Graham. Yes, as in cracker. This was his name, and Rory was on a date with him. Though the term "date" was being rather generous; she was sitting there, in a bar, watching someone vomit in a corner and wishing she had saved some of that lemonade. Graham had left maybe five minutes ago with a group to continue the "pub crawl", and despite Jonah's claim that he was in the top fifty of the best drunk drivers in Connecticut, she planned to hold out for someone who was at least in the top ten.

She glanced at her watch. The waitress had said this area wasn't exactly the safest to be wandering around in, desperately searching for an ATM. Well, la-de-da. Maybe she'd just grow old in this awful bar, mumbling incoherently about graham crackers and pub crawls and lemonade breath. Or, she thought as she dug into her coat pocket, retrieving her cell phone, she could call someone to come and pick her up. Bravo, Rory, she thought. This is why you got into Yale- you're brilliant problem-solving skills. Now, the only remaining question; who to call? Can't call Lorelai, she was probably still at the wedding. Luke? Possibly home, but probably still at the wedding. Dean? Yes, Dean would work. Dialing quickly, she put the phone to her ear only to be greeted by Lindsay.

"Hello?" Lindsay's voice was cheery. Happy. It had a my-husband-loves-me-and-your-boyfriend-ran-off-to-God-knows-where quality to it, never mind the fact that she didn't know Rory was on the line. Rory sighed and hung up the phone. No way was she going to talk to Dean if Lindsay had anything to say about it, which killed any thoughts she had been entertaining in her head about getting a ride from him. So back to square one. She tapped her nails on the table, chewed her lip, furrowed her brow. She'd call Luke. Luke would be home by then, right? With the diner to open in the morning and whatnot, of course he'd be there. So, dialing again, she waited as it rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Then someone picked up, and Rory thought she might have cried out from relief had the voice on the other end not be his. But of course it was his- tonight could not have been aptly titled "The Night from Hell" had he not picked up. Had she not been so desperate for a ride that she would beg him (yes, him) to come and get her in that stupid car that he had come back for last time. Here's to irony, folks; bottoms up.


A pause, and then, "Rory?"

"Yes. It's me. Is Luke around?" One last shot for sanity. Let him be home, she prayed.

"No, he's uh, out. Still out. Wedding." "Right, right."

Another pause. A pregnant pause. Pause about to have triplets.

"Do you think, that um…maybe… I need a ride."

"A ride?"

"A ride. I was with these…friends, and they're gone now and I have no ride and I don't know why exactly I'm here and I don't have anyone else to call so if you could please-"

"I'll come."

"You'll come?"

"Yeah. Where are you?"

She told him, quickly, no need to spend an extra second on the phone listening to his voice that reminded her of a million things she'd convinced herself she'd forgotten. And when she hung up the phone, she ignored the little part inside of her that was happy he would be there soon. It was for the best, she said. For the best. And once more she wished for some of that God-awful lemonade.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

(A/N) I think every Lit should have the chance to rewrite this most depressing episode (though how fantastic was the Java Junkie action?), and I guess this is my go at it. A ridiculously short piece, yes, but it is just a prologue, so the next chapter (should anyone like this enough to review and tell me to continue…o.0) will most likely be 1-2,000 words or so, so no worries. So, be kind. Rewind. I mean review. Whatever. Carry on.