Disclaimer: The characters are property of Aaron Sorkin. Interspersed are lyrics from the song 'Superman' by Five For Fighting. It is being used without permission, but no money is being made, so get over it. Enjoy.
"Hey. Sam."
I looked up from the papers I had been thumbing through. "Yeah?"
"Will you do the thing with me?"
I went back to reading the countless number of memos. "I don't think I can."
"But Toby's not here," Josh pleaded, "And besides, this is your type of thing - you'll be great."
"It's really not my type of thing, Josh."
"Come on! Are you kidding me? You'd soar. Above the clouds, Sam. Right above them."
"I'll stay under the clouds if you don't mind. I can't stand to fly."
"But you'd be great in there. You've got influence, you've got... I don't know... You've got girlish charm... And unused bragging rights. You deserve this chance to gloat."
"I'm not like that, Josh. I'm not that naive."
He tilted his head a little to the side and sighed. "What else are you doing today that's so important that you can't do this for me?"
I started to walk back to my office. "I've got work to do."
He called after me, "Wow Sam, that's really rough - the fact that you have work to do and all."
I turned around. "Josh, I'm serious."
"Ok, I'll set aside the fact that that was the worst excuse I've ever heard from you, but really, what do you have to do?"
"Josh, I'm just out to find..." I stopped.
"Find what?"
I turned back towards my office. "The better part of me."
He coughed. "What did you say?"
I shook my head. "Nothing. Nevermind."
"Because," Josh continued, "It sounded like you just said that you're out to find the better part of yourself, which is - in all honesty - an even dumber excuse than 'I've got work to do'." He smirked, "If you don't want to do this because you're chicken, just say so."
"I'm more than a bird."
"Let's kick some ass then! Quit trying to hatch some eggs for a while. Fly with me while the runway is empty."
"I'm more than a plane, Josh, and I've got other things to do."
"Yah, but do you have better things to do?"
"I'm sure I do." I threatened to walk through my office door.
"Come on," He pleaded again, "This'll be easy. These people consider good looks as good an opposition as they do a good argument."
"On the behalf of my insulted intelligence I'd like to say that I know what these people think and I already knew why you wanted me in there."
He got to his point. "Sam, you could help me out a lot if you went in there and did this."
"I'm more than some pretty face beside a train."
A brief pause lingered in the air.
"So," He ventured, "You'll do it?"
I sighed. "Josh..."
"I'll take that as a yes."
"Josh." That was his warning.
"We've got 20 minutes."
"Josh!"
He walked away, pretending not to hear the exasperation in my voice. I leaned against the doorframe of my office.
"Sam, the President wants to see you about the Delaware orations sometime this hour. He wants to know what you've got."
I've got nothing. And I'll have nothing because I'm doing this stupid thing for Josh.
She raised her eyebrows a little. "Sam? Did you hear me?"
"Yeah. Thanks Cathy."
As much as Josh has claimed to be right about everything he's said in the past, he's wrong about one thing. I'm really not just whining when I say that it's not easy to be me.
--------
Josh's meeting got kind of ugly. That's really being polite. I ran out of the room as fast as I could when it was officially declared to be over. I told Cathy that I had left something of dire importance in my car. Instead, I'm walking down the sidewalk that follows the perimeter of the White House.
Now I know why Josh and Toby do so many things together. It's not that they like pissing people off, though that is, I'm sure, one of the perks. Together, they're immune to any pressure that builds up as a result from arguing with people. I could barely stand it - even with Josh in the room. I came out here to clear my head, my thoughts. That's why I'm sitting on this bench with my head in my hands.
Plink.
"Honey, I told you to hold onto your money tightly."
I picked up the rebellious quarter that had rolled between my feet. I looked up, coming face to face with a woman who had her two children with her - one of which was in a stroller.
The woman smiled politely and took the coin from me. "Thank you."
She gave the quarter back to her daughter. "Now, what do you say?"
"Thank you mister." The girl whispered, hiding and smiling shyly behind her mother's leg.
I nodded and watched them continue down the sidewalk.
"Mommy, what's that?"
I wish that I could cry...
"That's the White House. Where the President lives."
...Fall upon my knees.
"Can we go there, mommy?"
Find a way to lie about a home I'll never see.
"We'll see."
My name is Samuel Norman Seaborn and I live in a house with my wife and two daughters.
My name is Samuel Norman Seaborn and I have a beautiful wife whom I love very much.
My name is Samuel Norman Seaborn and I've met the woman I'm going to marry.
