in his palm, and try to grasp a hold on reality as he pulls me up with little effort. But I lose my footing, and stumble. I'm just not having any luck with the whole concept of standing up … I'm imbalanced. He imbalances me. But he compensates for that and stops my fall catching me with his other arm, and pulling me to him as the door swings open and we fall into it, holding it open together.
This is déjà vu, I think. I look to the clock on the inside of the diner. It's 6:05. You know winter is getting closer, because it gets lighter later. And the sky is casting it's perfect brilliant blue over the center of town and Stars Hollow. Somehow, a stream of light manages to work it's way into the entry at Luke's diner, casting Jess and I in it's spotlight. Then I realize that it isn't déjà vu at all … this isn't the same as earlier. Because this time, we're having a little help from the blue light of morning. And then, I gather the strength to look into his eyes.