Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story so far! It is because of you that I have continued to work on this monumental task! That's the honest truth.
2.20
The bus to The City was hot and distressing.
His next phase of life was likewise depressing.
Six months had gone past since seeing his mother.
He dreaded the moment her hug would him smother.
She'd called him at Luke's on scanty occasion
But all of her calls were met with evasion.
The two weren't as close, as two could have been.
And their last encounter had rendered him mean.
She wasn't so motherly, as mothers go.
For most of his life, he'd seen her a foe.
So caught up she was in self-centeredness,
She saw not the needs of growing young Jess.
So often distracted and so often busy,
She ceased to be Mom, became instead Lizzie.
And, to his devices, was lonely Jess left,
When lack of a family had left him bereft.
Was many a boyfriend that Lizzie had had.
She thought Jess should love them like some Dear Old Dad.
But Jess and those men had scant interaction,
Since he, from his mother, just posed their distraction.
She, likewise, on them, would rather obsess
Than give proper thought to forsaken Jess.
Whenever a guy would make her eyes glitter,
Then Jess would just scowl, grow that much more bitter.
And when the guys left, as they often did,
Then Jess, for attention, would make a new bid.
But some stupid hobby of hers often won,
More likely than did appeals from her son.
Ironic it was, as story could be,
That, least of all Jess, could ever foresee:
To Cash Pierce's gang, she'd driven Jess focus,
Which ended in deeds that fin'ly she'd notice!
And then, though the violence wasn't his fault,
She'd thought he'd contributed to the assault.
His side of the story she hadn't considered,
Though truth, in his words, was lavishly littered.
So easy she'd found it to ship off her kid,
Though there was so little he actually did!
She'd trusted him not, and that was her fault.
And, in Jess's wounds, it rubbed in more salt.
And now that he'd come to Liz's apartment,
He was at a lack in the Happy department.
The one tiny thing that brought him some cheer
Was, for the time being, she wasn't yet here.
All 'round him he looked at all of the things
That felt so familiar but no pleasure brings.
The myriad crap the lodging enclosed
Did stare back at Jess as though he'd imposed!
Surrounded he was by hobbies unstable:
The baubles she'd littered across gaudy table
Where, in such a state of silly tom fool'ry,
His mother'd been working to fashion some jewel'ry.
And, as was her style of start but not finish,
The dust on the trinkets, their shine, did diminish.
She'd left them alone since some fatal day
When, from them, her int'rest was taken away.
Some paints and some varnish at other location
Did cordon off space for another craft station.
He looked down, disgusted, at curious scraps:
Some rings for key chains and daubed bottle caps.
In every dank corner some plant pots were staying,
Suspended from nets of her bad macraméing
And all of his mother's ridiculous pottery!
Pretended Jess then that his eyes were not watery.
The place was a mess. Nothing was clean.
Apparent it was she lacked the Danes' gene
For keeping things tidy, as Luke had been given.
(For keeping a house, now that man was driven!)
The unopened mail, on floor, was all jumbled.
The carpet was littered where crumbs had been crumbled.
The worst of the mess was small kitchenette,
Where dishes were scattered and counter was wet.
The state of the place was most unforgivable,
So Jess did some things to make it more livable.
If he'd share this space, then, it, he'd refine,
As though Lizzie'd placed a Help Wanted sign.
The plants were unwatered so Jess made a plan
And, from scuzzy sink, he grabbed a soup can.
(So long had it sat, it left a rust stain,
Since she'd left its tin, still wet, near the drain.)
But that's where resolve abruptly just stopped.
Once done with the can, the can he just dropped.
The work monumental, in mess he was mired.
It was a big job. And Jess was so tired.
Again came the pain of intense desperation
That, after the car crash, had caused his deflation.
The cruelness of life could make him just seethe.
He found, in this state, 'twas harder to breathe.
The frank smell of pot came in from the hall
So windows were opened but they were so small.
The heat of The City did, further, him swelter.
Apartment was heated up like an ore smelter!
A baby was crying in neighbouring suite.
The sirens and screeching came up from the street.
The sounds he'd once missed, in Hollow's strange silence,
Accosted him now like some type of vi'lence.
But then did he smirk, clear through his dismay,
At once, as the Fates did, some silver, crochet.
All of this torment would surely be fodder
To make his new stories more truthful and broader.
So then he dug down into his green duffel
And contents, around, did urgently shuffle
'Til, into his hand, came trusty notebook
To write the thoughts down which, mind, overtook.
And Jess carried on with burgeoning story
So never the once would he think of Rory.
He daren't allow the visions to brew
About her blue eyes – and sweetest lips too.
As several hours did pass into night,
The living room ceased to be very bright.
The heat was subsiding, as there was a breeze
Which, his temperature, attempted to ease.
As flames of depression were starting to dwindle,
His hopes for the future began to rekindle.
The sweet serenade of sirens below
Did find Jess's ear and blot out his woe.
And Jess was delighted with work he had written.
For characters' traits, he'd grown rather smitten.