My name is Samuel Norman Seaborn and I have a girlfriend.
My name is Sam Seaborn and I'm single.
My name is Sam Seaborn.
My name is Sam.
My pager beeped. The President wanted to know where in God's name I was because I sure as hell wasn't in the White House.
I'm nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.
--------
"I know it may sound absurd, sir."
"Sound absurd? It doesn't just sound absurd! It looks absurd. It feels absurd."
"Mr. President, I know -"
He continued ranting on, "And saying it - I'll bet it even tastes absurd."
"Mr. President, sir." I said, then paused for a moment making sure he was through, then spoke again, "Look, at the moment it may not seem so great, but -"
"And I'm not exactly how, but it's bound to smell absurd, too."
"Yes, Mr. President. I'm sure the absurdity appeals to every one of the senses. Sir, I'd like to say something and I'd like you to listen to me, but don't be naive!" I immediately wanted to disown my words.
President Bartlet took off his glasses and turned from the window to face me. I looked down at the floor. He slowly articulated every word, "You call my actions naivety?"
"Of course not, sir."
"But you just said... Nevermind that. Sam, I don't see anything I like right here. Nothing."
I almost winced. "...Nothing?" If a single word can crush a strong man's ambition, esteem, or ability, it is the word 'nothing' in a degrading context.
"The thing is, Sam, I'm not really sure why there is nothing here that I like because you have been a great writer for me thus far."
"I understand, sir."
"I apologize for my... childish words, but right now I'm just telling you to rewrite it. I'm not banishing you from the country."
"Thank you, sir." I nearly sprinted to the door. I left, only remembering the gruff, resolute 'nothing' of the man I devotedly - and voluntarily - serve. I had just thrown those drafts together for the sake of having something to show him, but I still wrote the words - they were something that I could believe in. He couldn't see the potential. He saw nothing. And when he looked at me, how do I know whether or not he saw that nothing - that lack of potential - in me?
"Hey Sam."
It's not a one-man show. He's not the one who makes the words - the historic, memorable words. He says them to the world and the world remembers him for them, but I make those words with my own bare hands. Even if it hurts, I shape and mold those words into what they are myself - whether I've had an hour to write them, a month, a year.
"Sam, I don't know what you're bawling like a little girl about, but -"
I interrupted, "Even heroes have the right to bleed, Josh. Even heroes."
He blinked. "Yah. I have no clue what you're talking about."
"Nevermind."
"Yah, listen, can I talk to you about -"
"Cathy, tell Josh that I have work to do and that if he insists on talking to me about the meeting this morning then I'm afraid I may be disturbed a little bit from my work by that course of action and I'll have to hurt him."
Slam.
"Sam, you closed your door."
Cathy cleared her throat, "Josh, Sam has work to do. And if you insist on talking to him about the -"
I opened the door.
"Sam, I just want to say a few things."
"But won't you concede that rewriting a series of poorly-written speech drafts for the President of the United States is more important than whatever it is that you have to say?"
"I only want five minutes Sam, and besides, I know you could write these speeches in your sleep."
I shook my head, amazed that he still didn't understand. "Even heroes have the right to dream - the right to a night off every so often."
"If you're seriously going to keep going on and on about the speeches, I'll go make someone else cry. I think Toby's supposed to be back soon."
"Speech writing is an art, Josh."
"They're words on paper." He commented.
Josh loved the my-job-has-purpose-as-opposed-to-yours argument that we constantly have going.
I contended, "They're not easy to write."
"Sure."
He left then, incredulous as always of my job's necessity, with a smirk on his face.
"And it's not easy to be me." I muttered to myself.
--------
"Up Josh."
"But what I'm saying is that -"
"Up and away. Go."
"Don't you want to hear the rest of -"
"Away from me. We're done here."
He stared at me for a moment before speaking. "What is this? You said I could have five minutes, and now... Now you're speaking in sentences comprised of three words or less."
I exhaled, suddenly tired. "Josh, we can finish this later."
"We probably won't finish this later, so I'll tell you beforehand that I'm having the same people tomorrow and you will be there so we can finish that."
"I was terrible in there today. And what makes you think -"
"Come on, we started it - we need to finish it. You can do a little more research tonight so that we can get this thing."
I forced a false, mocking optimism into my voice. "Well, it's all right. As long as I help you and benefit you - it's all right."
"Sam, Bartlet will give you some time. You've got a couple days."
