Disclaimer: The characters of Gilmore Girls do not belong to me, they are the property of ASP and other affiliates. The story line that I'm using is from the book Message in a Bottle, by Nicholas Sparks, which I hold no ownership of either. I will use some other quotes and descriptions from it in this story. I'm directly quoting the letter from Message in a Bottle.
A/N: Oh, wow! I never expected to get so much feedback! Thanks so much!
Facts: Okay, just some little things to point out: there is a medical school called Tufts University and there is a place called Corrib Pub Restaurant. They aren't that far apart from each other; but then again, I've never been there.
OT: Okay, I'm freaking out right now 'cause there is a bird stuck in my chimney, no, I'm not joking. Poor bird.
Shout outs: Elise, my super-duper-checker-upper, thanks, babe. Thanks Linda (chinkybrowneyes) for awesome feedback. Nate, whose oh-so-vivid description about waves helped me out sooo much.:P
****
Chapter 3: Carpe diem: Seize the Day
Rory finally picked up the receiver and clicked on line five. "Hello?"
The line was silent for a few brief seconds. Then, in a crisp voice, the caller asked, "Is this Lorelai Leigh Gilmore?"
"Yes, it is. Actually, it's Rory--." She immediately cut herself off, knowing that if she continued she would start babbling about her mother's swollen ankles, chucking ice chips at the nurses, and swearing like a sailor. "How may I help you?"
The caller paused for another minute, but Rory could hear her breathing, as if she was contemplating of whether to continue. Then she spoke again, "Can you please tell me who sent that letter?"
Rory closed her eyes, and cracked a smile; just another curiosity seeker. She berated herself for being so nervous about the call. "I'm sorry, but I can't give that information out to anyone."
"Please," begged the caller, "I need to know."
Rory's eyes grew wide. She could hear the desperation in her voice. She felt that there was something else there, too, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Convincing the woman would be hard; this was going to take a while. Aversely she answered, " I'm sorry, but I can't. That information is totally confidential. "
"Then can you answer a question for me?" asked the caller, her tone still hopeful.
"Depends on the question."
"Was the letter addressed to Christine by a man named Michael?"
The caller had Rory's full attention now. "Who is this?" she demanded with urgency, and by the time the words flew off her tongue, Rory knew that the caller had gotten her answer.
"It is them, isn't it?"
"Who is this?" asked Rory again, in a softer manner this time.
Taking a deep breath the caller answered, " My name is Jessica, and I live in Norfolk, Virginia."
"How do you know all about this? I mean the letter--Christine and Michael?" Rory managed to get out; her mind flying in all directions, all jumbled up.
"A year ago I was walking along the beach and found a letter similar to yours. After reading your column, I knew it had to be the same person. Plus, the initials are the same. "
Rory's was frantic. Another letter? This was very odd. Biting her lip, a childhood habit, she asked, "Can you tell me on what kind of paper the letter was written on?"
"The paper is thick, beige colored, and it has a silhouette of a ship embossed in the upper right hand corner."
Rory's heart quickened. She couldn't believe it. "Jessica," she said slowly, "would it be possible for me to see this letter?"
"Sure," she replied, then added, "My husband has never seen the letter, but I keep it in a drawer. I take it out to read it sometimes. Isn't it amazing? I mean, me finding it a while ago, and now you finding one?"
"Yes," Rory whispered. "It is amazing."
After giving the fax number to Jessica, Rory couldn't stop squirming. After 10 minutes of waiting, the machine came to life and started copying the urgent message. She, then, immediately scooped up the pages that fell one by one into the tray.
Rory she flipped to the first page. A quick glance at the ship in the corner proved that it was the same writer--Michael. Inhaling slowly, she began to read.
****
March 6, 2006,
My Sweet Christine,
Where are you? And why, I wonder as I sit alone in the darkened house, have we been forced apart?
I don't know the answer to these questions, no matter how hard I try to understand. The reason is plain, but my mind forces me to dismiss it and I am torn by anxiety in all my waking hours. I am lost without you. I'm soulless, a drifter without a home, a solitary bird in flight to no where. This, baby, is my life without you. I long for you to show me how to live again.
I try to remember the way we were once, on the breezy deck of the Happenstance. Do you recall how we worked on her together? We became a part of the ocean as we rebuilt her, for we both knew it was the ocean that brought us together. It was times like those that I understood the meaning of true happiness. At night, we sailed on the blackened water and I watched as the moonlight reflected your beauty. I'd watch you with awe and know in my heart that we'd be together forever. Is it always that way, I wonder, when two people are in love? I don't know, but if my life since you were taken from me is any indication, then I think I know the answers. From now on, I know I will be alone.
