Author's note:

Family stuff has kept me preoccupied, but every follow and favorite keeps me motivated to keep going. Thank you so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. :)

Salve

When he and Rory arrived back at Luke's, she turned to face him. Her eyes shone in the darkness, and she opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it, looking down at her shoes instead. She leaned forward until her head rested on his shoulder, and he looped his arms loosely around her waist. She didn't bother with sorry because words like that were meaningless and pitiful in the space where they stood, and he was glad for the silence that was full of her.

After a few moments, she told him that she had plans for lunch the next day with a Harvard alumnus to talk about her application.

He groaned. "Your application…Rory, I forgot. I'm s—"

"Don't even think about saying sorry. I just wanted you to know that I won't be here tomorrow until later, but mom and I are going to help with the diner as much as we can, and Caesar too, and Sookie is going to make food for you and Luke. You don't have to worry about anything."

He gritted his teeth against the sudden tightness in his throat, took her face in his hands and kissed her, wretched and aching and ardent, trying to communicate beyond words or language. She clutched at his shirt and yielded to him, steady and gentle, but he sensed she had unspoken, worried questions that he had no way to answer. He dropped his hands back to her waist and pulled her quickly closer, tearing his mouth away from hers and burying his face in her shoulder, taken aback by the sudden onslaught of emotion that emptied his lungs. He breathed deep, surrounded by the floral perfume of her shampoo. It helped to focus on that, soft and bright, until he felt he could meet her eyes.

He pulled away from her, holding on lightly to the hem of her jacket, and sighed.

"Good luck tomorrow," he said, quietly turning the focus away from himself.

"Oh. Yeah. Thanks," she said lamely.

"Not that you need it."

"I just hope they'll have answers," she said.

"They will," he said.

She looked at him, perplexed that he should be comforting her now and utterly confounded as to how she could possibly do the same for him. All the books she had read, scenes of grief and brokenness, and the only thing she could think of was Vardaman saying 'my mother is a fish'. Rather unhelpful in the current circumstances.

"Well…I…" she began, furrowing her brow. "I don't know how to do this," she said finally with a heavy sigh.

He shrugged. "Me either."

She nodded and closed her eyes, remembering, and trying to understand. "They see with the eyes of the angels," she muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"It's just…I wish I could…" she trailed off and made a vague gesture that seemed to encompass him and everything that had happened and her sense of futility and nothing at all, all at the same time.

He shook his head, understanding but just as lost. They said goodnight, and he went inside and upstairs, feeling heavier and slower with each step. Rory had given him a brief respite that he was thankful for, but nothing had changed, and his head filled up with his mother again. Luke jumped up when he heard the apartment door open and pulled Jess into a gruff hug, releasing him before he could completely react. Jess noticed Luke looking down towards the floor at his muddy feet and squeezed his eyes shut, groaning internally that Rory had been close enough to see and probably smell him that way.

Later—cleaner, but no less agitated—he dug through his memories of Liz, boxed them up and stashed them away, trying to find unfrequented corners of his mind where he wouldn't be likely to stumble over them. He thought all this through and tried to convince himself that this is how it works, this compartmentalizing that people talked about. However, he couldn't help but notice that the prevailing emotion rising above everything else was anger. He tried to push it all away and hoped for the best, but sleep was difficult to find and fitful when it came.

Luke left early Saturday morning to go to New York and take care of everything that needed to be taken care of, leaving Jess on his own in the apartment for as long as it would take. Under normal circumstances, the thought of having the place to himself would have filled him with joy. However, now, he wanted to be out, away, but there was no away to go to. He knew that the whole town would have heard about what happened, and, if he stepped foot outside, people, well-meaning or not, would stare, or bombard him with sympathy or tell him stories of his mother, all of which made him recoil. So the apartment was a refuge but also a prison, and he felt restless but also tired, and he wanted to stop thinking but couldn't.