"No really, it's all right. The last minute will be fine with President Bartlet, I'm sure."
"I'm going to go." He backed out through the door.
"Okay, Josh."
"It starts to scare me when you do the thing where you talk without real emotion."
"You'd prefer my real emotions?" I asked.
He started to say something, but thought better of it and kept walking.
"It's okay, Josh!" I yelled after him.
People were looking at me and I looked right back at them. "You can all sleep sound tonight! Because I'll be here, working for the President, writing speeches, never ceasing, and always - always! - making the world a better place."
I went back in my office and stood there for a moment.
Looking back outside, I spoke quietly to no one in particular, "I'm not crazy... or anything."
"Hmm? Were you talking to me, Sam?"
"Don't worry about it Cathy."
"Okay."
I receded back inside my office to my chair.
"I'm not crazy. And I'm not anything." I told myself.
"What are you saying?"
I was surprised by his unannounced and sudden presence. "Toby."
"That would be my name."
I sighed. "I hope Josh didn't send you in here."
"He did."
I began my same line of defense again, this time for Toby. "I can't finish that meeting tomorrow."
He nodded. "You can't."
"Josh doesn't need me in there."
He agreed. "He doesn't."
"So why are you here?"
"To tell you that you should finish the meeting."
"Toby..."
Toby collected his thoughts for a moment.
"Sam," He began, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but the President wants you to finish writing a set of five speeches to be read in Delaware in two days."
"Yes."
"You were the one who wrote the State of the Union."
"Yes."
"And you're worried about Delaware?"
"It doesn't matter where he's speaking, Toby. What he's saying is important and my job is to make what he says important."
"You wrote a great State of the Union - you don't have to surpass that success for Delaware. The people of Delaware won't mind."
I turned the conversation back to it's origin. "What does this have to do with Josh's meeting?"
"These people like talking to important, impressive people."
"I can't stand to fly."
"I am aware of that."
"I can't be... I'm not that naive."
He paused and then continued, "They just want to be told that we are good, that we are mighty, that we transcend all others before us."
"Men weren't meant to ride with clouds between their knees."
"Maybe not, but these people... They don't know that. We tell them that we're able to be the nation's heroes - whether or not our President has MS. We tell them this and they believe us because we answer to the President. And they don't care that we're biased because we work for the man. In a sense, these people... They're like the press. Just as annoying and there's no way to avoid them, but, unlike the press corps, they believe what we say and ask no questions. If we tell them we can fly, they assume we can."
"If I go back tomorrow I'll feel like I'm only a man in a silly red sheet."
"They don't care to know the difference between a red sheet and the real thing."
"Why do I even need to be there if it's just, in a sense, digging for kryptonite on this one-way street?"
"Josh needs a constant backup - he won't admit it, but he does. You started this with him, so he needs you to finish it."
I sighed. "Only a man in a funny red sheet."
"We all do things that we feel we shouldn't have to do."
"All the while, I keep looking for special things inside of me - inside my head - but I've got nothing for Delaware."
"Keep looking."
"Inside of me?"
"Yeah. And maybe while you're looking, you'll realize that the cape doesn't make the man. It's the other way around."
"Okay."
"All right, if I am done here, I have real things to do."
"Like what?"
"I have work to do."
"Right."
He left quietly.
I tapped my pen, thinking. "Inside of me."
I found myself standing up and leaving my office towards the Oval Office, whispering to myself, "Inside of me."
I overheard the voice of an overly-enthusiastic tour guide. "And THIS is the Blue Room. Can anyone guess WHY they call it the BLUE Room?"
"Inside of me." I said again, looking out into the hall - for once being drawn to the group of tourists and not purposely trying to avoid them. Something was familiar. And it wasn't just the blue blazers. I looked back through the group again and my eyes stopped at a little girl who was frantically waving. She was waving at me. I realized that she was the girl from before, and I'm only a man in a funny red sheet. There was her mom. I waved back.
Her mother glanced at me cautiously and whispered to her daughter, "Honey, who are you waving at?"
"The nice man from the bench."
I smiled.
But her mother didn't. "What are you talking about, honey?"
I waved one last time. I'm only a man looking for a dream.
The President came up behind me. "How are the speeches coming?"
But I haven't found my dream yet. And I'm only a man in a funny red sheet.
"Sam... The speeches?"
"They're coming along, sir."
"Good."
Josh found me as the President left.
"Thanks for doing this for me."
"Yeah," I nodded. "And it's not easy..."