I think of you, I dream of you, I conjure you up when I need you the most. This is all that I can do, but to me it isn't enough. It will never be enough, this I know, yet what else is there for me to do? If you were here, you would tell me. But I have been cheated even of that. You always knew the right words to ease the pain I felt. You always knew how to make me feel good inside.
Is it possible that you know how I feel without you? When I dream, I like to think you do. Before we came together, I moved through life without meaning, without reason. I know that somehow, every step I took since the moment I could walk was a step toward finding you.
But now, alone in my house, I have come to realize that destiny can hurt a person as much as it can bless him, and I find myself wondering why---out of all these people in all the world I could ever loved---I had fallen in love with someone who was taken away from me.
Michael
****
After finishing, she leaned back into her leather chair and brought a hand to her head. All that she could hear was the ticking of the clock. The office seemed to be far away; all her thoughts were on the letter. She scrambled around looking for her purse. Upon finding it under her desk, she took out the initial letter, and laid the two next to each other. She read the first letter again, followed by the second one, and then she read them in reverse order. A queasy feeling washed over her, and she felt like she was eavesdropping on a special or private moment that she shouldn't be a part of. She felt like an outsider.
The warmth began to overwhelm her body and she started perspiring. A drink. Yes, she needed a drink; that would make her feel as if she wasn't unraveled. Getting up, she made her way towards the vending machine frantically searching her pockets for cash. Coins. Any monetary substance would do. She just needed something cool. Sighing at her useless search, she started up to her office, when she saw the bathroom. Sink. Water. The words ran through her minds and she made a mad dash for the bathroom. There, she turned on the faucet. She cupped the liquid in her hands, and splashed her face, only stopping after the whole counter was flooding with water. The cool water beads felt glorious against her flushed face.
Quickly returning to the office, she tried to comprehend her feelings. Her legs became wobbly as she plopped down in her chair; if she hadn't been standing at the right place, she would've hit the floor.
A little more than a week ago she had found the first letter, and the words had left her a deep imprint, however, the pragmatist forced her to put it behind of her or rather forget it. Though, now that was impossible, for she had found another letter, which was likely to be written by the same person. She wanted to know more about the letters and the man who wrote them. Who was he? Were there more letters? Why would he send them in bottles? It seemed miraculous to Rory that another person had found a letter about a year ago, and had it hidden away safely in a drawer because it touched her too. But all of these things were real; they had happened. Now the big question on Rory's mind was what did all this mean?
After a few more moments of looking at the letters, she carefully stowed them away in her purse and turned to her monitor. Blankly staring at the screen, she knew that she wasn't going to get any work done and started tapping her desk with her fingernails in a random pattern. Letting out a light sigh, she exited her program and logged on to the Internet. Choosing the search engine, Google, she typed the words Wrighstville Beach into the search box and clicked enter.
The letters still in her mind, the opening line of the second one kept flashing back to her.
Where are you?
Scanning through the list and eliminating the useless information, her eyes landed on topics that she could actually choose from.
1. Show Map of Wrightsville Beach NC
2. Wilmington, Wrightsville Beach, and Topsail Island, NC -photo…
... Wrightsville Beach, Discover the Cape Fear River region and you will
want to stay here forever. These photo tours feature the areas ...
3. The Beach Cam, live from the Blockade Runner Beach Resorts
... The Beach Cam. ... Wrightsville Beach is minutes from historic Wilmington NC and is
easily accessible from Interstate 95/ Interstate 40 and Wilmington Airport. ...
As she sat there, staring at the screen she felt ridiculous. Even if Michael lived in the Wrightsville area it would be nearly impossible to locate him. Why, then, was she trying to do so?
And, of course, Rory knew the reason. A man who loved a woman deeply wrote the letter, and now he--Michael was alone. As a girl, she had come to believe in the ideal man--the prince or the knight of her stories. Yes, she believed in Prince Charming. She had always had a crush on him, not the Cinderella one, but the Sleeping Beauty one…because he could dance. And to this day, she was still waiting for her Prince Charming.
However, in the real world men like those simply didn't exist. Real people had real schedules, real rules, and real demands.
All in all, she knew that there was still a man who was still here who loved someone with all his heart. His lover, Christine, was either dead or missing without an explanation. Yet Michael still loved her enough to send her messages--in bottles. If nothing else, Michael had proven that he was capable of loving someone fully, and, more important, remaining fully committed--even if the woman he loved was gone.
