Author's Note – This story is a sequel to my earlier story, High Flight. Although that story was originally intended to stand alone as a completed one-shot, it expanded past anything that I could have initially imagined. That meant that with the simultaneous double timelines I had running with the 'flashbacks' being used to tell the story, I reached the point where the past and present merged too quickly. I found that I had a lot more story to tell.
The format of this story is identical to the format of my first story. The sections in bold are excerpts from the book that shares the title with the story. The sections in italics take place in the present, or in the year that the book is published. And the sections in regular text are the 'flashbacks' that tell the story, gradually bringing the story up to the present. If you find anything confusing, please let me know in one of two ways. Either use the handy review button in the bottom left corner of the screen or send me an email at vico1yahoo.ca No matter which way you get in touch, if you let me know what's confusing you, I'll try my best to fix the problem.
The Dylan Thomas poem used for the chapter titles of the book in this story is 'Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night'. It is referenced in High Flight, and, as with that story, the full text of the poem will be given at the conclusion of the story.
I'm starting to post this story now, even though I haven't managed to finish it yet. As a result of the unfinished status, updates may be a little slow. I do, however, promise to at least try to update every couple of weeks. (The opportune word there is try.) This story also hasn't been beta-read, so if you notice any mistakes or areas of confusion, please point them out to me.
There will most likely be at least one more story in this series... Title (and plot) are still to be determined. If you have any poems that you think would be appropriate or would like to see, please let me know.
Do Not Go Gentle
He ran his fingers reverently over the smooth binding of the book, revelling in the sharp scent of fresh ink that filled the air. Even with the heavy weight of the book in his hand, he found it difficult to believe that the glossy covers contained a volume of his writing. The book he held chronicled his thoughts and his perceptions of the events that had revolutionized the nation, making history. And now those thoughts were recorded for all time, here for anyone who wanted to find them.
He knew that although the words were his, he could never claim ownership of the story. The story was everyone's; it belonged to the wonderful entity that was Legacy, but, first and foremost, it belonged to the American people.
Even now, forty years after Bartlet turned over his office, his Legacy still remained strong. But more than that, they remained dedicated to their chosen causes. And for most of them, that cause was America.
This was merely the continuation of their story. He had just been the one lucky enough to be able to record it.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at the close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
My sister and I are the children of great politics. We are not children of fine art or of classic literature. Despite that, there was still always something about the opening stanza of this Dylan Thomas poem that resonated with me. And I was never one to be deeply touched by poetry. But the language of this poem calls out to those things I do understand: fighting the good fight in spite of age, infirmity, or any other limitation.
I suppose that the fierce fighting spirit and strong sense of justice that both my twin Joan and I possess, the one that allows me to identify so strongly with this poem, has to be a result of equal parts nature and nurture. The two of us are, after all, the children of Josh and Donna Lyman.
There was once a time, not even so very long ago, when that simple statement, in and of itself, would have been an adequate explanation. In some circles of political scholars and for long-time followers of the Washington political scene, it still is. Although I did always find it pretentious, I was still inwardly disappointed when that was no longer a sufficient explanation for most people and I had to start giving out more background information.
You see Josh Lyman, our father, was one of the best-known political bulldogs in Washington for a period that lasted for nearly fifty years. Some of his trademark tactics are studied in universities and many of them are still being used today. Not to be outshone, our mother, Donna Moss-Lyman, was elected as a senator for Connecticut while finishing her university degree and raising two small children. Then she went on to become the first female floor leader of the Senate and the longest serving female party leader in either house.
While the achievements of our parents are remarkable, they must be considered in the context of our extended 'family'. More than likely you've heard of at least some of them, even if you don't actively follow politics. Mark Goldstein is a National Book Award winner and a former senior policy advisor for the Republican Party. Sam Seaborn was the first Democrat to win in Orange County and he was a two-term governor of California, bringing it out of one of the worst recessions in the state's history. CJ Cregg, former Bartlet press secretary, went on to win her own Pulitzer Prize and found the standard-setting newsmagazine Inside Politics. And these are only a few examples, and some of the lesser-known ones at that.
Growing up in the Lyman household, with these people as honorary family, for us, politics was a force as ubiquitous and as powerful as gravity. Instead of being rocked to sleep to the sound of lullabies, we had voting statistics and the wording of important pieces of legislation recited back to us. A framed reproduction of the Declaration of Independence was hung over my bassinet before I had even left the hospital; my sister had the first page of the Constitution above hers. We took our first steps from the knees of former president Josiah Bartlet, our Grandpa Jed. Instead of being able to list off batting stats, I could rattle off all of the members of Congress in alphabetical order, along with some of their voting records. Joan knew more Congressmen and Senators than movie stars. With beginnings like these, is it any wonder that we wandered into the world of politics?
For the two of us, there never was. Even before the ink had had time to dry on our Georgetown diplomas, the two of us had followed in our parents' footsteps, volunteering in campaign offices and getting the experience we knew could only be gained by digging in and getting our hands dirty. Despite our family connections, we worked every bit as hard as anyone else and doubtlessly far harder than some. We knew full well that if we wanted to move up, we had to earn it. Our parents never called in favours for us; we never expected them to.
Still, being who we were did come with advantages. We knew all of the major political players not only by name, but also by sight, district, and brand of politics. We'd had eaten dinner with most of the Democrats. Joan could recognise their arguing styles and how to beat them at their own games. I knew where their sympathies lay and what their passions were. The two of us were a team, each one making up for the other's weaknesses and failings.
We came together as a packaged set, the Lyman twins. And we stayed that way until Alexandra McCosham, yet another member of our extended 'family', offered us staff positions on her campaign for the Democratic presidential nomination. That split the two of us up, sending us off to work in fields that played up our individual strengths, although we did still work together closely. Even though the nomination campaign is probably no longer fresh in anyone's mind, except those of us who were there, the national events that followed still no doubt are. However, those events are for a different book; the scope of this one is nowhere near grand enough to deal with them, even if we were distanced enough to view them objectively.
Just know that this book is not intended as a memoir, an autobiography, or even a biography; rather, it is the continuation of a story that was begun long before I was born. It is the end of the tale of my parents' generation and it is the beginning of the account of our generation.