Gilmore Girls and its characters belong to the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino, the actors who portray them and I'm sure there's someone else. Oh well, don't sue, I'm doing this for fun. :) Enjoy! 1/30/2001
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Gilmore Girls:
Memories
by Mystic
mysticxf@aol.com
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The hallway was unusually quiet on Friday afternoon and the rain that beat lightly against the rooftop through the trees was hypnotic. Through the open doorway she could see the empty room as it once was -- alive
Her mind raced back to a time before the trees had been trimmed to prevent anyone from getting in or out of that room, when the branches of the old trees outside scraped against the side of the house. The window would stand open, proudly, and a young girl would sit at it for hours on end talking to friends on the phone or listening to music.
How she hated the music that vibrated those walls. Too loud; too fast; too much different from the classical tastes her own mother had instilled in her. Her daughter had dismissed those tastes in exchange for that rock-n-roll.
She could recall entering the room on several occasions just to shout at the girl to turn the radio down. People were trying to live outside of those four walls, didn't she understand? She knew now that her daughter did, she just wanted that life to be more alive within those same four walls. Amidst the prissy little things that no one would expect that girl to own, she would dance to the music, prancing circles around her doll house, pretending it was her audience.
An audience that couldn't criticize the child like she'd done.
Staring at the doll house now, she knew it was just as she left it so long ago, with its perfect windows and perfect furniture and perfect decorum. Stepping into the room she could still see the small burn mark on the chimney from where her daughter had tried to set it on fire once.
"Plastic doesn't burn right," she'd said angrily, tossing a lighter down the stairs before slamming that door closed behind her. She smiled, the child only wanted to play Cowboys and Indians, like she'd seen normal children do. If she looked inside the house now, she would find those dolls still sitting in their chairs, the Indians she'd borrowed from a friend long since discarded.
Her child didn't play with the house anymore.
Sitting on the bed, she glanced around at the room. It was pink, pink for a little girl she'd tried to raise as best she knew how. A little girl who fought her every step of the way. A little girl who sometimes thought she knew everything in the world and took every opportunity to try and prove it.
A little girl who grew up and ran away from her.
She could remember that night even now. They'd been fighting again. Her daughter said it was what they did best. But she'd pushed too hard, gone too far and there was a long silence in the living room that night. She watched her child's lower lip tremble as her bold blue eyes filled to their brim with tears. The girl brought a hand up to touch her swollen abdomen and with the other, she touched her forehead in painful thought.
"No more," she'd squeaked, refusing to let herself cry. She'd never let her mother see her cry. Never admit defeat, the older woman knew. The one thing her daughter had learned from her.
The bed was soft now as she lay in it, letting herself be carried away in her emotions. Her cheeks were still damp hours later when she heard the rusty old jeep pull into the driveway. Standing, she went to the open window and listened to her daughter laugh, her arm wrapped around her own daughter.
Emily Gilmore wanted that.
Wanted it so badly she could taste it. But she knew she couldn't have it. Not now, not after what had happened in the past. Stopping herself, she looked up at the night sky, glad to see the clouds that had brought the light rains had dissipated, leaving only bright stars and a slight breeze that made her close her eyes a moment.
She straightened her jacket over her blouse and touched her hair gently as she took a deep breath, feeling her cheeks abandon their flush. Rushed down the stairs quickly, her body hardened as she opened the front door. She stared into those eyes now; eyes that at once accused and forgave and she thought to herself - never admit defeat.
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Now there's something different for you! Hope you liked! Remember, I love comments...
Mystic
Mysticxf@aol.com