Posted: March 24, 2001
The sun, a fiery orange ball bobbing
in a sea of baby blue, was slowly sinking as CJ stood at the end of the
dock, surveying the glass surface of the pond. She had spent the better
part of the afternoon by Donna's side, keeping a careful watch on Sam and
Josh. She hadn't figured out their game yet this year, but she was
determined not to be surprised. Both harbored deep, juvenile deliquent
tendencies that seemed to increase exponentially the further they got from
the west wing. As the late afternoon started to fade, she was tired
of anticipating their move. Before venturing to the pond, she verified
that they were both engrossed in deep conversation with Leo about Seth
Gillette's latest maneuver to throw a speed bump in the president's campaign.
Leo didn't feel she needed to be in on the strategy session, so CJ slipped
away, telling no one where she was going.
The stillness of the air and water
was soothing. She dropped her towel onto the smooth, gray planks
of the dock and prepared to dangle her feet in the water and read her trashy
romance novel. Yes, it was beneath her dignity and she had been looking
forward to it for weeks.
She had just begun to relax when she
heard the footsteps behind her. She turned her head suspiciously
and spied Josh approaching at a leisurely pace.
"Josh, go away," CJ said firmly.
"Why?"
"You've got that look," she said.
"What look?"
"The look like you think you're going
to push me in," she said.
"Don't be paranoid," he remarked. "I'm
waiting for a call from Larry about the thing in New York on Monday."
"Then why are you here?" she asked
pointedly.
"The reception is better out here."
"Yeah, right," she said. "You've got
that look."
He did, too. His mouth held the hint
of a smirk and she was certain his eyes--if she could see them (they were
strategically hidden behind a pair of dark wayfarers)-- would surely confirm
her suspicions that his mind was up to no good. He stood beside her, his
arms behind his back as he leaned on one of the support posts. She leered
at him.
"What are you doing?" he asked innocently.
"Asking you to leave," she said cautiously
moving half a step backward.
"Can you swim?"
"I knew it!" she said jumping to her
feet and dropping her book. She threw her hands up in a defensive
pose. "Joshua Lyman, don't you even think it!"
"Well, it's too late now," he said.
"I wasn't thinking anything until you just did that. Not seriously anyway."
"Go away," she said loudly, spying
Sam and Donna approaching across the immense sweep of lawn that sloped
down from the rambling farmhouse.
Ah ha, CJ thought. This is
the game. Divide and conquer. Crafty of them. I would have thought they
would send Josh to occupy Donna.
"Bad move," CJ said. "Sam I might have
trusted, but not you, Josh. No, I know your game, Lyman. Move along."
"To where?"
"I don't care," CJ said edging slightly
to the left so that her feet were firmly in the center of the dock. "To
hell with sisterhood. This is everyone woman for herself. Go play with
Donna."
"Can't," he said.
He had yet to move a muscle in her
direction and was enjoying the tactical maneuvering she was implementing.
He was tempted to fulfill her fears, but he was actually waiting for a
call--he was holding his cell phone.
"What do you mean you can't?" CJ asked.
"Why can't you?"
"Don't know," he said, hearing the
others approach. "Just not supposed to."
"What are you two doing?" Sam asked.
He and Donna strolled along the timeworn
planks, enjoying the bright sun and lack of humidity. Josh turned to answer
and caught a blur in the corner of his vision. Reactions and instincts
he was still learning to understand and cope with kicked in; he jerked
swiftly to the side in time to see CJ lunge toward him then overbalance
as he moved. Her momentum carried her forward and she was unable to stop
herself before her feet left the solid surface of the dock.
She shrieked a curse as she hit the
water.
"What the hell!" Sam shouted as he
ran to the edge and watched CJ treading water amid ever widening ripples.
"Joshua!" she shouted.
"I didn't...," he paused and shook
his head. "What were you doing?"
"Beating you to the punch," she said.
"Way to go," Sam replied. "You sure
showed him."
Sam offered his hand to CJ, who promptly
splashed him with a vindictive slap on the water. Donna hung back, biting
her lip to keep from laughing. Sam was taking the brunt of CJ's ire while
Josh stood to the side, watching the spectacle, with a bemused expression.
He snapped from his solitary state as his phone rang.
