Usual Disclaimers Apply
I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated, but here's a special update
in time for Valentine's day.
~Chapter 4: Articulating Feelings~
As I walk into my mother's house, my house, I mentally correct myself, for the first time in eight years, I notice, not the layers upon layers of dust I expect to find, but rather, flowers. Fresh flowers. It appears as if the town has kept up the care of our house as a kind of shrine to my mother.
Upon closer examination, I find that I was half right. While the shrine may have been for my mother early on, it has evolved into a shrine for me. As I open the cards and notes attached to the flowers, I find sentiment after sentiment addressed to me. 'Rory, We love you. Stay well. Babette and Morey....Rory, Hope you're safe and happy. Kirk....Rory, Here are some free coupons for you to use when you get back, Taylor...' and on, and on.
Slowly, I venture further into the house and make my way into my room. To my astonishment, unlike the rest of the house, which had been covered in all different types of flowers, my room holds only a single flower. One lone white rose lay carefully in the middle of my bed, surrounded by stacks of cards and notes and letters.
I make my way to the side of the bed, and carefully pick up the flower. Gazing at it in wonderment, I inhale the sweet scent of my favorite flower. Carefully, I pick up the letter closest to where the rose had been. I gasp as I recognize the handwriting and I start to cry as I read its contents.
*Dearest Rory,
For eight long years I have maintained this silent vigil, each week bringing one white rose and a letter. I may never quit. An outsider may say I am crazy. Eight years of unanswered letters and wilting roses should force me to wake up and, shall we say, smell the roses, such an outsider might think. They might say that you are dead, or else never coming back. But I know in my heart you're not dead, and I hold out hope of your return. I hope you feel the same way I feel, that you feel the connection between us. At unexplainable times, I feel great feelings of excitement, stress, or sadness. I attribute these to you; that they are how you are feeling. Sometimes, I wonder if you feel what I am feeling at certain times. Yet, with you gone, I don't feel much of anything anymore. Except loneliness. Deep, dark loneliness.
I hope you come back. I wish I could somehow make everything better. I wish I could show you how much I love you. But I can't. You aren't here. And even if you were, I don't know if I could summon the words to express my feelings. But I promise you I won't run away again. Of all the dumb things I've done in my life, running away from you definitely tops that list. I love you. I couldn't tell you then, and I don't know if I could tell you now, but I love you.
Dodger.
P.S. After all of these years, I should have given up, broken down and signed my real name. But I can't bring myself to do it. I have bared my very soul to you in these letters, and even if you never see them, they still exist. I wish you the best, but I beg of you with all my heart, come back to me. I love you. *
Reading the last part, I smile, remembering the vehemence with which Jess tried to persuade me from coming here today.
I pick up the other letters, reading them one by one. It takes me most of the afternoon, and I only make it through a small portion of the hundreds of letters strewn across my bed. They chronicle his life and, as he said, bare his soul. I feel closer to him now, than I ever did before he ran away. The one thing that our relationship had lacked was communication, and now I have plenty of it. I'm drowning in it, in fact.
Carefully, I pick up all of the letters, folding them exactly in thirds, and I place them in the top drawer of my desk, the drawer that locks. I don't trust Jess not to come and destroy the rest of the letters, even though in his letters he has shown me that he has matured. I slowly walk out of the room, and take one last look around the house before I leave for tonight.
I stroll down the quiet streets of Stars Hollow; amazed that none of its inhabitant has yet noticed my presence. Unconsciously, my feet take me to the bridge. I sit down, take my shoes off and place my feet in the still lake. As I watch the sun go down, I reflect.
In all of Jess' letters, he articulates his love for me, and his hope that I love him back. What he doesn't know, is that I reciprocate his feelings entirely. Although the number one reason I gave myself to return to Stars Hollow was to pay my respects to my mother, subconsciously, my reason was to find Jess. I have felt lost without him, struggling to find my way.
I come to a decision. I will let Jess call the shots. It will be interesting how he chooses to go about wooing me. That way, I only have to make sure I accomplish goal number one; pay my respects to Mom.
This decision made, I lie down on the bridge and relax into a restful slumber.
~
I wander the town, wondering what she'll do. I know she will find the letters, it's not like I tried to hide them, I fully wanted her to find them. But now, I don't know how she'll react.
As I approach the bridge, I see her sleeping form lying curled up on the bridge. Taking measures not to wake her, I sit down beside her. I carefully bring her into my arms and kiss her forehead before settling in to watch the sun go down.
~
AN: So, what do you think? Personally, I think that Jess was maybe a little OOC. Tell me if it makes sense, both by itself and together with the rest of the story. I may have to revise some of my other chapters to make this one fit, right? Review, please!
