"Luke." Rory tried to breathe but found that she had forgotten how. She
dropped her handbag and reached behind her for the wall, hoping that it
could hold her up. She searched and searched, but somehow the wall that had
been right there a moment ago was gone. She parted her lips, trying to gulp
for air, but she got the unpleasant sensation of one who was trying to
breathe at the bottom of the pool.
"Rory?" Luke said, looking concerned. She couldn't get over the fact that he wasn't confused to see her. He stood up and pulled another chair over to her, placed it behind her knees. She had forgotten how to sit. Luke walked around in front of her, grabbed her by the shoulders, gently pushed her into the seat. He kneeled down in front of her. "Rory." He put his hand on her wrist.
She began to breathe again, rapidly, through her nose. She swallowed, and then her breathing slowed to a normal pace. "That's it," Luke said, still looking concerned, "Just breathe."
She stared into his eyes, searching for something, what, she wasn't sure. "You're. . . you're not surprised to see me."
"I figured you would come once you'd heard."
"Heard? Heard what?"
"What?"
Both of them were completely confused. "Rory. . ." Luke started, "Why are you back?"
"I. . . I don't know. . . why do you think I'm back?"
"Oh boy. I figured. . . once you hadn't heard from Lorelai in a while, maybe you'd call Sookie or something, I couldn't find your number, I just assumed. . ." Luke was rambling. Atypical for monosyllabic Luke.
"I. . . we haven't spoken. Not in a while."
"What? What do you mean? She didn't tell me about an argument. . ." Luke furrowed his brows.
"It's been a long time. Nearly five years." She looked at a square tile on the floor, unable to look Luke in the eyes.
"Five. . ." Luke trailed off. "Your birthday? When Lorelai came into New York?"
"Yes. How. . ."
"She told me. I thought the two of you had made up? She said that you had called. . ."
"No." She was ashamed now, although Luke didn't say any of this in a critical way.
"I should have known."
They were silent for a moment, and then Rory asked, "Luke, why are you here?"
Luke cleared his throat. Then he stood and fidgeted with the collar of his flannel shirt, doing and undoing the buttons. Finally, he just took two steps to the side so that Rory could finally see who was lying in the bed.
She stood from her chair, but it was like she was watching herself. She watched as Rory stood from the chair, and as Luke walked around Rory, behind her, and left the hospital room, closing the door behind him. Then suddenly, all she saw was Lorelai.
Her mouth felt dry. Her hands felt dry. Her eyes were dry. She was blinking and blinking and she knew that she must look like she was crying. But she wasn't. She wasn't. She should be, but she was just trying to get her eyes wet again.
She walked over to the bed, hovering. She reached out for the hand, the exact same color as the hospital sheets. Her hand hovered over the pale one without actually touching it. She wouldn't have even known that anyone was in the bed had it not been for the dark, dark, hair and the dark, dark, eyelashes. The lips were uncharacteristically white, as white as the porcelain cheeks. Lorelai looked like a doll, posed in the bed. She looked asleep, but not Lorelai asleep. Flat out on the bed, each arm lying next to the body. Perfect symmetry. Face relaxed, sheets pulled up under her arms and around her chest. Lorelai didn't sleep like this. Lorelai slept every which way. Leg up there, arm over there, hair and head half off the bed.
Rory wanted to gulp, but her mouth was still dry. Why was she so dry? Everything was dry. Her skin was so dry it was shrinking over her. And this light was so bright. It was shining, fake and yellow in the whole room. Why was it all over the stupid room? The whole stupid room was covered with this stupid yellow light and she couldn't figure out why.
She was angry. Why was she angry? She could feel her face scrunching up. She could almost feel her mother's cool hand on her forehead, "Don't frown, you'll get lines all over that pretty face I gave you."
She finally lowered her hand onto Lorelai's. It was cool, but not the right kind of cool. It was plastic cool. New sheets cool. Not Lorelai cool. None of this was right. It was all wrong. And everything was still so dry. Why the hell was everything so fucking dry in this room? She couldn't swallow for fear of swallowing her own tongue.
Then she saw a drop of water on her mother's hand. Then another. They were falling, falling, falling. Was there a leak? Why was there a leak in this room? This was a hospital, there shouldn't be leaks. Why was there a leak in her mother's hospital room?
She heard a gasp. A cry. Like a small child catching her breath after having the wind knocked out of her when she fell, bam, on the pavement. Who was that? She thought she was alone in the room. What the fuck was going on?
She heard it again, but this time, at the exact moment of the gasp, she tasted salt. Her mouth wasn't so dry. Neither were her cheeks, for that matter. Neither were her eyes. She reached up for her cheek and felt the wetness. She looked at her mother's hand. It all made sense now.