Donna watched his expression change
from attentive to startled as he listened to the caller. She drew closer,
curious what the trouble was. As she moved forward, Josh started down the
dock at a steady pace.
"No... no, that's okay, Stanley," he
said as he passed her. "Right now's fine... Yeah, sure."
He walked away at a steady clip. Donna
stared after him and reigned in her concern. She had heard the name and
seen Josh's expression.
Why is he talking to Stanley?, she
wondered. What's going on now? What's wrong?
*****************
Josh sat on the eastern steps of the
wrap-around porch that ringed the 200-year-old clapboard house. The sky
was a mixture of neon pink and dark azure; a soft evening breeze kissed
with the taste of wild roses wafted through the warm air, jostling the
wind chimes on the corner of the porch.
"I'm glad you don't mind," Stanley
said after receiving his lengthy response. "It's just that we were in the
middle of our card game, a couple doctors and I play poker once a month..."
"To keep sane," Josh quipped.
"Something like that," Stanley said
with an agreeable chuckle. "Anyway, John--he's a brilliant child therapist,
but no head for civics--he was on a toot about that filibuster. I said
that there were different rules for the House than for the Senate, but
he wouldn't hear of it. So we end up in this heated discussion on the necessity
or lack thereof of such things. Well, for one reason or another, neither
of us were both at the table for the last couple sessions, but tonight
we will be, and I want to finish this thing."
"You want to win the argument," Josh
observed.
"I want to be informed when I debate,"
Stanley replied.
"Sounding a little defensive there,
Doc," Josh said mildly.
"You aren't qualified to analyze me,"
he chuckled.
"Says you," Josh said. "It just seems
to me the easiest thing to do would have been for you to open a book for
your answer. That didn't occur to you?"
"I don't understand these things, no
matter how much I read," Stanley said. "I know the basics, but I recalled
that you were very good at explaining the minutia of the hows and whys
of governance and political strategy to the uninitiated like me. So, I
decided to turn to my expert. Do you mind?"
"No," Josh said. "You know me. I could
talk politics all day."
"You do," Stanley offered.
"Oh yeah, I do," Josh said.
"So, how have you been?" the therapist
asked. "You can take that anyway you like."
"Busy," Josh said instantly. "It's
reelection season for the next year and a half. I am on the verge of embarking
on the greatest intentional self-assault to the mental faculties and physical
stamina anyone who wears a tie to work will ever undergo."
"And you're loving every second of
it," Stanley sighed. "Are you ready for this?"
"No one's ever ready," Josh said confidently.
"But I'm comfortable with chaos."
Stanley laughed though he refrained
from agreeing. He thanked Josh again for his explanation and left the door
open for him to call if Josh needed to talk about anything. After he disconnected,
Josh sat quietly.
Am I ready to do this? he wondered.
It never occurred to him that he wouldn't
be until that moment. But he realized he wasn't the same man who served
as Bartlet's senior political director in the last campaign. That Joshua
Lyman knew nothing of real fear; he didn't know the reality behind so many
of the issues the campaign boasted to improve: better health care, victim's
rights and stricter gun control.
They were just policy issues then.
Now, they were personal history. That Josh Lyman knew no limits; there
was nothing he couldn't do because he was invincible. This Josh Lyman knew
differently. There were cracks in the mental structure that crafted the
strategy the last time; faults and fissures that though small could add
up to chasms-- after all, something as inconsequential as music had nearly
caused a nervous breakdown. This Joshua Lyman had restrictions and boundaries
and because of them knew he was not capable of doing everything the way
he had previously; this time he knew he was not safe from all harm; he
was no longer immortal.
In the midst of this contemplation,
a deluge from above descended upon him. The icy cascade splashed down his
neck and back to the cackle of CJ's laughter. Josh jumped up and whirled
around to see her standing on the porch holding and empty pitcher and sporting
a satisfied grin.
"Fair's fair," she said. Then she noted
the overly startled, almost terrified, look on his face. "Hey, it's just
water."
"What?"
"It's only water, Josh," she said looking
at him inquisitively. "You won't melt. Trust me. Are you all right?"
"Fine," he said shaking his head, reorienting
himself. "I was... Why did you do that?"
"You threw me in the pond," she argued.
"You threw yourself in," he said annoyed
but starting to see the humor of the moment.
