Gilmore Girls and its characters belong to Amy Sherman Palladino and her
husband and the WB, and everyone else who owns the show.  I'm just glad 
we get a second season, though I'm not happy about the fact that UPN is 
being pissy and leaving Buffy where it is while the WB wants to take a 
chance at ruining what they had on Thursday by placing Gilmore Girls on 
Tuesday at 8PM.  Ugh!  Why not leave Angel where it is and put GG after 
7th Heaven, that makes 10X more sense!  Ugh!  Anyway... this is pre-finale.
**********
Gilmore Girls
A Walk in the Dark
by Mystic
mysticxf@aol.
**********
Stars Hollow

	The night seems darker somehow when you're alone.  Not that it is.  
I mean, the moon doesn't shine any less on the spot where the lonely person 
is than it would shine on a place where a happy couple is, but it just seems
darker, like the moon's turned it's back on you, like it's snuffing you for 
ruining a perfectly good thing.
	That's just how I feel sometimes.  Like tonight.  I told my mom I'd 
go to Lane's to pick up some notes and be right back.  I told her I'd be right 
back about an hour ago.  Seems my legs, in a movement totally unapproved upon 
by my brain, have taken it upon themselves to lead me to Dean's.  It's been a 
long walk and my feet are tired, something I'm sure they'll use to protest the 
walking I've promised to my mother for tomorrow at the mall to find her a new 
set of leather boots to go with the new cow patterned shirt she found at a 
garage sale last week.
	I know what'll happen, I'll say I don't want to walk and my mother 
will come up with a series of questions to try and discern the real reason 
why.  It won't be because I'm tired, because I'm never too tired to go to 
the mall.  It won't be because I have to study, she'll tell me that's what 
Sunday's are for.  It won't be because I don't think anything matches with 
a cow patterned shirt because my mother will not accept that as an answer, 
having, already, created an ensemble in her head which requires the purchase 
of a certain pair of boots that can only be found in a certain store at the 
mall.
	I'll try to talk my way out of the walking.  I'll try to explain that 
I walked too hard the day before.  Walked too hard, I can hear her huff, 
walked too hard?  Is that like thinking too hard, are your feet suddenly 
going to stand up and proclaim they need pudding, 'cause if that's what's 
coming, warn me so I can get the camcorder ready.   That's what my mother 
would say.  And she'd smile the whole way through 'cause somehow my mother 
can make just about anything a joke.
	I'd like to think my mother wouldn't understand the real reason.  
Sometimes I think it might make some things easier if she didn't because 
then we could fight and she wouldn't feel the need to pry everything out 
of me.  She wouldn't tease me and harrass Lane until she got the truth and 
I wouldn't be forced to get mad and then feel stupid for not telling her 
the real reason I walked too hard.
	Dean.
	It's stupid.  I'm childish and stupid.  Another thing my mother would 
argue with.  It's normal, she'd tell me, to mourn, to want what we had, to 
go to his house.  Though she'd warn me not to knock on his windows and run.  
That, she would surmise, would be the actions of an insane person and my
mother has the greatest confidence in the fact that I'm not insane.  She 
would say she's a different matter altogether and would then go throw pebbles 
up at Luke's and run away giggling profusely.
	My mother is insane.
	But I'm not.  No.  Standing behind a tree in the middle of the street 
staring up at Dean's window trying to figure out why I can't move another
step.  Nope, not nuts at all.  Lane would shove me forward.  Lane would run 
me up to the door and make me ring the doorbell and talk to him.  Come to 
think of it, my mother would do the same, only my mother probably wouldn't 
nose dive into the bushes beside the door, my mother would stand there and 
do some weird marionette show between the two of us where she recites what 
we should say until, "And then, you kiss."  Then she'd wait, a large grin 
set on her face.
	I just want to see Dean again.  Doesn't matter if I talk to him, or 
if I don't, or if I ever do again, although the latter isn't what I'm hoping 
for.  I guess, in a way, I'm hoping he'll have some sixth sense and know I'm 
here and he'll run out and I'll be able to apologize and we'll be able to make 
up and make out and move on with life.  Only life isn't so simple.  I learned 
that so long ago.  Somewhere along the lines of, "Welcome to kindergarden, 
your mother is how old?"
	Life is like a giant freight train, full speed ahead ready to either pull 
you on or take you out and right now I feel like I'm hanging on by the rails, 
watching Dean walk forward into the dining cart where he'll definately find 
other girls and other things to busy himself with and I'll be forgotten.  He'll 
sit down and have diner with another dumb blond and he'll forget the books I 
made him read and the songs I made him hear.  He'll forget that he loves me.
	I can't let that happen, but I still can't move.  I used to theorize, 
when I was little, that the apprehension built up in a nervous person's body 
could literally melt the soles of their shoes onto the pavement and that's 
why shy people could never approach anyone.  Then my mother told me that if 
that was true, all my shoes wouldn't have soles and she took me to my room to 
show me my shoes.  Sort of like when I figured Santa was Taylor Dosey and mom 
dropped a can of tuna in front of him so I could see that his bottom wasn't 
soiled with soot from chimney's the day after Christmas.
	And why am I thinking about my mother at a time like this.  Said 
person would just march up to the door and awkwardly convey her fears and 
somehow it'd all be ok.  Sometimes I wish I could be more like her.  All 
the time I wish I could be more like her.  I would probably still be 
exactly where I am, broken up with a guy I'm completely in love with, but 
I'd be able to shrug off my inhibitions and go talk to him.
	A tap on my shoulder and I jump three feet in the air, screaming, 
"I'm not stalking him!"
	"I wasn't going to accuse you of that."
	It's Luke and I almost smile, then it fades, "What are you doing 
here?"
	"Your mother asked me to step outside, see if you were hanging around 
outside Lane's."
	"But your diner is like half a mile from here."
	"So I stepped way out."  Luke shrugged.  "What are you doing here 
anyway?"
	"How did you know I'd be here?"  The question is so quick, I almost 
feel the urge to smack myself for asking it.
	He smiled, "You think you're the only person who's ever pined away for 
someone?"
	"You?"  I lower my eyebrows, "Who?"
	Luke shakes his head, "That's not important, what is is what you're 
going to do."
	"What do you mean?"
	He points at the house, "Dean's, I assume."  He waits until I nod my 
head, confirming this, "Well, either you go up there and talk to the idiot, 
or you go to Lane's and get your notes and get home before your mother comes 
out here and makes the decision for you and I doubt you'll be satisfied with 
what she'd have planned."
	"Yeah, it might involve eggs and shaving cream," I tell him, looking 
at the trees around the house.
	"Toilet paper," Luke nods.
	I sigh, "What would you do?"
	"Honestly?"  He watches me stare back at him, "Probably the same thing 
you're doing."
	"We're pathetic."
	"Yes."
	"Hopeless."
	"Yes," he sighs.
	"Can you walk me back?"
	"Sure,"  Luke smiles and I cross my arms over my chest, turning to 
walk away from the house.  I have to because I know I don't have the strength 
to go over there and it's insane of me to just stand here all night.  I can 
feel Luke staring at me, concerned and I give him my best grin, until we start 
walking.  I sigh, turning back once more to look at the house and then up at 
the moon and at that moment, it's the strangest thing, I almost think it winked.
**********
End.  Funky enough for you?  :)  Just wanted to write something.  Hope you liked.
5/15/2001

Mystic
mysticxf@aol.com