The dialog printed was caustic and witty,
Befitting the nature of those from The City.
The plot had a purpose and followed a plan
That swelled, in a climax, from where it began.
And Jess had a sense on where he should take it
To end the thing right. With time, he would make it.
As, with a plot point, he pensively fought,
He rubbed on his temple, so deep in his thought.
When final solution, in Jess's eyes, burned,
The latches unlocked. His mother returned.
And quickly, in panic, Jess tried to write down
The notes in his mind that were swimming around
Ere Liz interrupted his process of thoughts
And threaded her arms around him like knots.
As Jess scribbled words, as best he was able,
She called when she saw him set up at her table,
"My Jessie! My boy! You've finally come home!"
(As if it weren't she that caused him to roam!)
He grumbled and scowled and wallowed in blame.
He hated when anyone called him that name,
But most of all Lizzie (who knew this was so
Yet still called him Jessie, as did long ago).
And then came the worst: she wrapped her arms snug
Around angry Jess in insolent hug!
On innocent cheek she laid out a kiss!
That damn accident had led him to this!
His hand held its pencil. Her hug it could breach.
But paper was far. His hand couldn't reach.
The hug rambled on with seeming no end.
His thoughts on his story, did memory depend.
He sat in the chair, wrapped up from above,
As Lizzie pretended to give her son love.
He tried to be patient but dreamt of extraction
Once Lizzie would think of another distraction.
But Liz was sincere in absolute joy.
Though knew that her actions would offspring annoy,
Her pleasure was something she couldn't restrain,
Since it was so good to see him again!
His dogged resistance secured what Liz thought:
She knew, in his books, the best she was not
And knew there was room for her to improve.
To win back his love, change did her behove.
Attention to him she'd given too little.
But, in her defence, the boy was a riddle!
Half of the time he'd pushed her away.
No wonder she'd missed when he'd wished she would stay!
And, maybe someday, once Jess had matured,
He'd hear the truth he, as yet, hadn't heard:
That she had just wanted the best for her son
And knew that a gang was good for no one.
But try as she did—and lost she some sleep—
Liz couldn't, from gangs, her wayward son keep.
To stay in The City, with her, would him taint.
'Twas better he'd lived with her brother, the saint.
And if that arrangement would no more suffice,
Then having him back, at least, would be nice!
She'd keep on his case, make sure he stayed clean,
And hope, with those brutes, he'd not reconvene.
As Clotho did thoughtfully watch this display,
She saw his desire to keep Liz at bay.
To curb stubbornness, she lightened his black:
To trust his mom's love, perhaps love her back.
Lachesis sat down and rubbed her tired eyes.
"What a long day!" she chanced to surmise.
And Clotho turned 'round and offered a smile
That spoke of the stress they'd felt for a while.
"So now Jess has moved," did murmur Clotho.
"Your winding of threads has woven it so.
This distance you've placed should help to protect
Their vessel of friendship from being shipwrecked.
"But what is it now that we should all do
To keep their thoughts fresh and in rosy hue?
We mustn't give rein to forgetfulness.
Of her, must Jess think, and she think of Jess!"
Lachesis just yawned and stretched out her arms.
The frantic re-weaving had rendered her harms.
To fix his impatience had called for much work.
And, though it was late, she couldn't it shirk.
"He'll call her next week to keep her in touch.
And, when that goes well, he won't fear as much
That Rory in hatred of him has been mired.
He'll find that his fear is all but expired.
"The next of his calls will come much more easy
Since lack of her anger will make him less queasy.
And then he will dare to give her his number,
So his future calls will not hers outnumber.
"The calls will be spaced to give them a distance
And, to impropriety, grant them resistance,
And lead them not into destructive temptation,
Yet frequent enough to maintain their foundation.
"But now I must go and get me some sleep.
My energy levels have started to seep."
Her sisters then nodded and turned from her loom.
They flicked off the light and all left the room.
I hope you liked this little look at the relationship between Jess and Liz. I can't believe that Liz is as bad a mother as people make her out to be. For one, if she were really a drug- and booze-addicted, abusive parent, then she really changed 180 degrees when she later appeared on the show! Also, if she were really that awful, why wouldn't Jess have run away from her a long time ago? After all, he has a history of running away when things get too hard to deal with. Furthermore, as it was pointed out to me (by TheDragonflyInn I believe) Jess obviously loved his mother enough to come to Stars Hollow and walk her down the aisle, even though it meant he could face embarrassment seeing Rory again. If Liz were that awful, why would he love her that much? No, I don't believe she was horrible. I just think Jess was a closed-off, rebellious teenager who was willing to fight against perceived injustices, who refused to see Liz's side of the story, and who kind of blew things out of proportion. I hope that characterization came across in this chapter.
I also hope you enjoyed the part about Jess's writing. I enjoyed writing it! It is interesting to me to explore his burgeoning passion for writing.
Thank you for reading!
I hope you will take a moment to put some comments in the field below. If you do, it will give me the strength to keep going!