"Why would I do that?"
"Why do women do anything?"
CJ narrowed her eyes and decided that
she had read his earlier alarm wrong. She never thought about Josh as being
frail mentally, even after she was told he had been diagnosed with Post
Traumatic Stress Disorder. If anything, it made him more of a warrior in
her eyes. But the look of shock that appeared on his face as she doused
him with the ice water sparked a burst of concern in her. It faded as soon
as he made his previous remark.
"You egomaniacal, chauvinistic, self-centered
jackass!" she shouted. "I was minding my own business..."
"Dumping water down my back is now
your business," Josh asked quizzically as he entered the house with CJ
fast on his heels. "Did Leo reassign you?"
"I give good as I get," she said as
they climbed the stairs toward the bedrooms. "You're just mad I got you
back. I can keep up with the boys."
"With legs like yours I'm not surprised,"
he said entering the room he was sharing with Sam.
He dug into his bag and pulled out
a dry sweatshirt and peeled off his soaked T-shirt. CJ stood in the doorway
seething and glowering at him.
"Yeah, go for the easy punch," she
said uncowed. "Make tall girl jokes."
"Do you know what your problem is?"
he asked as he turned around pulling the sweatshirt over his head. "You
can't..."
He paused as she blanched and a look
of horror appeared in her eyes. She tried to quickly return her face to
the annoyed pinch it held before but failed. The vivid marks on his chest,
one a star shape the other a taut straight seam, assaulted her eyes.
"Sorry," she said catching his expression.
"I've just never seen..."
"They're just scars, CJ," he said mildly.
"Proof that it healed. You had your appendix taken out years ago, right?
So you've got one, too."
"I know," she said softly.
"CJ, look at me," he said.
She lifted her eyes tentatively to
his.
"They're like tattoos," he said. "Souvenirs
I'll never lose from a wild night in Virginia."
Donna stood in the hallway, several
feet from the door where they could not see her but she could hear them
talking. She froze in her steps when she caught the gist of the conversation.
She had seen the scars before--during various stages of healing. Like CJ
she was appalled the first time she saw them (of course they were still
new when Donna first saw them; she made an ill-timed trip to see him in
the hospital and saw a nurse changing the bandages at a time when the sutures
were still fresh and Josh was mainly unconscious). Thereafter, any sight
of them was an improvement on the first viewing. She knew Josh was self-conscious
about the marks on some level and also in a strange way, proud as well,
as though they were badges of courage. He told her once they were like
the tattoo his grandfather was given in the camp at Birkenau; proof that
hate existed and yet he was strong enough to survive it.
When CJ stepped out of the room, Donna
hastily walked the opposite way down the hall as though she was just arriving.
CJ followed her and sighed contemplatively.
"What's up?" Donna asked as CJ sat
on the edge of her bed in the room they shared.
"Oh, nothing," she said listlessly.
"I just.... I admire you, Donna."
"You do?"
"Yeah," CJ said.
"Why?" Donna asked sharply. "I mean,
thank you. That means a lot coming from you, CJ, but I'm curious why you
said it."
"A lot of reasons," CJ said. "I was
just talking to.... I just think that maybe we don't give you enough credit
somedays--that we take you for granted. I also wanted to say uou really
did do a fantastic job with the Kick-Off the other night."
"Thank you," Donna said, genuinely
grateful.
"We sometimes forget that even though
Josh is your primary task master, you serve the President, too," CJ said.
****************
Evening rolled through the countryside,
bringing with it ominous clouds and a sky that grumbled more loudly than
Leo after meetings with the budget committee. The wind picked up and began
to gust, driving the staff inside. The ear splitting claps of thunder rattled
the windowpanes and lightening sliced through the blackened sky. The noise
made discussions nearly impossible and, even with the multimillion-dollar
upgrades to the home, the lights flickered.
President Bartlet held court in the
immense living room, discussing American history, the social importance
of baseball and scads of trivia he had been compiling for years with no
outlet to use. There was no discussion of current politics, no mention
of the campaign. The staff lounged amid the clatter and shriek of the storm
raging on the other side of the wall. As midnight rolled around, the sleepless
croud straggled their way to their rooms--grateful for the reprieve from
their leader.