Where are you?
That phrase kept ringing through her head, like a song stuck in her head.
Where are you?
She didn't know exactly, but she knew that he did exist and was real. She had learned from previous experiences that if something caught her attention in a profound way, she should learn more about it. She had gone on with her life wondering too much about what could have been, and she didn't want to do that anymore. She wanted to take a risk. Take a chance.
Feeling more reassured she pulled out her palm pilot to see her plans for night; the words "meet Lane at 7 in Corrib Pub Restaurant" were flashing on the screen. When she glanced up at her main calendar to double check her appointment, something in the corner caught her eye. It was the phrase of the day printed in bold letters: "Carpe Diem!". It was Latin. Finally the years of taking those wretched foreign language classes would pay off. She racked her mind, searching for its translation--seize. Yes, it was seize...but seize what? She got up from her chair to peer more closely at the translation, which was given in smaller print: Seize the day; live in the present. At that, she gave a wry smile and snapped shut the compact, getting ready to meet with Lane.
Seize the day. But where would all this lead? What did it mean? Was the discovery of the letter in some way fated, or was it just a coincidence? Or maybe, it was a reminder of what she was missing in her life?
Where are you?
The words rolled around in her head.
This much was sure, that she would never find out all the answers to her questions if she didn't want to learn. Rory Gilmore was no chicken…but she was.
****
7:09.
Read her silver plaited watch. Lane was late again, but Rory didn't blame her. Lane went to Tufts University School of Medicine in Boston, and, frankly, med. school sucked. God knows how she convinced her mother, or maybe God himself convinced Mamma Kim. Lane had really gone out to get into that school, the late night crammings, and walking around like a zombie from the lack of sleep. She really deserved to go there. However, Mrs. Kim still denied the fact that she performed a miracle by letting her go there. Mrs. Kim no longer referred to Lane as the "rebellious anti-Quaker child", but was now moving on. Moving on meant that was trying to move Lane's life along by searching for the perfect Korean prospects for her. Now, beaten down and just plain tired, Lane wanted to have some fun.
Though the girls talked frequently on the phone, they didn't get to see each other very often, and Rory was very excited about their meeting tonight.
7:19.
Ten minutes had passed since Rory last checked the time. She got up from the bench in front of the Pub, and lazily sauntered over to the corner of the restaurant, skimming the crowded streets for the familiar face. After seeing nothing, she went ands sat back down with a defeated look. Just as she grabbed her cell to call Lane, a voice called her from behind.
"Rory!" yelled, the petite raven-haired girl, frantically scurrying towards Rory. By the time Lane had reached Rory, her cheeks were red and she collapsed onto the bench. "I'm so sorry. I'm late again," she cried, trying to ease her breathing.
Rory smiled. "It's okay, Lane. The important part is that you're here now…beside me." Rory cleared her throat. " Lane, you're really, really beside me." She motion to their position; Lane practically sitting in Rory's lap.
"Oh, right." Lane smiled sheepishly, and immediately scooted farther from Rory. Just at that moment, Rory realized there was something on Lane's face, and the lighting wasn't helping her decipher what it was. She inched closer, her nose almost touching Lane's nose.
"Man, Rory!" Clearly, Lane was taken aback and uncomfortable. "What--what is it?"
Whispering," There. Is. Something. On. Your. Face." Rory immediately swatted Lane's right check, fiercely.
"Ow!" she yelped, pushing Rory away from her. Her hand flew to her cheek and she began rubbing it; it was a blazing shade of red. "What the hell was that for?" This time, Lane's hands darted to her mouth, covering it up.
"It's okay, Lane. You mother didn't hear you use the word 'hell'. You aren't sinful," comforted Rory. Then realizing what she had just done she squealed, "Oh my God! "I'm so sorry!" she apologized meekly. "Lane! I--I thought there was like a bug on your face!"
"Oh, and you couldn't just flick it off? You had to do a full on Sumo-wrestler-metal-arm-bitch-slap?"
Once more, Rory apologized, "Lane, I thought it was a spider or something. You know how much I hate spiders. They're so icky, and fuzzy, and have eight legs...And, and… you know about my arachnophobia!"
"Sure, blame everything on your arachnophobia . The economy. Destiny's Child breaking up."
"They broke up?"
"No. Personal satisfaction."
"Ah."
