Chapter Seven
It's the first time I've ever wished for death.
Several years ago, I had a crush on my band partner who had amazing hair. One night as we were preparing to march, he bent over to pull his instrument from its case and my hand (which I swear to this day was possessed) reached out and felt his hair. And as I ran away in humiliation, I thought to myself "I want the earth to open up and swallow me." On Monday when I timidly arrived at band practice my band partner and I had a big laugh over it and it turned into a running joke between the two of us.
Somehow I'm thinking this is not going to become a running joke.
There's about two seconds of terrifying silence before Mom begins screaming.
"Lane!" she cries. Then, "David!"
I grip Dave's hand and feel nauseated. This evening when I was getting ready, Mom came into my room and zipped up my cardinal colored velvet dress for me, making me feel like I was about two years old. That feeling washes over me again as I stand before her in my patent leather Mary Janes and lace socks.
"Get out!" she yells at Dave, grabbing his arm.
"Mama, stop!" I protest.
They're all watching, my family, my church friends, their unblinking eyes watch as Mom shoves Dave through the living room toward the front door.
"You leave Lane alone, you never come back in this house!" she shouts.
"Stop, you're hurting him!" I cry when I see the death grip she has on his arm, but she only holds on tighter. "You don't understand!"
"No, you do not understand!" Mom screams. "I made rules for you to follow and you broke them."
"I'm in love with him!" I shout.
Even Kiesha, my youngest cousin who is still wobbly on her feet, holds herself against a folding chair and stares at me. The only thing that makes this kind of attention bearable is Dave. My eyes latch onto his and draw confidence from the knowledge that we're in this together, that he's not going anywhere without me.
"I love him," I repeat. "So if you're kicking him out of the house, you might as well kick me out too."
I'm not sure what kind of reaction I expected from this statement, but it certainly wasn't for Mom to lunge out for my arm and push both of us out into the crisp December dark.
"You stay out until you can follow my rules!" she yells.
And then the door slams.
Dave and I stand on the porch in silence, both of us too shocked to grasp the sharp turn we've taken in the last thirty seconds- from animal lust to numb fear.
The door reopens and out comes Dave's guitar, luckily latched and secure inside its case. Then the door slams again.
"I think she was aiming for me," Dave says.
"There's a good chance," I answer. Under different circumstances I might be crying, but I feel strangely empowered. I stood up to my mom. I told her the truth.
"How you doing?" Dave says, hand tentative on the small of my back. I think he's afraid Mom will burst through the door any minute with a shotgun.
"I think I'm okay," I say.
"You think?"
"I'm feeling a little numb."
Dave's eyes are on the front door.
"What do you say we get out of here," Dave says. "Just for a little bit anyway, give everyone some time to cool down."
"Okay," I say.
We're silent as we drive, both lost in thoughts of what tonight means for us. Dave steers through the city and out to the countryside where we wander for awhile. The cloud covered night and dark fields provide no visual distraction from the night's events and Dave eventually meanders back to Stars Hollow.
"I wish it could be like this forever," I say. "Just you and me…and the decaying Blazer."
Dave smiles.
"I think that would be nice," he says. "Maybe someday."
My body feels warm and needed and possessed by something other than my analytical mind. I unbuckle my seat belt and settle my head in Dave's lap. His hand strokes my hair as he steers the Blazer into a parking spot and kills the motor.
"I love you," he says, and in the dark, quiet car it's even more intoxicating than it was the first time.
"I love you too," I say.
He pushes his seat back and pulls me over on his lap where I sit with my face nuzzled against his neck. We're parked in the center of town, the long stretch of grass separating us from Kim's Antiques. All the cars are still parked around my house. There is no doubt in my mind that they're holding a prayer service for me, begging forgiveness for my soul and that I will turn my back to sin and return home.
It's the idea that they view Dave and mine's relationship as a sin that makes me angry enough to decide I'm not going home. Lying to my mother was a sin, I concede that much, but being in love with someone Caucasian is not. Cuddling with Dave in his car is not. Playing drums for a band is not.
"I'm not going back in there," I announce. My voice is harsh and confident and sounds like that of a stranger. This is a new side of myself, a side I have yet to explore, a side that I am about to embark upon with Dave. Lane Kim without her mother.
"Okay," Dave says, after a stunned moment. "You can stay at my place, or I'll take you to Rory's, whichever you prefer."
"Yours," I say, thinking of Alien-Rory these last couple weeks, thinking of the short distance between the Kim and Gilmore houses, thinking of the warm Rygowski family.
Dave lets out the breath he was holding.
"Okay, good," he says. He takes my face in his hands and kisses me before starting the car. "Do you have stuff you need to get?"
And walk into a house of crabby Koreans? I don't think so.