*****************
Charlie stepped onto the porch, taking
in a deep breath of the cool, refreshed air. He was only slightly surprised
to see Josh sitting in the corner with his feet propped up on the rail,
staring into the smooth darkness.
"Hey, Josh," Charlie said. "You mind
if I join you?"
"Go ahead," he replied, gesturing to
the rocking chair beside him.
"What are you doing out here?"
"Couldn't sleep," Josh said. "Sam murmurs.
I think he's dreaming that he's arguing with Toby about cutting paragraphs
in a speech. It was either suffocate him with a pillow or leave the room."
"Glad you took the high road," Charlie
nodded.
"Toby won't be," Josh said. "I think
Sam's winning the argument."
They sat in silence for several minutes.
Charlie wasn't tired either. After three years with the President, his
body was accustomed to very little sleep and jarring that routine, if only
for a weekend, was not something he felt was wise. Finding Josh on the
porch in an even mood provided him with an opportunity he had waited a
long time to find.
"Josh, can I ask you a personal question?"
"Go ahead," Josh said mildly. "But
the answer is no."
"No?" Charlie answered, surprised.
"I never blamed you--not for a second,"
Josh said.
"Um, how did you know..."
"I've been waiting," Josh said. "I
knew you were going to ask one day. I wanted to make sure I had an honest
answer for you so I've thought about it. It's not your fault they shot
at us--you know that, right?"
Charlie nodded. He carried a lot of
guilt with him over that night in Virginia. He knew the only reason he
was targeted was the color of his skin. It was not the first time he encountered
hate or prejudice, but it was the first time others were caught in the
crossfire--literally.
"I don't pretend to know what it's
like of you," Josh continued. "But I do know what it's like to be judged
because 'your kind' are not what a gang of thugs thinks is the 'right
kind.' I haven't faced it much, but I know a little something about
it."
"Yeah," Charlie said. "My mother taught
me there were always going to be people like that, but that there were
good people out there, too. She told me not to hate everyone just because
of a few bad ones. It sounded simple when I was younger. Now, I know it's
not."
"Mother's have a way of doing that,"
Josh said. "My mother could explain global thermonuclear war in five simple
sentences. I don't know how she does it, but she can make sense of anything--even
the senseless acts of others. She doesn't let them off the hook or lessen
what they do, but she can see them for what they are."
"Do you see her often?"
"No," Josh said. "We play phone tag
and volley e-mail."
"She lives in Connecticut, right?"
"Yeah."
"So, why don't you go see her?" Charlie
asked. "It can't be that far from here."
"Maybe three hours," Josh said.
"You should go," Charlie said encouragingly.
"Who knows how busy you're going to be in the coming months."
Josh said nothing. He shrugged. He
had been thinking about the coming months a lot since his conversation
with Stanley. Much of his enthusiasm for the campaign was shifting into
dread. He looked at his watch. It was just after 2 a.m. He did some quick
figuring and adjusting of his schedule. He could make some calls and take
care of the New York problem in the City if he did this right. He thanked
Charlie and went inside to find a phone to arrange a car and then took
his life into his own hands: he went to wake Leo.
*****************
The sun was a pale yellow in the cloudless
sky as Josh sat on the patio at his mother's house. She was listening with
rapt attention to his retelling of his late night discussion with Leo.
"Poor Leo," Anna Lyman wighed as she
laughed.
"Poor Leo?" Josh repeated. "Mom, did
you listen to a word I just said? Did you hear what he called me?"
"I'm certain he's not the first, Joshua,"
she said calmly taking a seat beside him. "I'm so glad you came. You look
tired, though."
"Please, don't start that," he said.
"This is as good as it gets for the foreseeable future, okay?"
Anna relented and sat quietly for a
moment, wondering whether her son was going to be honest with her about
the reasons for his spontaneous visit. She was pleased (and astounded)
to see him walk in the back door as she poured herself coffee, but she
saw more than just a lack of sleep in his eyes. Try as he might, her son
could not hide things from her face-to-face. Over the phone or in e-mail,
he could fool her, but not face to face. A mother knows when her child
is troubled.
"So tell me," Anna said, placing her
hand on his knee and looking deep into his troubled eyes. "What's wrong,
Joshua?"
"Nothing," he said instantly. "Can't
I visit without there being something wrong?"