Once he heard his uncle leave, Jess stayed in bed longer than usual, trying to force himself to care about the outrage of Ignatius J. Reilly. After he gave up, he turned on the CD player, not caring which three albums were still in it as long as they were loud. Then he made eggs and ate them. Then he made a bagel and ate half of it. He took out his deck of cards and practiced a few magic tricks. During one complicated sleight of hand, the cards slipped and exploded around him. He stared around at them and nodded, resigned. Then he moved to the couch and turned on the tv. I Love Lucy was on, which he watched for a while despite the competing noise from the music. When Lucille and Desi couldn't hold his attention anymore, he stood up and stared at the furniture, wondering if it could be arranged in any other way. Eventually, he was desperate enough to get his backpack out. He grabbed all his notebooks and textbooks and spread them out on the coffee table in the living room, sat down on the floor and allowed himself to shift into autopilot. He had a week's worth of stats homework to do, and it was his least favorite subject, so he decided to start there. The cold objectivity of this work soothed him for the first time in his memory, and he was done within an hour. His history teacher kept giving them short answer worksheets, which he sped through quickly and carelessly before moving on. He gritted his teeth as he worked through Spanish conjugations and fill-in-the-blanks, remembering the arguments he had started with the teacher in class. His high school in New York had had a large Spanish-speaking population, mainly from Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, and Mexico. This meant that many of his friends were Spanish speakers, and he'd learned a lot from them. Inappropriate slang, of course, but also how to talk to their moms and abuelos, all of which he had committed carefully to memory. The Stars Hollow teacher had studied in Spain, though, and refused to accept any variations in vocabulary or pronunciation, and it made Jess furious and frustrated. Still, he was just trying to pass the time, so he gritted his teeth. He did, however, try to work in the verb coger as often as possible in sentences with as many double meanings as possible, wondering if his teacher would even notice.

The only subject left was English. When he had reenrolled to repeat his senior year, having promised Luke that he would do better, he had signed up for a creative writing class as his elective, mostly because he thought it would be easy but also because he thought there was a dim possibility that it would motivate him to do the work. However, once he sat down in the class, his classmates wrung him dry. They were pretentious, ignorant, full of themselves, and overly eager, all traits that left him unable to do much besides roll his eyes. To her credit, though, Ms. Estrada, a new hire at Stars Hollow High and different than her colleagues, would glance at him every now and then in commiseration or smile at him when she caught him looking particularly pained by a classmate, which made him feel less alone.

Thinking of these small moments of solidarity, he took out the list of readings and prompts. They were starting on short stories, and she seemed to have spent time choosing stories that they would not have encountered before.

The Short Story

Each short story has a set of instructions, listed below. Read all of the stories, keeping in mind what we have discussed in class. (We will have a class discussion about the readings, so I will know if you have not read them all.) Then, pick one that calls out to you and follow the instructions for that story. Your topic can be anything you choose, but you need to include the specific element mentioned in the instructions!

You need to have read the stories by Monday, October 7th. Your work will be due Friday, October 18th.

Rulfo, Juan. México. "Can't You Hear the Dogs Barking?" – Read this story and pay attention to how Rulfo uses sound. What does it add to the story? Write a short story (2-3 pages) that uses sound in a similar way.

London, Jack. USA. "To Build a Fire" – London uses very sparse, frank language and short sentences in this story about man, experience, and nature. What effect does this have on the reader? Write a short story (2-3 pages) that uses language in a similar way.

Cortázar, Julio. Argentina. "Continuity of Parks" – Cortázar is famous for his short stories. This one has an interesting twist at the end that folds the story in on itself. Write a short story (2-3 pages) that has a twist.

Kipling, Rudyard. England. "The Elephant's Child" – This story explains how elephants got their trunks and imparts a lesson at the end. If a child asked you why a certain animal looks the way it does, how would you explain it? Explore this idea in a short story (2-3 pages)

Cisneros, Sandra. USA. "Woman Hollering Creek" – This story uses a Mexican legend, la Llorona (the weeping woman), as a foundation for the story. Research la Llorona and then read this story, paying attention to if, when, and how la Llorona appears. Write a short story (2-3 pages) that utilizes a myth or legend in a similar way.

Jess was surprised by these prompts and intrigued by the reading selection. He had read London, had heard of Kipling, of course, but the other three were new to him. He looked at the dates again, perplexed that she thought they would need two weeks to read and another to write the stories. Then he thought of his classmates and couldn't blame her. She had printed these stories out for them in a large packet, so he muted the television, laid down on the couch, and began to read.

As he was rereading "Continuity of Parks" a couple of hours later, someone knocked on the door. He got up to answer it and found Rory standing in front of him holding a large box.

"Delivery," she said with a smile, reminding him of the night he'd brought food to her house.

"What's all this?" he asked, taking the box for her and turning back into the apartment.

"Food from Sookie," Rory said, putting her bookbag down by the door. "She said it can all go in the freezer or the fridge, so all you have to do is heat it up."

"Oh. Uh…" he said uneasily, unfamiliar with these kinds of things. Back in New York with his friends' parents, he felt comfortable, if indebted. He knew them, and they knew him. And his mother. But here…he'd never really interacted with Sookie. Sookie was Lorelai's best friend. Did Sookie dislike him as much as she did? Was this food even for him or was it for Luke? If any of it were for him, it was made out of pity. The rest was for love of Luke. But since Luke was gone, was Jess expected to go and thank her in person? Or should he get a thank you card? Did they need to be able to repay her at some point in the future?

