5: Ghosts
Jess swings his canvas bag over his shoulder and exits the apartment, letting a small smile cross his face now that Luke can't see him any more. He shuts the door softly behind himself in a marked departure from the resounding slams that usually characterized his exits when he lived there.
He's getting soft in his old age, but this, he realizes, isn't such a bad way to leave town—contact information readily available, goodbyes said, no one chasing him out with pitchforks. Except for maybe Taylor, when he opens the store in the morning and realizes that the "weekly specials" signs have all been turned upside down. What can he say—change takes time. No one expects him to change overnight, do they?
Jess walks down the stairs, taking them one at a time, pushes aside the curtain and steps into the empty diner. A lingering scent of coffee and French fries hits him, and he stops, standing in a silence broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. Everything seems to be ready--waiting for morning, when Stars Hollow--beginning with Kirk--would descend upon Luke's once again. The silver napkin dispensers glint in the glow from the streetlights, and Jess notices that they're not quite full. Sugars, ketchups, salt and pepper shakers are all half-empty, too. That's not like Luke, but it's been a busy week.
Jess drops his bag on the floor by the door and steps behind the counter, not bothering to turn on a light. Pulling out a bag of sugar and a box of salt, he goes to work, silently and in the dark, efficiently filling in the missing pieces that have fallen by the wayside in the busyness of the past few days.
As he works, the room fills with ghosts—images that seem close enough to reach out and touch; voices real enough to answer. Caesar rings the bell, calling out Kirk's order. Kirk is taking up an entire table with paperwork outlining his latest "business venture," and Lane is trying to convince him to move before Luke sees him. Taylor comes storming in, protesting the lack of bright, festive decorations for some holiday or another, and a swarm of high school kids overtakes half the diner, pushing tables together and then ordering only sodas.
Jess blinks twice when Dean walks past outside, glaring at him through the large plate-glass window. Real, or a part of this bizarre "This is Your Life" moment that Jess seems to be having? With another blink, Dean fades, along with all the other characters in Jess' well-populated mental diner, and he's left filling salt shakers in the dark once again.
The empty room is peaceful (this emptiness that's filled with warmth and memory), and Jess finds that it feels less like loneliness and more like a very friendly haunting. By people who are all very much alive. "That's not a haunting," he thinks, "that's craziness."
He finishes filling the salt shakers and reaches under the counter for the industrial-sized package of napkins. Methodically, he stuffs them into the metal boxes, then replaces the dispensers on each table, moving quietly around the room.
He finishes restocking everything that Luke hadn't gotten around to, puts the containers back beneath the counter, prepares each table for morning. Grabs the notebook that Luke keeps beside the cash register for notes to himself—reminders of things he needs to order, suppliers' phone numbers, phone messages, warranty information, customers' special orders. Flips it open to a blank page at the back, fully intending to scribble a quick note for Luke and leave it on the counter.
Instead, faced with a blank page, a pen, and his thoughts, Jess pulls a stool off the counter, sinks onto it, and rests his head on his hands, elbows on the counter. Begins to write.
"Every time, I wanted to say goodbye. No. That's a lie. I wanted to never have to say goodbye, so I never did. Selfish. I wanted—didn't want—wanted—didn't want you to convince me not to go. Too afraid of which you would choose, so I took away the option."
Staring at the dark kitchen, he can almost hear the bell above the door ring behind him, hear them come in, laughing, demanding coffee and danishes. She leans over the counter to give him a kiss, switches out the book in his pocket, motions him upstairs, feeds him a bite of her donut. As quickly as she's there, she fades, then reappears at a table in the corner, painfully—obviously—avoids his glance, deep in conversation with Lorelai, and then with Lane. Glances furtively in his direction every now and then, casts a small smile over her shoulder on her way out, chases him into the apartment, demands an explanation, lets him walk away.
His pen keeps moving. "I wanted to be everything you expected of me, but I didn't know how. Don't know how. Wasn't willing to learn. Am I now?"
This—the ghosts, the memories—is why he can't stay in Stars Hollow. He may always have a place here, and he knows that Luke has been and always will be the most stable thing in his life, but this place is, at best, transitory. It's a waystation, a refuelling point between the legs of the journey, but it's not home. It can't be home anymore.
Jess tears the page out of the notebook and stuffs it into his back pocket. He needs to get out of here. He stands, flips the stool back onto the counter, and leans against it while he scrawls a note.
"Luke: Man, you need better help around here! Thanks again for ev—"
"Jess?" He ignores it, chalking the voice up to whatever it's been that has been giving him his virtual tour of all Stars Hollow's residents. It persists, though. "Jess?" This time with a hand on his shoulder.
He jumps. It's Luke, dress shirt untucked, top buttons undone, tie loose.
"Hey."
"What are you still doing here?"
"Your napkins needed to be refilled."
Luke glances around the diner, taking in the full condiments and the half-finished note. "So you just…"
"Yeah."
"Okay." Luke is at a loss for words, it seems.
"I was just on my way out." Jess moves to open the door, leaving the notebook open and the pen uncapped on the counter.
"Well." It's awkward—neither one knows what to say. Luke settles on, "Thanks. Saves me some time in the morning." He reaches out and clasps Jess on the shoulder. "Drive safe."
This time, Jess initiates the hug, reaching in and grabbing onto Luke like his life depends (like his sanity depends) on this solid reality in front of him. If Jess was shorter, he would have wrapped his arms around Luke's; as it is, he rests his forehead on Luke's shoulder and finds his fist clutching a handful of the fabric of Luke's shirt. Luke's arms tighten, and a hand reaches up to Jess' neck, cupping his head, holding him tightly across the shoulders. When they step back, both men's eyes are suspiciously full.
Jess clears his throat and reaches for the door handle, picking up his bag with his other hand.
"Hey." Luke's voice stops him one more time. Jess turns. "You're going to be alright." Jess smiles, opens the door, and exits the diner silently, save for the jingling door chime that echoes across the square.