"You could," she agreed readily. "But
that's not the case right now, is it? Don't lie to your mother. The sooner
you say what's bothering you, the sooner it will go away. We have so little
time together that I'd prefer not to spend most of it convincing you to
tell me what you obviously wanted to talk about in the first place."
Josh sighed and looked at her hand,
still adorned with her wedding band. Talking to his father was always easier.
Noah Lyman was stoical about trouble, his own and that of others. He dealt
with it pragmatically and efficiently. Josh's mother was another story.
He could never forget how bitterly his mother wept at his sister's death;
he remembered clearly the pain in her eyes when she looked at him, the
survivor of the blaze. Part of Josh would always feel he was the cause
of that pain. From that moment and throughout his life, placing any burden
on his mother made him feel sick.
Josh would have been surprised to learn
his mother knew this. He might have proclaimed his independence from her
when he was young child, but nothing he might do could ever sever the bond
between mother and child.
"Joshua, it hurts me to see you like
this," she said calculatingly.
He looked at her and again saw those
eyes that were filled with so much pain the night Joanie died. Shades of
that time were in her eyes again and again it was directed at him. His
throat felt tight as he eventually spoke.
"I just want to know that I can do
this," he said staring at the floor.
"The campaign?"
"Yeah," he replied. "It's a lot to
take on."
"You've done it before," she encouragingly.
"You don't get intimidated this easily."
"It was easier last time," he said.
"We weren't supposed to win. We were long shots. It's more complicated
this time."
"You take on complicated things every
day," his mother said matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, I'll all have that plus the
campaign this time," he said shaking his head with uncertainty. "It's not
easy all the time to... I mean, some things are just difficult now because...
There's no margin of error this time."
"When is there ever?" she said comfortingly.
"I mean absolutely none," he said vehemently.
"There's just no room in this campaign for mistakes."
"Joshua, you're not a mistake," she
said firmly.
He looked away, refusing to meet her
eyes, and stared into the splendor of her garden in full bloom. The roses,
the ones she griped about so often, sprawled along the stonewall separating
the property from that of the neighbor. Josh could picture his father standing
there, giving his mother helpful and unwanted advice on what she should
do about the temperamental bushes. After a moment of solitude, he could
feel his mother's eyes fixed on him. He slowly turned his head to look
at her again.
"You know very well that Leo McGarry
is a smart and cagey man," she said. "He wouldn't put you in this position
if he didn't think you were the best one for the job. Leo is loyal to his
friends, but his goal is to win. He wouldn't keep you there if he didn't
think you could do this. So, the question is: Do you think you can?"
"I guess," he said with a shrug.
"No, Josh," she said sharply. "None
of this 'I guess.' You know it or you don't. You do nothing half way. Your
father and I raised you better than that. We don't feel sorry for ourselves
in this family; moping doesn't fix anything. Now tell me, what's really
the trouble? Do you honestly feel you can't do this? Are you afraid of
losing?"
"Frankly, yes," he said. "That's never
any fun."
"So then don't," she said simply and
breaking into a warm smile.
"Don't?"
"That's right," she said. "Just don't.
Don't doubt; don't worry; don't wade in fear, and don't lose."
He relented a wan grin and shook his
head. She beamed back at him; pleased to see her pep talk had been heard
and registered.
"Don't lose? Right, gotcha," he remarked
with a smirk. "Anything else?"
"How about doing something about insurance
companies?" she asked. "I'm tired of having to fill out a dozen forms every
time I need a new pair of glasses."
"Why not just ask me to walk on water,
too," he said flatly. "I know you think I'm basically perfect, and mostly
I am, but no one likes a show-off, Mom."
"Always my humble boy," she said as
she leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "Josh, your father and I should
have found some way to instill you with a little more confidence."
*****************
Donna sat at the kitchen table alone
in the pale morning light. The President and First Lady were on their way
to a morning mass; the rest of the staff was apparently enjoying a rare
morning of sleeping in. Donna had not been able to sleep. She was nursing
a cup of coffee, watching the clock--much as she had been since four a.m.
Three and a half hours later, she was surprised Josh was not already down
stairs. He was never a late sleeper--he never slept much at all. She was
hoping to catch a few minutes with him when the others were not around.
She wanted to speak with him alone.