I went back to my office before he had a chance to say anything. I sat down in my chair.
"It's not easy to be me."
I sighed and started writing.
"Hey. Sam."
I looked up from the papers I had been thumbing through. "Yeah?"
"Will you do the thing with me?"
I went back to reading the countless number of memos. "I don't think I can."
"But Toby's not here," Josh pleaded, "And besides, this is your type of thing - you'll be great."
"It's really not my type of thing, Josh."
"Come on! Are you kidding me? You'd soar. Above the clouds, Sam. Right above them."
"I'll stay under the clouds if you don't mind. I can't stand to fly."
"But you'd be great in there. You've got influence, you've got... I don't know... You've got girlish charm... And unused bragging rights. You deserve this chance to gloat."
"I'm not like that, Josh. I'm not that naive."
He tilted his head a little to the side and sighed. "What else are you doing today that's so important that you can't do this for me?"
I started to walk back to my office. "I've got work to do."
He called after me, "Wow Sam, that's really rough - the fact that you have work to do and all."
I turned around. "Josh, I'm serious."
"Ok, I'll set aside the fact that that was the worst excuse I've ever heard from you, but really, what do you have to do?"
"Josh, I'm just out to find..." I stopped.
"Find what?"
I turned back towards my office. "The better part of me."
He coughed. "What did you say?"
I shook my head. "Nothing. Nevermind."
"Because," Josh continued, "It sounded like you just said that you're out to find the better part of yourself, which is - in all honesty - an even dumber excuse than 'I've got work to do'." He smirked, "If you don't want to do this because you're chicken, just say so."
"I'm more than a bird."
"Let's kick some ass then! Quit trying to hatch some eggs for a while. Fly with me while the runway is empty."
"I'm more than a plane, Josh, and I've got other things to do."
"Yah, but do you have better things to do?"
"I'm sure I do." I threatened to walk through my office door.
"Come on," He pleaded again, "This'll be easy. These people consider good looks as good an opposition as they do a good argument."
"On the behalf of my insulted intelligence I'd like to say that I know what these people think and I already knew why you wanted me in there."
He got to his point. "Sam, you could help me out a lot if you went in there and did this."
"I'm more than some pretty face beside a train."
A brief pause lingered in the air.
"So," He ventured, "You'll do it?"
I sighed. "Josh..."
"I'll take that as a yes."
"Josh." That was his warning.
"We've got 20 minutes."
"Josh!"
He walked away, pretending not to hear the exasperation in my voice. I leaned against the doorframe of my office.
"Sam, the President wants to see you about the Delaware orations sometime this hour. He wants to know what you've got."
I've got nothing. And I'll have nothing because I'm doing this stupid thing for Josh.
She raised her eyebrows a little. "Sam? Did you hear me?"
"Yeah. Thanks Cathy."
As much as Josh has claimed to be right about everything he's said in the past, he's wrong about one thing. I'm really not just whining when I say that it's not easy to be me.
--------
Josh's meeting got kind of ugly. That's really being polite. I ran out of the room as fast as I could when it was officially declared to be over. I told Cathy that I had left something of dire importance in my car. Instead, I'm walking down the sidewalk that follows the perimeter of the White House.
Now I know why Josh and Toby do so many things together. It's not that they like pissing people off, though that is, I'm sure, one of the perks. Together, they're immune to any pressure that builds up as a result from arguing with people. I could barely stand it - even with Josh in the room. I came out here to clear my head, my thoughts. That's why I'm sitting on this bench with my head in my hands.
Plink.
"Honey, I told you to hold onto your money tightly."
I picked up the rebellious quarter that had rolled between my feet. I looked up, coming face to face with a woman who had her two children with her - one of which was in a stroller.
The woman smiled politely and took the coin from me. "Thank you."
She gave the quarter back to her daughter. "Now, what do you say?"
"Thank you mister." The girl whispered, hiding and smiling shyly behind her mother's leg.
I nodded and watched them continue down the sidewalk.
"Mommy, what's that?"
I wish that I could cry...
"That's the White House. Where the President lives."
...Fall upon my knees.
"Can we go there, mommy?"
Find a way to lie about a home I'll never see.
"We'll see."
My name is Samuel Norman Seaborn and I live in a house with my wife and two daughters.
My name is Samuel Norman Seaborn and I have a beautiful wife whom I love very much.
My name is Samuel Norman Seaborn and I've met the woman I'm going to marry.
My name is Samuel Norman Seaborn and I have a girlfriend.