~Chapter 4: Articulating Feelings~
As I walk into my mother's house, my house, I mentally correct myself, for the first time in eight years, I notice, not the layers upon layers of dust I expect to find, but rather, flowers. Fresh flowers. It appears as if the town has kept up the care of our house as a kind of shrine to my mother.
Upon closer examination, I find that I was half right. While the shrine may have been for my mother early on, it has evolved into a shrine for me. As I open the cards and notes attached to the flowers, I find sentiment after sentiment addressed to me. 'Rory, We love you. Stay well. Babette and Morey....Rory, Hope you're safe and happy. Kirk....Rory, Here are some free coupons for you to use when you get back, Taylor...' and on, and on.
Slowly, I venture further into the house and make my way into my room. To my astonishment, unlike the rest of the house, which had been covered in all different types of flowers, my room holds only a single flower. One lone white rose lay carefully in the middle of my bed, surrounded by stacks of cards and notes and letters.
I make my way to the side of the bed, and carefully pick up the flower. Gazing at it in wonderment, I inhale the sweet scent of my favorite flower. Carefully, I pick up the letter closest to where the rose had been. I gasp as I recognize the handwriting and I start to cry as I read its contents.
*Dearest Rory,
For eight long years I have maintained this silent vigil, each week bringing one white rose and a letter. I may never quit. An outsider may say I am crazy. Eight years of unanswered letters and wilting roses should force me to wake up and, shall we say, smell the roses, such an outsider might think. They might say that you are dead, or else never coming back. But I know in my heart you're not dead, and I hold out hope of your return. I hope you feel the same way I feel, that you feel the connection between us. At unexplainable times, I feel great feelings of excitement, stress, or sadness. I attribute these to you; that they are how you are feeling. Sometimes, I wonder if you feel what I am feeling at certain times. Yet, with you gone, I don't feel much of anything anymore. Except loneliness. Deep, dark loneliness.
I hope you come back. I wish I could somehow make everything better. I wish I could show you how much I love you. But I can't. You aren't here. And even if you were, I don't know if I could summon the words to express my feelings. But I promise you I won't run away again. Of all the dumb things I've done in my life, running away from you definitely tops that list. I love you. I couldn't tell you then, and I don't know if I could tell you now, but I love you.
Dodger.
P.S. After all of these years, I should have given up, broken down and signed my real name. But I can't bring myself to do it. I have bared my very soul to you in these letters, and even if you never see them, they still exist. I wish you the best, but I beg of you with all my heart, come back to me. I love you. *
Reading the last part, I smile, remembering the vehemence with which Jess tried to persuade me from coming here today.
I pick up the other letters, reading them one by one. It takes me most of the afternoon, and I only make it through a small portion of the hundreds of letters strewn across my bed. They chronicle his life and, as he said, bare his soul. I feel closer to him now, than I ever did before he ran away. The one thing that our relationship had lacked was communication, and now I have plenty of it. I'm drowning in it, in fact.
Carefully, I pick up all of the letters, folding them exactly in thirds, and I place them in the top drawer of my desk, the drawer that locks. I don't trust Jess not to come and destroy the rest of the letters, even though in his letters he has shown me that he has matured. I slowly walk out of the room, and take one last look around the house before I leave for tonight.
I stroll down the quiet streets of Stars Hollow; amazed that none of its inhabitant has yet noticed my presence. Unconsciously, my feet take me to the bridge. I sit down, take my shoes off and place my feet in the still lake. As I watch the sun go down, I reflect.
In all of Jess' letters, he articulates his love for me, and his hope that I love him back. What he doesn't know, is that I reciprocate his feelings entirely. Although the number one reason I gave myself to return to Stars Hollow was to pay my respects to my mother, subconsciously, my reason was to find Jess. I have felt lost without him, struggling to find my way.
I come to a decision. I will let Jess call the shots. It will be interesting how he chooses to go about wooing me. That way, I only have to make sure I accomplish goal number one; pay my respects to Mom.
This decision made, I lie down on the bridge and relax into a restful slumber.
~
I wander the town, wondering what she'll do. I know she will find the letters, it's not like I tried to hide them, I fully wanted her to find them. But now, I don't know how she'll react.
As I approach the bridge, I see her sleeping form lying curled up on the bridge. Taking measures not to wake her, I sit down beside her. I carefully bring her into my arms and kiss her forehead before settling in to watch the sun go down.
~
AN: So, what do you think? Personally, I think that Jess was maybe a little OOC. Tell me if it makes sense, both by itself and together with the rest of the story. I may have to revise some of my other chapters to make this one fit, right? Review, please!