A Work of Art- Or Communism

The movie was half-over before they'd made even a noticeable dent in the massive amount of disgustingly unhealthy consumables displayed on the too-small coffee table. Bags of chips- plain, ruffled, and the entire "-itos" family- marshmallows, Red Vines, pizza, chocolate, whipped cream in a can, twinkies, ho-hos, pudding, and peanut butter covered 98 percent of the available horizontal surface. As a concession to the new initiate and his freakish food tendencies, a tiny space had been reserved for vegetables, spinach dip, apple slices and cheese. A bare strip of table at least two inches wide separated the food groups; a sparse, unpopulated stretch of no-man's land that displayed eerie similarities to the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea. A lone dish of pretzels from the land of Carbs 'N Calories looked like it was considering making a break for the Carrot Capital of It Must Be Good for You if it Tastes This Bad, but the celery sticks were barricading against a hostile invader.

"It's like a sculpture," Rory mused, fairly certain that her mother had made the same mental observations about the food as she had- though Rory, on the floor, was much closer and had a better view. She was in the trenches, as it were.

"The DMZ of snack food," Lorelai christened it.

"It's a work of art."

"Or of communism."

"Did you know that communism never really existed?" Rory said idly.

"Yeah, I read that once," Lorelai commented.

"Never existed?" Luke asked skeptically. "Then what do you call China? Vietnam? North Korea? The USSR?"

"Dictatorships," Rory answered calmly. "Communism, according to Marx, is supposed to be complete egalitarianism. Everyone shares everything- there are no social classes, no ownership, no leaders."

"Exactly. And, although I commune with the spirit world only irregularly- so I can't tell you exactly what ol' Karl says- I'm pretty sure that his answer to the woes of the working poor is not Josef Stalin. Or Castro. Or Kim Il-sung," Lorelai added.

"But you're saying that because communism isn't exactly how Marx envisioned it, it doesn't exist," Luke argued. "That doesn't make any sense! Political theories and ideals evolve over time, so maybe what Marx was thinking about wasn't communism. Some kind of politics exist in Vietnam and the rest of those countries, and we call it communism, so, ergo, communism exists. I mean, if you're going to say something doesn't exist because it doesn't match its originator's intended goals, you might as well say that democracy doesn't really exist, either."

"Well, well, a closet debater in our midst," Lorelai observed with the straightest face she could summon up. "Luke, I don't think I have ever heard you say so much in such a short amount of time. I must really be rubbing off on you. Ooh! Dirty!"

"Okay, I think we've broken every movie night rule, especially the one about no politics unless it's a Bush joke, so- back to the movie!" Rory instructed.

"You started it," Lorelai pointed out unnecessarily.

All three turned their attention back to Danny Glover, and five whole seconds passed before they were interrupted again, this time by Luke yelling at the TV.

"Come on! There's no way that was in! What kind of ump are you? Go to the Helen Keller School of Baseball? Geez," he grumbled.

Lorelai winced and whispered to Rory, "Whose idea was it to let a sports expert watch a sports movie?"

"Yours," Rory answered promptly.

"Mental note- bad idea," Lorelai said forlornly. "Calm down, hon, it's just a movie," she said soothingly to Luke. "It'll all go away soon."

"I know it's just a movie," he responded irritably. "But you'd think that with all that money that Hollywood just throws around-"

"Here we go," Lorelai mumbled.

"-That they could afford to make an accurate representation of baseball. That's just common decency, people!"

"Luke?" Rory ventured. "If you're worried about an accurate representation of baseball, I'd go after the illuminated winged things whizzing around before criticizing an ump's lousy call. Just a suggestion."

"I'm ignoring the winged things and concentrating on the game," Luke retorted. "They suck."

"That's kinda the point," Lorelai piped up.

"Do they keep sucking?"

"Pretty much, until the end. Hey, let's make up a drinking game for every time the kid flaps his arms to signal he's seeing angels."

"Shoulda started earlier- I'd be drunk by now," Luke muttered, but she could see a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth.

He was having a good time, even if he hadn't been so hot on the idea in the first place. He'd protested that he didn't really care about movies, and that he didn't want to intrude on her special time with Rory- which earned him big points, in Lorelai's view- but he gave in very easily in the end, saying he'd do a lot worse if it meant he got to spend more time with her. Big points. And suddenly she was thinking about it again.

She shuffled closer to him and laid a tentative hand on his chest, tucking her head back onto his shoulder and closing her eyes sleepily. She and Rory had seen this movie a couple of times, but even if she'd never seen it she could predict the ending. Baseball team wins the pennant, orphaned boy gets adopted by gruff but lonely coach, everyone lives happily ever after, the end. Boy, it would be nice if life was like that. Young single mom wins the lottery and actually has more money than her snooty rich parents, gorgeous daughter (who everyone says looks just like her mother) becomes a journalist and wins the Pulitzer prize, young single mom meets young single diner-owner- and everyone lives happily ever after? Lorelai smiled dreamily, half-asleep. She'd settle for two out of three- Rory didn't really need to win a Pulitzer, it would only go to her head. She'd take the lottery- and Luke. Yes, she'd take Luke. Here she was, sitting with the two people she cared most about in the entire world, and it was perfect. She was even willing to admit that maybe her mother had been right again.

And she knew now.