"Blame all the other crap in the world on you arachnophobia!" She paused and in a softer tone ordered," But first, check to make sure what it really was."
Rory looked closely at her smooth cheek, which glowed red. "Oh… it was only a pimple. I'm so sorry. Well you know what the say…Uh, pimples and fluorescent lightning do not go well together." Rory's pathetic attempt for a joke backfired and caused Lane to be more irritated.
She started digging through her purse for some cover-up, and Rory's eyes grew wide upon seeing how the make-up overflowed in her bag. "God, RuPaul doesn't need that much make-up."
Looking up Lane rolled her eyes. "Says the girl who gel penned her whole face until she looked like flashing, neon bill board."
Rory winced at that horrible memory. "Right. I'll shut up now."
"Is that better?" asked Lane, a few minutes later. She capped her cover-up and zipped her purse.
"Yeah, now it only looks like glowing volcano glazed with mud." Rory smiled sweetly, stifling her laugh.
"Hey! Comments from the peanut gallery aren't necessary."
Dusting off her pants, Rory walked towards the door and, as usual, Lane following her closely. She smiled, and turned to see that Lane was radiating as well. And, no, not her check but her smile; it always lit everything up. She was glad to see her friend again, and knew that tonight was going to be an eventful night.
****
The Corrib Pub was one of their favorite places to eat. It was a Victorian style meeting place, consisting of a dining area and a separate bar. It wasn't that far away from either of them, plus, it had great food. After ordering, they waited patiently and caught up. Finally, after Lane had stopped asking their waiter if he was related to Martha Stewart, they headed into the bar part of the restaurant. Rory spilled all the details to Lane about her vacation, and the letters that she found. Immediately she had Lane's full attention, her brown eyes sparkled with liveliness.
"Oh wow!" squealed Lane, squirming in her seat, the slap incident totally forgotten. "This is so exciting! This could be made up into one of those romantic novels." In a husky voice she started using her hands to bring what she was saying into life. I think I'm going to wet my pants."
"Because it's exciting?"
"No, because I have consumed one too many Shirley Temples," explained Lane. Then she quickly got up and ran towards the bathroom. When she returned she was still in full spirited, "Okay, while I was in the bathroom I did some serious thinking."
"You did serious thinking while you were tinkling," Rory put extra emphasis on that word, "in the bathroom? Oh, this ought to be good. Do continue," she prompted, popping a mint into he mouth and offering Lane one.
"Well, all we ever do is mope around and pretend like we have a life. We work; we sleep, then work again, and sleep some more. That's it. How boring is that? But not tonight. This is going to be our night, Rory Gilmore. We're going to celebrate--I don't know what yet, but give me a minute. We're gonna cut loose. Tonight, we're gonna kiss some boys," finished Lane with gusto, pumping her fist up in the air.
"Lane, what are you on?"
"Oh, come on, Rory. What ever happened to "carpe diem"? What ever happened to Latin?"
"It's dead. And, you know why it's dead? Because it gives crazy people crazy ideas."
"I'm not crazy. But I am happy, and love Latin because it makes you, my dear, sweet friend, think about things…like infatuation, mystery, and romance." By now Lane's eyes had stars in them.
"Are you alluding that Latin should be the language of love? If you are, then I'm sorry to inform you, Lane, that the suggestion box is closed. Once again, the language is dead!"
"Ha! Latin be the language of love?" she started chuckling. "I'll prefer French thank you. J'aime le français," Lane pronounced perfectly. Then she let out another chuckle at the thought of Latin being the language of love.
"Oui, oui. I too love French," agreed Rory, nodding her head. Then smiling mischievously added, "Rident stolidi verba Latina."
"What's that mean?" questioned Lane, eyeing Rory.
"Ovid was stupid."
"That means Ovid was stupid?" asked Lane, amused.
"No. It means 'fools laugh at the Latin language'. And, Ovid said it."
"Why is he stupid?"
" 'Cause I say so."
"Wow, anarchy suits you well," teased Lane, twirling a piece of hair.
"Thank you."
"And, a fool? Oh, Rory," Lane feigned mock terror, " how could you say that I'm a fool? "
"Because you laugh at the Latin language," she retorted, bluntly.
"And that makes me a fool?"
"Clearly."
"A fool, huh?"
"Not only a fool, but a hypocritical fool."
"You are crude."
"And, you, my dear, are a hypocritical fool." Rory gave a sweet smile. "Loving the language one minute, and mocking it the next."
"Hypocrisy is the way of life."