"Mommy?" she said, through another gasp. She sat on the edge of the bed, not letting go of the hand. She was crying freely now, like she hadn't since she was maybe seven. She lay down, curled up in a little ball, her head on her mother's stomach. She cried, and cried, and cried, but no one was there to comfort her.
"Rory?" Luke said, looking concerned. She couldn't get over the fact that he wasn't confused to see her. He stood up and pulled another chair over to her, placed it behind her knees. She had forgotten how to sit. Luke walked around in front of her, grabbed her by the shoulders, gently pushed her into the seat. He kneeled down in front of her. "Rory." He put his hand on her wrist.
She began to breathe again, rapidly, through her nose. She swallowed, and then her breathing slowed to a normal pace. "That's it," Luke said, still looking concerned, "Just breathe."
She stared into his eyes, searching for something, what, she wasn't sure. "You're. . . you're not surprised to see me."
"I figured you would come once you'd heard."
"Heard? Heard what?"
"What?"
Both of them were completely confused. "Rory. . ." Luke started, "Why are you back?"
"I. . . I don't know. . . why do you think I'm back?"
"Oh boy. I figured. . . once you hadn't heard from Lorelai in a while, maybe you'd call Sookie or something, I couldn't find your number, I just assumed. . ." Luke was rambling. Atypical for monosyllabic Luke.
"I. . . we haven't spoken. Not in a while."
"What? What do you mean? She didn't tell me about an argument. . ." Luke furrowed his brows.
"It's been a long time. Nearly five years." She looked at a square tile on the floor, unable to look Luke in the eyes.
"Five. . ." Luke trailed off. "Your birthday? When Lorelai came into New York?"
"Yes. How. . ."
"She told me. I thought the two of you had made up? She said that you had called. . ."
"No." She was ashamed now, although Luke didn't say any of this in a critical way.
"I should have known."
They were silent for a moment, and then Rory asked, "Luke, why are you here?"
Luke cleared his throat. Then he stood and fidgeted with the collar of his flannel shirt, doing and undoing the buttons. Finally, he just took two steps to the side so that Rory could finally see who was lying in the bed.
She stood from her chair, but it was like she was watching herself. She watched as Rory stood from the chair, and as Luke walked around Rory, behind her, and left the hospital room, closing the door behind him. Then suddenly, all she saw was Lorelai.
Her mouth felt dry. Her hands felt dry. Her eyes were dry. She was blinking and blinking and she knew that she must look like she was crying. But she wasn't. She wasn't. She should be, but she was just trying to get her eyes wet again.
She walked over to the bed, hovering. She reached out for the hand, the exact same color as the hospital sheets. Her hand hovered over the pale one without actually touching it. She wouldn't have even known that anyone was in the bed had it not been for the dark, dark, hair and the dark, dark, eyelashes. The lips were uncharacteristically white, as white as the porcelain cheeks. Lorelai looked like a doll, posed in the bed. She looked asleep, but not Lorelai asleep. Flat out on the bed, each arm lying next to the body. Perfect symmetry. Face relaxed, sheets pulled up under her arms and around her chest. Lorelai didn't sleep like this. Lorelai slept every which way. Leg up there, arm over there, hair and head half off the bed.
Rory wanted to gulp, but her mouth was still dry. Why was she so dry? Everything was dry. Her skin was so dry it was shrinking over her. And this light was so bright. It was shining, fake and yellow in the whole room. Why was it all over the stupid room? The whole stupid room was covered with this stupid yellow light and she couldn't figure out why.
She was angry. Why was she angry? She could feel her face scrunching up. She could almost feel her mother's cool hand on her forehead, "Don't frown, you'll get lines all over that pretty face I gave you."
She finally lowered her hand onto Lorelai's. It was cool, but not the right kind of cool. It was plastic cool. New sheets cool. Not Lorelai cool. None of this was right. It was all wrong. And everything was still so dry. Why the hell was everything so fucking dry in this room? She couldn't swallow for fear of swallowing her own tongue.
Then she saw a drop of water on her mother's hand. Then another. They were falling, falling, falling. Was there a leak? Why was there a leak in this room? This was a hospital, there shouldn't be leaks. Why was there a leak in her mother's hospital room?
She heard a gasp. A cry. Like a small child catching her breath after having the wind knocked out of her when she fell, bam, on the pavement. Who was that? She thought she was alone in the room. What the fuck was going on?
She heard it again, but this time, at the exact moment of the gasp, she tasted salt. Her mouth wasn't so dry. Neither were her cheeks, for that matter. Neither were her eyes. She reached up for her cheek and felt the wetness. She looked at her mother's hand. It all made sense now.
"Mommy?" she said, through another gasp. She sat on the edge of the bed, not letting go of the hand. She was crying freely now, like she hadn't since she was maybe seven. She lay down, curled up in a little ball, her head on her mother's stomach. She cried, and cried, and cried, but no one was there to comfort her.