My name is Sam Seaborn and I'm single.
My name is Sam Seaborn.
My name is Sam.
My pager beeped. The President wanted to know where in God's name I was because I sure as hell wasn't in the White House.
I'm nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.
--------
"I know it may sound absurd, sir."
"Sound absurd? It doesn't just sound absurd! It looks absurd. It feels absurd."
"Mr. President, I know -"
He continued ranting on, "And saying it - I'll bet it even tastes absurd."
"Mr. President, sir." I said, then paused for a moment making sure he was through, then spoke again, "Look, at the moment it may not seem so great, but -"
"And I'm not exactly how, but it's bound to smell absurd, too."
"Yes, Mr. President. I'm sure the absurdity appeals to every one of the senses. Sir, I'd like to say something and I'd like you to listen to me, but don't be naive!" I immediately wanted to disown my words.
President Bartlet took off his glasses and turned from the window to face me. I looked down at the floor. He slowly articulated every word, "You call my actions naivety?"
"Of course not, sir."
"But you just said... Nevermind that. Sam, I don't see anything I like right here. Nothing."
I almost winced. "...Nothing?" If a single word can crush a strong man's ambition, esteem, or ability, it is the word 'nothing' in a degrading context.
"The thing is, Sam, I'm not really sure why there is nothing here that I like because you have been a great writer for me thus far."
"I understand, sir."
"I apologize for my... childish words, but right now I'm just telling you to rewrite it. I'm not banishing you from the country."
"Thank you, sir." I nearly sprinted to the door. I left, only remembering the gruff, resolute 'nothing' of the man I devotedly - and voluntarily - serve. I had just thrown those drafts together for the sake of having something to show him, but I still wrote the words - they were something that I could believe in. He couldn't see the potential. He saw nothing. And when he looked at me, how do I know whether or not he saw that nothing - that lack of potential - in me?
"Hey Sam."
It's not a one-man show. He's not the one who makes the words - the historic, memorable words. He says them to the world and the world remembers him for them, but I make those words with my own bare hands. Even if it hurts, I shape and mold those words into what they are myself - whether I've had an hour to write them, a month, a year.
"Sam, I don't know what you're bawling like a little girl about, but -"
I interrupted, "Even heroes have the right to bleed, Josh. Even heroes."
He blinked. "Yah. I have no clue what you're talking about."
"Nevermind."
"Yah, listen, can I talk to you about -"
"Cathy, tell Josh that I have work to do and that if he insists on talking to me about the meeting this morning then I'm afraid I may be disturbed a little bit from my work by that course of action and I'll have to hurt him."
Slam.
"Sam, you closed your door."
Cathy cleared her throat, "Josh, Sam has work to do. And if you insist on talking to him about the -"
I opened the door.
"Sam, I just want to say a few things."
"But won't you concede that rewriting a series of poorly-written speech drafts for the President of the United States is more important than whatever it is that you have to say?"
"I only want five minutes Sam, and besides, I know you could write these speeches in your sleep."
I shook my head, amazed that he still didn't understand. "Even heroes have the right to dream - the right to a night off every so often."
"If you're seriously going to keep going on and on about the speeches, I'll go make someone else cry. I think Toby's supposed to be back soon."
"Speech writing is an art, Josh."
"They're words on paper." He commented.
Josh loved the my-job-has-purpose-as-opposed-to-yours argument that we constantly have going.
I contended, "They're not easy to write."
"Sure."
He left then, incredulous as always of my job's necessity, with a smirk on his face.
"And it's not easy to be me." I muttered to myself.
--------
"Up Josh."
"But what I'm saying is that -"
"Up and away. Go."
"Don't you want to hear the rest of -"
"Away from me. We're done here."
He stared at me for a moment before speaking. "What is this? You said I could have five minutes, and now... Now you're speaking in sentences comprised of three words or less."
I exhaled, suddenly tired. "Josh, we can finish this later."
"We probably won't finish this later, so I'll tell you beforehand that I'm having the same people tomorrow and you will be there so we can finish that."
"I was terrible in there today. And what makes you think -"
"Come on, we started it - we need to finish it. You can do a little more research tonight so that we can get this thing."
I forced a false, mocking optimism into my voice. "Well, it's all right. As long as I help you and benefit you - it's all right."
"Sam, Bartlet will give you some time. You've got a couple days."
"No really, it's all right. The last minute will be fine with President Bartlet, I'm sure."
"I'm going to go." He backed out through the door.