"No," I say. "We can go by Rory's house, I'll borrow some clothes and stuff from her."
"What, you don't want to live in that dress for the rest of your life?"
"Crazy, right?" I say, smoothing the big velvet skirt.
"Maybe Rory has some shoes you can borrow too," Dave suggests. I plop my patent leather covered shoes on the dashboard.
"You don't like my shoes?"
"Oh they're fine if you're a five year old girl, and sorry that just doesn't do it for me."
"Even the ruffled socks?"
"Believe it or not," Dave says, smiling his contagious smile.
The Gilmore house is empty but unlocked. I page Rory and then set to rifling through her clothes for stuff that I know she doesn't wear very often. My hands are trembling, but I don't know if it's because I'm in love, scared, excited, or hungry.
The phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Lane?"
"Hi! Where are you?"
"Luke's…what are you doing at my house?" Rory asks, probably the longest sentence she's uttered all month.
"Mom found out about Dave and I and she kicked me out of the house and I need clothes and I'm borrowing some of yours. How about this orange sweater? I haven't seen you wear it in a long time."
"Whoa, slow down," Rory says. "Take the sweater. Your Mom found out?"
"Yes, and it was not pretty."
"How did she find out?"
"She walked in on us kissing in the kitchen."
I hear Lorelai's voice in the back bugging Rory for details.
"She walked in on them kissing in the kitchen," Rory says to her. "Quiet, I'm trying to find out. Lane, where are you going?"
"Dave's house."
"Tell her she can crash with us," Lorelai hisses.
"Tell her thanks but I want to get out of Star's Hollow," I say, folding up the sweater and adding it to the pair of jeans I'd pulled out of her bureau drawer.
"She says thanks but she wants to get out of Star's Hollow," Rory repeats.
"Oh, tell her I completely understand," Lorelai says.
"Tell her I know she does," I say.
"Would you two like to just talk to each other?" Rory demands. There's a scuffle on the other side of the phone and Luke hollers about being careful with the cord.
"Lane?" It's Lorelai.
"Hi," I say.
"How you doing, honey?"
"Fine," I say. "I actually feel kind of…"
"Powerful?" Lorelai suggests.
"Exactly."
"I felt like superwoman when I flew the coop with Rory. The fear will settle in later."
"I believe it," I say. The fear is already nagging in my brain but I push it away.
"Listen, upstairs on my nightstand is a photocube. I keep some cash in there."
"Oh, Lorelai, I don't think-"
"Seriously, Lane, take the money."
"Dave and I are fine, we-"
"Take the money, it's an order. And write down the Rygowski's phone number somewhere."
"I will…thank you."
"Rory wants to talk to you," Lorelai says and she's gone before I can even say goodbye.
"Lane, take anything in my closet, seriously. I never wear any of that stuff shoved in the back, take it all."
"Can I borrow some shoes?" I ask. Dave, who has been perusing Rory's CD collection, grins. "And some socks."
"Whatever you want, just take it. And call me tomorrow and we'll get together. And take something to read off my shelf, something light."
"Thank you," I say. "I better go."
"Drive carefully. And call a lot."
"I will," I say.
"I love you," Rory says, causing the tears I was trying so hard to contain to spill out of my eyes.
"I love you too," I say, and then we hang up. I look at Dave who immediately crosses the room and wraps his arms around me. "They take such good care of me," I say.
"They love you," Dave says. "You can stay here if you want, if it would make you more comfortable."
I shake my head emphatically.
"No," I say. "I want to be with you."
Dave smiles, holds me tighter.
"Good, I want you with me too," he says.
I smile, rub my cheek against his sweater, happy to stand there and be held.
"Thanks for being so patient with me this last month," I say.
"Thanks for giving up everything for me," he says.
"It's a good trade," I tell him. "I think I'm coming out ahead."
Dave smiles, kisses my forehead.
"I'm going to call my family and fill them in," he says.
"Okay, I'll change my clothes."
"Alright, then we'll hit the road," Dave says. He exits the room, closing Rory's door behind him.
I shed my dress and stretch it neatly across Rory's bed. Then I take off my shoes and socks and set them on the floor. That dress was safe, I realize. It was safe because when I was wearing it, I didn't have to make decisions for myself. I was who my mother wanted me to be.
No longer am I afraid of who I am, of who I want to be. I am Drummer Lane, American Girl Lane, Cheerleader Lane. I am ready to pick out my own clothes and determine my own bedtime and get red highlights in my hair. I'll make mistakes, I'm sure of it, but it's about time I started living my life.
As I dress, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror of Rory's vanity. I stare at myself, at the way Rory's sweater stretches over my torso and her jeans hug my hips. With all my internal changes, I'd expected my exterior to warp as well. I thought I would look more confident, more mature, more sophisticated, but I don't.
I look like Lane.