The Movement of a Hand
You return again. Never could get away, could you? Always, wherever you go, where ever you run to, away from her, you end up back here. Small town, Connecticut. Back to the place you hated and loved at the same time. I think I understand. I mean, you are my nephew and all. I'm entitled to understand, right?
But I'm not. I just do. I understand because I wanted to get the fuck out of this place before. I wanted to split and run as far I could, to the ocean of the West if I could. If only I could.
Damn, I wanted to run, run, run. Drive so fast so far that time would stop and I'd forget for a second what Stars Hallow was. It wouldn't even be a point on the map because it was that unimportant. Unimportant to the world, that is. To me, it was the world. And somehow, I can't run away from the world, no matter how hard I try.
There's a party and you return for that. How you know of it - of Lorelai's wedding - is beyond me. You follow the footsteps to the reception, where I don't want to be. The music is modern and eccentric like her. You stand in the doorway, unnoticed by everyone but me. I watch as you memorize her again. Her body spins as she pirouettes like a tiny dancing doll. An unfamiliar softness passes through your eyes.
Her newest boyfriend narrows his eyes at you and you finally notice. You smirk and nod at him. I sigh. It starts over again.
---
You lean back and stretch your legs in the front seat. I glance over and watch as you smoke out the screaming window. I can barely smell the stench. For this, I am glad.
I drive on. You don't recognize me anymore, but if I exist for the next ten minutes of this drive I know that would be fine. You flick the burning cigarette onto the road and turn to me.
"I'm going to stop." You say.
"That's good."
"Tell her I'm sorry." You give me a look filled with more emotions than I have seen in you since you're first appearance in my life.
"Tell her yourself." I answer. You sigh.
"I can't." I park in the train station and shrug.
"She knows already anyway." I go. You nod and open the door.
"Thanks, Luke." You get out, but pause first. "And sorry. For causing you all this trouble." I grunt. You slam the door and leave. For the last time? I don't know.
All I know is these trees that line her curb will be rejoicing and soon all the joy that pours from everything will make fountains of your eyes. I smile and start up the truck again.
Twenty-five years and you finally understand the movement of a hand waving good-bye.
You return again. Never could get away, could you? Always, wherever you go, where ever you run to, away from her, you end up back here. Small town, Connecticut. Back to the place you hated and loved at the same time. I think I understand. I mean, you are my nephew and all. I'm entitled to understand, right?
But I'm not. I just do. I understand because I wanted to get the fuck out of this place before. I wanted to split and run as far I could, to the ocean of the West if I could. If only I could.
Damn, I wanted to run, run, run. Drive so fast so far that time would stop and I'd forget for a second what Stars Hallow was. It wouldn't even be a point on the map because it was that unimportant. Unimportant to the world, that is. To me, it was the world. And somehow, I can't run away from the world, no matter how hard I try.
There's a party and you return for that. How you know of it - of Lorelai's wedding - is beyond me. You follow the footsteps to the reception, where I don't want to be. The music is modern and eccentric like her. You stand in the doorway, unnoticed by everyone but me. I watch as you memorize her again. Her body spins as she pirouettes like a tiny dancing doll. An unfamiliar softness passes through your eyes.
Her newest boyfriend narrows his eyes at you and you finally notice. You smirk and nod at him. I sigh. It starts over again.
---
You lean back and stretch your legs in the front seat. I glance over and watch as you smoke out the screaming window. I can barely smell the stench. For this, I am glad.
I drive on. You don't recognize me anymore, but if I exist for the next ten minutes of this drive I know that would be fine. You flick the burning cigarette onto the road and turn to me.
"I'm going to stop." You say.
"That's good."
"Tell her I'm sorry." You give me a look filled with more emotions than I have seen in you since you're first appearance in my life.
"Tell her yourself." I answer. You sigh.
"I can't." I park in the train station and shrug.
"She knows already anyway." I go. You nod and open the door.
"Thanks, Luke." You get out, but pause first. "And sorry. For causing you all this trouble." I grunt. You slam the door and leave. For the last time? I don't know.
All I know is these trees that line her curb will be rejoicing and soon all the joy that pours from everything will make fountains of your eyes. I smile and start up the truck again.
Twenty-five years and you finally understand the movement of a hand waving good-bye.