Clowns to the left of me ... Jokers to the right ...
Here I am. Stuck in the middle with him. Actually, I'm nowhere near him at this moment. I feel about as helpless as I did when I heard the gunshot from our garage the night my father killed himself. And there he stands, soaked to the skin, flashbulbs reflecting off his face, and he's staring at nothing. He's staring into the room at no one, and I watch as he shifts his gaze to the idiot medical reporter on the front row.
This stupid song has been in and out of my head for a year. I guess it's hard to believe that Leopold McGarry knows lyrics. I know plenty of them. Including "Everybody Must Get Stoned." But I digress. When Mandy's memo came to light, I really started thinking about what the hell we'd accomplished in the first quarter. I came to the conclusion that we were walking on eggshells. Maybe it was my fault, I don't know. But I know him. I know the way he thinks. I was just telling him what he wanted to hear. And I didn't even have to read the memo ... I knew what it said. We were stuck in the middle.
And I told him that night. I stood in the Oval, and shocked the hell out of the man I love more than anything. He fought me for a minute, but he knew I was right. Then we changed our strategy. We were off the races ... and what a race we were running. Then everything hit the fan at once.
He's scared. I should be standing up there behind him. I should be showing the world that this man is my best friend, and I support him. But here I am in the back of the room, watching in shock as his gaze once again shifts to Sandy on the fifth row.
"Mr. President, can you tell us right now if you'll be seeking a second term?"
You could hear a pin drop in the room. And he asks her to repeat the question. I can't help but grin.
I know he wanted to be there with me. The day I had to face the White House press corps and admit I was a drunk and a drug addict. I wanted him there with me too. He's always been there, and I've always been there for him. And now we're facing these things alone. It's a hell of a deal we got, being elected and all. We've been separated at the most crucial moments of our careers.
He turns his head to the side and I swear my heart stops beating. Toby is holding his breath next to me; has been since the President took the podium. I watch as he slips his hands along the sides of his jacket and into his pockets. Those hands that pulled me out of the gutter in front of a motel parking lot. Those hands that can ball into fists of rage; that can gesticulate any point; that can shake and go limp during an episode.
And then he smiles. My heart has not only resumed beating, but I think it might explode in my chest. Toby still isn't breathing.
"Watch this," I whisper to him. Just watch this.
And here I am. Stuck in the middle with him. Just like I should be. Stuck between our fellow Democrats, screaming for resignation and Republicans, demanding grand jury investigations, calling us liars and cheats. Stuck between fear and doubt. Stuck between the issues and the political game. Abbey might say we're stuck between a rock and a hard place.
It's gonna be a hell of a fight, old friend, but one I won't let you lose.
Here I am. Stuck in the middle with him. Actually, I'm nowhere near him at this moment. I feel about as helpless as I did when I heard the gunshot from our garage the night my father killed himself. And there he stands, soaked to the skin, flashbulbs reflecting off his face, and he's staring at nothing. He's staring into the room at no one, and I watch as he shifts his gaze to the idiot medical reporter on the front row.
This stupid song has been in and out of my head for a year. I guess it's hard to believe that Leopold McGarry knows lyrics. I know plenty of them. Including "Everybody Must Get Stoned." But I digress. When Mandy's memo came to light, I really started thinking about what the hell we'd accomplished in the first quarter. I came to the conclusion that we were walking on eggshells. Maybe it was my fault, I don't know. But I know him. I know the way he thinks. I was just telling him what he wanted to hear. And I didn't even have to read the memo ... I knew what it said. We were stuck in the middle.
And I told him that night. I stood in the Oval, and shocked the hell out of the man I love more than anything. He fought me for a minute, but he knew I was right. Then we changed our strategy. We were off the races ... and what a race we were running. Then everything hit the fan at once.
He's scared. I should be standing up there behind him. I should be showing the world that this man is my best friend, and I support him. But here I am in the back of the room, watching in shock as his gaze once again shifts to Sandy on the fifth row.
"Mr. President, can you tell us right now if you'll be seeking a second term?"
You could hear a pin drop in the room. And he asks her to repeat the question. I can't help but grin.
I know he wanted to be there with me. The day I had to face the White House press corps and admit I was a drunk and a drug addict. I wanted him there with me too. He's always been there, and I've always been there for him. And now we're facing these things alone. It's a hell of a deal we got, being elected and all. We've been separated at the most crucial moments of our careers.
He turns his head to the side and I swear my heart stops beating. Toby is holding his breath next to me; has been since the President took the podium. I watch as he slips his hands along the sides of his jacket and into his pockets. Those hands that pulled me out of the gutter in front of a motel parking lot. Those hands that can ball into fists of rage; that can gesticulate any point; that can shake and go limp during an episode.
And then he smiles. My heart has not only resumed beating, but I think it might explode in my chest. Toby still isn't breathing.
"Watch this," I whisper to him. Just watch this.
And here I am. Stuck in the middle with him. Just like I should be. Stuck between our fellow Democrats, screaming for resignation and Republicans, demanding grand jury investigations, calling us liars and cheats. Stuck between fear and doubt. Stuck between the issues and the political game. Abbey might say we're stuck between a rock and a hard place.
It's gonna be a hell of a fight, old friend, but one I won't let you lose.