Rory watched the wheels turn in his head for a moment, clearing the dishes off of the kitchen table so that Jess could put the box down. "I'll tell her you said thanks," she said finally.

He nodded, relieved. Rory placed the dishes in the sink and turned back to face him, taking a brief glance at the apartment. Papers and books and playing cards were strewn haphazardly around the living room, the TV was on but muted, and music was coming from one of the new rooms to her right. The energy emanating from him was one of a caged animal.

"So…I haven't seen the apartment since you guys finished it."

"Oh, yeah, we have actual rooms now."

"It looks nice."

"Want a tour?" he asked, kicking himself for not cleaning up.

She quirked an eyebrow at him and looked around the tiny space, clearly baffled by the idea of a tour. Still, she nodded, and they walked to the opposite side of the apartment. He had helped turn the area where Luke's bed used to be into a small office, and Rory noticed how much more space this left in the living room, which had seemed uncomfortably crowded before. The kitchen where they'd been standing was largely unchanged, so the only actual new spaces to see were the bedrooms. He led her to his room and felt a sudden tension as they both pointedly avoided looking in the direction of his bed. Rory made a beeline for his books, and while she browsed, he switched out the CDs that were rotating on a loop in the stereo that he'd taken out of the living room and put on his desk: Violent Femmes for Bjork, Iggy Pop for Joe Strummer, Tool for Tom Waits.

Rory turned away from his bookshelf and looked around his room appraisingly. "Luke has stuff hanging up all over the apartment. How come your walls are empty?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Nothing to hang up, I guess. Fish and sports aren't really my thing."

"Posters more your style? Maroon 5? Smash Mouth?" she teased. He smiled and rolled his eyes, heading back out to the kitchen. When he started to unpack Sookie's food and put it away, Rory helped him.

"Hey, so how was your lunch?" he asked as she handed him a large, metal baking pan that he thought might be a lasagna.

"Oh, it was good! A little weird, but they answered all my questions. I feel a lot better about my applications."

"Plural applications? Where else besides Harvard?"

She nodded. "Everyone at Chilton says you have to apply to at least five. I'm thinking Princeton, Yale, Sarah Lawrence, and Columbia."

"Wow. Big names."

"Yeah. I might apply to a state school just to be safe."

"Nah, no way. I bet you get into all of them," he said as he shut the fridge.

Rory gave him a small smile. "So…how are you?"

He shrugged, hoping it came off as nonchalant. "I'm dealing."

The way his body had tensed at the question and the way he automatically looked down at his shoes made Rory feel intensely sad, but she didn't push. Instead, she went to sit down on the couch and picked up the story he had been reading.

"What's this?"

"Short story. You should read it. I think you'd like it."

"Oh yeah?" she asked, her eyes scanning the title and author name. "It looks like something for class," she said and glanced up at him.

He nodded. She continued reading, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He didn't know why, but if she'd teased him about it, he thought the dim flicker at the back of his mind would have disappeared forever.

They talked about the story when she finished. She brought up the round-robin tournament that she and her mother had to participate in during lunch, wondering if she could stump the Springsteens with this story, and told him about their bizarrely intimate kids, which made him laugh. Then she went to get her books out of her bag, sat down on the couch and took her shoes off so that she could sit with her back braced against the arm and have her legs stretched out towards the opposite end where Jess sat. She pulled one of her textbooks into her lap and started to read.

Jess looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Comfy?"

"Very," she said with a smile. "Hey, I think Sookie made some mac and cheese and I'm starving. Could you get us some?"

He chuckled and got up to go to the kitchen. He spooned mac and cheese into two bowls and looked over at Rory as he waited for them to heat up in the microwave. She looked relaxed, stretched out on the couch in jeans and a purple T-shirt, but there was a tightness in her face that told him she knew he was looking at her. She stubbornly kept her eyes on the page, but he noticed that she had forgotten to move them across the page. His mouth tipped into a small smile. He appreciated what she was doing, being here with him, and dreaded being alone in the apartment again.

A few minutes later, they were eating and reading together. She asked him to go over something that she'd written for The Franklin, and while he did, she picked up the short story prompts and read them through.

"This is good," Jess said after a few minutes, putting down the folder that held Rory's article.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know more about Chilton politics than I did before," he said, in a tone that made it clear what he thought about a high school taking its own politics so seriously. "It doesn't lean too far in any particular direction, though. It gets to the point, but it's fleshed out. I like it."

She smiled, appreciating his feedback. "And this?" she asked him, showing him the prompts that she'd been reading. "Which one are you going to pick?"

"Dunno," he caged. "I haven't finished reading all of the stories yet."

"You liked the one I just read, right?"
"Well, yeah, but it's so…technical. I'd just end up copying it."