She had no specific topic for discussion.
She just wanted to talk to him. It had been so long since they had done
that. True, they spoke every weekday about work related matters, but there
were no side chats any longer. He no longer asked her how her weekend went;
he no longer asked about what she did when she wasn't at the office; he
no longer asked far-reaching favors of her (like being his caddy); he never
asked her anything any longer unless it was strictly business related.
It was like she had been transported back to the days before their first
Democratic primary together--back to when he neither knew her nor trusted
her.
"Good morning, Donna," Charlie said
as he entered the kitchen.
"Hi, Charlie," she sighed.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said. "I was just waiting
to see if... if anyone else was going to wake up."
"I think they're up," Charlie said.
"I heard CJ and Sam discussing Sam's trip to Memphis next week. Toby's
on the porch writing something."
"And Josh?" she asked, trying to sound
nonchalant.
"I don't know," Charlie said. "He's
not here."
"What?"
"He left last night," Charlie explained.
"Well, I guess it was about three this morning actually. He went to Connecticut
to see his mother."
"Why?" Donna asked suddenly. "What's
wrong?"
"I don't think anything's wrong," Charlie
said. "He and I were talking last night. There was something on his mind,
but he didn't really say what it was. Anyway, I asked him if he had seen
his mother recently and he hadn't. I think it was spur of the moment that
he decided to go. I arranged a car for him and he left. I think he's planning
on staying there tonight so he can meet with the people in New York first
thing Monday."
"Oh," Donna said. The disappointment
in her voice was equally evident on her face.
"Is something wrong, Donna?" Charlie
asked.
"No," she sighed.
"Well, it just seems that you haven't
really been yourself lately," he said. "You seem kind of down."
"No, this is just me," she said. "This
is how things are now."
"Why?"
"I don't know," she answered truthfully.
"I don't know what changed or why."
"Maybe nothing changed," he said. "Maybe
it only seems like it did."
"Huh?"
"I don't know," Charlie offered with
a shrug. "It just seems to me that a lot of stuff never really changes,
we only think it does. That's why we act differently sometimes. How can
you be certain something changed?"
"It feels like they have," she sighed.
"It's just not the same. He... I mean..."
"You're talking about Josh?"
She shrugged then nodded reluctantly.
"I don't think anything's changed,"
Charlie said warmly. "You two still work well together."
"When we work together," Donna said.
"He doesn't need me any more it seems; it makes me wonder if he doesn't
want me around. He treats me like his assistant now."
"You are his assistantm" Charlied pointed
out.
"Yeah, but before, it was more than
that," she said. "I felt like... Well, I was his assistant, but he didn't
treat me that way. I felt like we were, not equals, but more like partners.
I thought at least we were friends. Now, he's always dismissing me. It's
like he wants me to go away or that I bother him."
"That must be hard to take from someone
you trust and respect so much," Charlie said. "Have you told him?"
"Anytime I try to speak to him, he
sends me away or he leaves," she said sadly. "He doesn't like me any more.
I must ahve messed up something or ssaid something I shouldn't have and
now he wants me to go away."
"For what it's worth, I don't think
that's true," Charlie said. "He was really proud of the way you pulled
the whole campaign banquet off; I heard him telling Sam so. It's obvious
he has a lot of faith in you, Donna."
"He does?"
"Yeah, I'm sure," Charlie nodded. "Things
aren't always what they seem, Donna. This thing with Josh, it might not
be anything you've done. It could be a lot of things, but I'm sure he's
not mad at you or sick of you. I just don't see that."
She smiled and thanked Charlie. She
got up from the table, determined not to let the present circumstances
sap her spirit or enthusiasm for what lay ahead with the campaign. She
didn't know what was going on with Josh, and she didn't know how she could
find out, but she was certain he was not being honest with her. Still,
Charlie was an impartial third party. Unlike her roommate (who despised
Josh on several levels), Charlie knew both she and Josh equally well. If
he didn't seen a major rift, maybe he was right. Maybe nothing had really
changed it was all in how she was looking at things.
Donna thought about that as she climbed
the stairs, but while it made her feel better, somehow it didn't completely
rectify things. Something was different between them. She wasn't sure finding
out what that was would be productive, but she also couldn't continue on
with things the way they were. She could not continue like this much longer.