"So is procrastination," chimed in Rory.
"Solidarity sister!" Chorused the girls in unison, clanging their glasses together.
Lane looked around the spacious room. "I still wanna kiss some boys."
"Which boys?"
"I dunno," shrugged Lane, "But I'm sure we'll find one--Oh, and there he is!" She stopped a guy who was walking past them." Oh, hi. Excuse me, sir. I know this may seem a bit forward," cautioned Lane looking at Rory who was giving her a perforating glare, "but, um, would you kiss my friend here?"
The man just stood there for a while running his eyes hungrily over Rory's lithe form before responding. "Okay."
Rory was flabbergasted. Her jaw fell at the absurdity of the whole situation," Uh, you know, I'd love to make-out with you but…," she quickly searched for a good excuse," until my tongue completely heals--I-I think it's too risky. Sorry."
She gave Lane a sharp kick under the table and Lane winced and gave her a questioning look," Oh, right." Rory was motioning for her to help out. "There was a piercing incident with the--it was bad."
****
The girls burst out the door, gales of laughter following. "I can't believe you asked that question!"
"Well, it's not totally my fault--I'm stressed, and I enjoy seeing you squirm."
Rory pointed out, "So did Atila."
"The Hun?"
"Oh, he was no honey, but yes, that was his name." Rory laughed at her joke, and stopped when she saw Lane giving her an impassable stare. She mumbled an apology, "Sorry, bad joke."
Lane rolled up her sleeve to glance at her watch. "Okay, Rory, I have to get going now. Mamma will be calling soon, and she's planted a GPS in my cell phone."
"GPS?"
"Yes. GPS. A global positioning system."
"In your cell?" Rory was amazed.
"Yep." Lane pulled her phone out of her bag, and showed it to Rory. "Fascinating. So she knows where you are all the time? Isn't that creepy?" Rory brought her hands towards Lane, and in an eerie voice whispered, "She's watching you!"
"What do you do when you need to be somewhere else at that time? I just leave the cell at my apartment, and tell her I was praying, and I could not interrupt my prayers."
Rory raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "And she actually believes that?"
"No. Then again, I've really never tested out that excuse because I've always been in my apartment when she has called."
"Aww, Lane, you're such a good little girl. If I were you're mother, I'd be proud," Rory teased.
Lane rolled her eyes," Oh, shut your pie hole, Rory." Taking another glance at her watch Lane spoke hastily, "Okay, well, I'll catch you soon?"
"Definitely!" Then Rory's eyes light up; she slapped herself on the forehead, realizing she had forgotten to tell Lane something.
"Careful, Rory. You don't wanna leave an imprint…That hand of yours is sharp today."
Rory sighed. "Totally forgot. Mom is coming over to visit this weekend. Do you think you can swing by?" She requested hopefully.
"Mmm, a Lorelai weekend. Wackiness anticipated. Sure, I'll try." Giving Rory a quick hug Lane left and disappearing, blending in with the blur of the city.
****
Back in the comfort of her bed, Rory went over the course of the events. The main point was finding a second letter. She thought about all the research that she had done and all the risks that she said she would take. But deep down that she knew that those would lead to nothing at all. This would just become something of the past--a miraculous story that she would always remember but do nothing about. Lane's speech--Carpe diem, now meant nothing to her. Life would go as it did every day. She would write her columns, spend time with her friends and family, and do all the things that she needed to do.
And she was almost right. Life would have proceeded on just as she had imagined. But something happened three days later that caused her to jump into the deep seas of the unknown with only a bag full of clothes and some paper that might not mean anything at all.
She found a third letter from Michael.
****
To Be Continued….
****
That's all, folks. I know, I know, I'm extremely evil! What can I say? I'm a sadist. Well, a very mild form of one. More to come soon.
Since tomorrow is my birthday, (Yes! I'm finally 14!!! One more year till I can get my driving permit! Whoo-hoo!!) I decided to drop this little surprise. Okay, here is my birthday list, and you supply even one of things on this list, I will worship you forever:
The Hotass (aka Tristan) to jump out from a birthday cake. Preferably, only wearing boxers. To receive a snazzy car, a snazzy house, and a check for a snazzy million dollars. For the damn bird, who is stuck in my chimney and is freaking me out, to get out of my chimney. To get a new computer because Fred, my current computer, is being a butt. To get feedback for this chapter, good or bad. But only if you're in a generous mood or have the time. You'll make the birthday girl happy, and I just might dance for you!Priya :D