"Okay, Josh."
"It starts to scare me when you do the thing where you talk without real emotion."
"You'd prefer my real emotions?" I asked.
He started to say something, but thought better of it and kept walking.
"It's okay, Josh!" I yelled after him.
People were looking at me and I looked right back at them. "You can all sleep sound tonight! Because I'll be here, working for the President, writing speeches, never ceasing, and always - always! - making the world a better place."
I went back in my office and stood there for a moment.
Looking back outside, I spoke quietly to no one in particular, "I'm not crazy... or anything."
"Hmm? Were you talking to me, Sam?"
"Don't worry about it Cathy."
"Okay."
I receded back inside my office to my chair.
"I'm not crazy. And I'm not anything." I told myself.
"What are you saying?"
I was surprised by his unannounced and sudden presence. "Toby."
"That would be my name."
I sighed. "I hope Josh didn't send you in here."
"He did."
I began my same line of defense again, this time for Toby. "I can't finish that meeting tomorrow."
He nodded. "You can't."
"Josh doesn't need me in there."
He agreed. "He doesn't."
"So why are you here?"
"To tell you that you should finish the meeting."
"Toby..."
Toby collected his thoughts for a moment.
"Sam," He began, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but the President wants you to finish writing a set of five speeches to be read in Delaware in two days."
"Yes."
"You were the one who wrote the State of the Union."
"Yes."
"And you're worried about Delaware?"
"It doesn't matter where he's speaking, Toby. What he's saying is important and my job is to make what he says important."
"You wrote a great State of the Union - you don't have to surpass that success for Delaware. The people of Delaware won't mind."
I turned the conversation back to it's origin. "What does this have to do with Josh's meeting?"
"These people like talking to important, impressive people."
"I can't stand to fly."
"I am aware of that."
"I can't be... I'm not that naive."
He paused and then continued, "They just want to be told that we are good, that we are mighty, that we transcend all others before us."
"Men weren't meant to ride with clouds between their knees."
"Maybe not, but these people... They don't know that. We tell them that we're able to be the nation's heroes - whether or not our President has MS. We tell them this and they believe us because we answer to the President. And they don't care that we're biased because we work for the man. In a sense, these people... They're like the press. Just as annoying and there's no way to avoid them, but, unlike the press corps, they believe what we say and ask no questions. If we tell them we can fly, they assume we can."
"If I go back tomorrow I'll feel like I'm only a man in a silly red sheet."
"They don't care to know the difference between a red sheet and the real thing."
"Why do I even need to be there if it's just, in a sense, digging for kryptonite on this one-way street?"
"Josh needs a constant backup - he won't admit it, but he does. You started this with him, so he needs you to finish it."
I sighed. "Only a man in a funny red sheet."
"We all do things that we feel we shouldn't have to do."
"All the while, I keep looking for special things inside of me - inside my head - but I've got nothing for Delaware."
"Keep looking."
"Inside of me?"
"Yeah. And maybe while you're looking, you'll realize that the cape doesn't make the man. It's the other way around."
"Okay."
"All right, if I am done here, I have real things to do."
"Like what?"
"I have work to do."
"Right."
He left quietly.
I tapped my pen, thinking. "Inside of me."
I found myself standing up and leaving my office towards the Oval Office, whispering to myself, "Inside of me."
I overheard the voice of an overly-enthusiastic tour guide. "And THIS is the Blue Room. Can anyone guess WHY they call it the BLUE Room?"
"Inside of me." I said again, looking out into the hall - for once being drawn to the group of tourists and not purposely trying to avoid them. Something was familiar. And it wasn't just the blue blazers. I looked back through the group again and my eyes stopped at a little girl who was frantically waving. She was waving at me. I realized that she was the girl from before, and I'm only a man in a funny red sheet. There was her mom. I waved back.
Her mother glanced at me cautiously and whispered to her daughter, "Honey, who are you waving at?"
"The nice man from the bench."
I smiled.
But her mother didn't. "What are you talking about, honey?"
I waved one last time. I'm only a man looking for a dream.
The President came up behind me. "How are the speeches coming?"
But I haven't found my dream yet. And I'm only a man in a funny red sheet.
"Sam... The speeches?"
"They're coming along, sir."
"Good."
Josh found me as the President left.
"Thanks for doing this for me."
"Yeah," I nodded. "And it's not easy..."
I went back to my office before he had a chance to say anything. I sat down in my chair.
"It's not easy to be me."
I sighed and started writing.