"I bet you wouldn't. But keep reading," she said, a note of excitement in her voice. "I have more work to do, too, and I can hang out for a while."

He had actually read all of the stories, but he was happy to have her there and wanted to reread them anyway, so he pulled the papers towards him, grabbed a pencil, and began to read again.

What seemed like minutes later, he woke to confusing sounds of displeasure and disapproval, rebuttal and justification. He froze, blearily fearful that Liz had found her way into the apartment. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw two shapes moving near the door. His brain caught up with his body, and he realized Lorelai was in the apartment talking to Rory. He wondered if he and Rory had both been asleep when she walked in or just him. A cold chill passed over him—had he snored? He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about it. Suddenly, Lorelai's voice broke through his anxiety.

"You don't need to wake him up, hon. Let him rest."

Rory made an impatient noise that told him she disagreed. A few seconds later, he felt someone sit down next to him and touch his arm.

"Jess?"

He feigned waking up. "Hm?"

"It's getting late. I should go."

"Oh, uh, okay."

"See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow."

She and her mother left, and he reached over his head to turn on the lamp beside the couch. He felt wide awake.

As Rory stepped out of the diner and onto the sidewalk, she braced herself for the coming argument with her mother.

"Rory…"

"Mom, please. I don't want to argue about this again."

"This is a really important time for you, Rory. A horrible thing happened, but I don't want you to get distracted by—"

"Distracted? We were up there working."

Lorelai scoffed. "You were working. He was sleeping."

Rory had been keeping a few steps ahead, but here she stopped short and turned to stare at her mother.

Lorelai crossed her arms and sighed. "Look, I know he's…going through it…but you have too much on your plate to—"

"I can't believe you. You treat him like he's not…a human person. Like he's just something in my way. Or in your way. But I'm fine. He is…not fine. His mom didn't let him come home for Christmas break last year, did you know that? Now she's just…gone. How can you be so cold?"

"Rory—"

"No! No. I don't understand your problem with him, but it isn't fair, especially not now," Rory said and walked quickly away. She breathed a sigh of relief when her mother's cellphone started to ring.

Rory went straight to her room and shut the door when she got home. Her head was buzzing with too many thoughts, but she couldn't pull them apart fast enough to follow any particular one through to a conclusion, so she pressed play on her stereo and let Elliott Smith temper her disquiet as she changed into her pajamas. Torn between choosing a book, writing her way out of her mental chaos or simply collapsing on her bed, she stood in the middle of her room and noticed that her feet were cold. She looked down at her bare feet on the hard wood floor, wiggled her toes, and suddenly started to cry.

A few minutes later, she heard the front door open. She wiped her face and slipped quickly into bed, hoping that, for once, her mother wouldn't come in to talk. Her hopes were dashed as she heard footsteps approach and then the squeak of her doorknob turning. She felt the mattress dip beside her as her mother sat down next to her.

"Rory."

"Mm."

"Luke called. He needs help in New York, so I'm going down there tomorrow morning."

"Oh. Okay."

"I'll leave you some cash for pizza or Indian food or something, okay?"

The mention of Indian food was an olive branch, and Rory felt her eyes well up again.

"Rory?" her mother said, a note of concern in her voice.

"Okay," said Rory, unable to stifle the stuffy sound of her crying.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Rory nodded and tried to make some kind of noise of affirmation. When she felt her mother's hand on her arm, she rolled over and put her head in Lorelai's lap.

"Rory, what happened? Did Jess— "

Rory scoffed in disgust and sat up.

"Your Nurse Ratched impression is getting really good," Rory snapped before continuing quickly. "I was just thinking about how lucky I am. How lucky we are."

"Aw, hon, I—"

"I have someone to talk to when I'm scared or worried," Rory continued. "And there are fuzzy socks in my dresser when my feet are cold, and you leave me money for food if you have to go somewhere, and it's more than a lot of people have. I've known that, abstractly, you know, but I've never thought about not having all of that until tonight, and it just…I don't know. Snuck up on me."

"And it made you cry?"

"It's this thing called empathy," Rory deadpanned. "Ever heard of it?"

"Hey—"

"I'm sorry. I just don't know why you have this blind spot with him. He's…he hasn't told me much, but I think he's been through a lot," Rory said quietly.

Lorelai nodded and sighed, deciding not to push any more. She brushed Rory's hair off her shoulder and kissed her on the forehead.

"I'm going to leave pretty early tomorrow. Want me to leave some coffee on for you?"

"Yes, please. Wake me up before you go."

"Will do. Night, sweets."

The next day, as she stood in the middle of a filthy, freezing apartment in New York with Luke, Lorelai felt guilt and shame creep up and settle heavy on her shoulders. Her eyes pricked with tears as she bent to work.