Title: Les Seuls Mots Qui Importent
Author: Chocolatequeen
Rating: G
Genre: Angst, post Gaza
A/N: I spent some time with a thesaurus and altavista trying to find a
title. Eventually a settled on this one, meaning "The Only Words."
I may not speak German, but I understood what the flight attendant was saying—it was the standard request to turn off all electrical equipment. Still, I waited to hear it in English before complying; I didn't want to close my connection to Donna.
It's amazing how quickly your perspective can change. Not 24 hours earlier, I'd been complaining to Toby about the ridiculously long emails Donna sent me, saying that her method of communication seemed to be "le mot mo'." I know, 760 verbal and all I could come up with was some lame homeboy wannabe comment, but it didn't have to be funny. Toby and I were bonding! Our women were gone, and we were doing as men do—complaining about the messages they sent home.
Now though these emails are my most recent picture of Donnatella. In them, I can see Gaza through her eyes, with her compassion and sensitivity. I spent the entire flight reading and re-reading ever word, and I was loathe to give them up. However, shutting down my laptop was one step closer to seeing her, so I reluctantly obeyed, turning it off and replacing it in my backpack.
But as I sit here, staring at her still form, I find myself longing for the sterile comfort her words provided. The misery they expressed was not her own, it belonged to those who live in Gaza. Here in this hospital room, I'm surrounded by stark reminders of her pain, and I don't know how much more I can handle.
I know I'm on the verge of an attack, I have been since CJ gave me the words I'd been secretly dreading since Donna left. Somehow, I had known something would happen to her. I tried to hope as we all watched the scene unfold on CNBC, but deep down I knew she was hurt. I think my last hope died when Andi called to Toby. I'd been clinging to the thought that Donna was fine and she couldn't get through, but that clearly wasn't true. If Donna was able, she would be calling... I knew it, and they all knew it. Hearing that Donna was in the car only confirmed what I already knew.
I tried to stay in control, to stay calm like Donna did when I was injured, but I've never been able to keep it together like she can. Of course, it didn't help that I had CJ and Will coming up with worse and worse descriptions of her condition... how did we move from significant to life- threatening anyway?
I think if Leo hadn't told me to go, I would have had another Oval Office meltdown. As it is, I'm still not sure I won't crack, but at least I won't yell at the most powerful man in the world.
"If there's someplace you'd rather be, everyone would understand."
Words again, this time relieving. Those words released me from my responsibilities and freed me to be with Donna. They told me that my friends understood how lost I am without her. They banished my turmoil, telling me I didn't have to choose between my country and my Donna.
My Donna. I slowly reach out and take her hand, reveling in the way those words sound at the same time as I ponder (with no small amount of trepidation) how frail her hand looks in mine. Frail has never been a word I'd use to describe Donna—slender, lithe, willowy, graceful... but never frail.
She's frail now though, and it scares me. I'm scared that despite all the words that have been said today, there are some that will remain unspoken. I've told her many things, I've even given her compliments, but I've never told her...
No. The words are burning on the tip of my tongue, but I refuse to say them for the first time to a cold, silent room. I want Donna to be able to hear them, and I want her to be able to speak in return.
So instead of speaking, I sit here silently, willing her to wake up so I can give her the only words that matter.
I may not speak German, but I understood what the flight attendant was saying—it was the standard request to turn off all electrical equipment. Still, I waited to hear it in English before complying; I didn't want to close my connection to Donna.
It's amazing how quickly your perspective can change. Not 24 hours earlier, I'd been complaining to Toby about the ridiculously long emails Donna sent me, saying that her method of communication seemed to be "le mot mo'." I know, 760 verbal and all I could come up with was some lame homeboy wannabe comment, but it didn't have to be funny. Toby and I were bonding! Our women were gone, and we were doing as men do—complaining about the messages they sent home.
Now though these emails are my most recent picture of Donnatella. In them, I can see Gaza through her eyes, with her compassion and sensitivity. I spent the entire flight reading and re-reading ever word, and I was loathe to give them up. However, shutting down my laptop was one step closer to seeing her, so I reluctantly obeyed, turning it off and replacing it in my backpack.
But as I sit here, staring at her still form, I find myself longing for the sterile comfort her words provided. The misery they expressed was not her own, it belonged to those who live in Gaza. Here in this hospital room, I'm surrounded by stark reminders of her pain, and I don't know how much more I can handle.
I know I'm on the verge of an attack, I have been since CJ gave me the words I'd been secretly dreading since Donna left. Somehow, I had known something would happen to her. I tried to hope as we all watched the scene unfold on CNBC, but deep down I knew she was hurt. I think my last hope died when Andi called to Toby. I'd been clinging to the thought that Donna was fine and she couldn't get through, but that clearly wasn't true. If Donna was able, she would be calling... I knew it, and they all knew it. Hearing that Donna was in the car only confirmed what I already knew.
I tried to stay in control, to stay calm like Donna did when I was injured, but I've never been able to keep it together like she can. Of course, it didn't help that I had CJ and Will coming up with worse and worse descriptions of her condition... how did we move from significant to life- threatening anyway?
I think if Leo hadn't told me to go, I would have had another Oval Office meltdown. As it is, I'm still not sure I won't crack, but at least I won't yell at the most powerful man in the world.
"If there's someplace you'd rather be, everyone would understand."
Words again, this time relieving. Those words released me from my responsibilities and freed me to be with Donna. They told me that my friends understood how lost I am without her. They banished my turmoil, telling me I didn't have to choose between my country and my Donna.
My Donna. I slowly reach out and take her hand, reveling in the way those words sound at the same time as I ponder (with no small amount of trepidation) how frail her hand looks in mine. Frail has never been a word I'd use to describe Donna—slender, lithe, willowy, graceful... but never frail.
She's frail now though, and it scares me. I'm scared that despite all the words that have been said today, there are some that will remain unspoken. I've told her many things, I've even given her compliments, but I've never told her...
No. The words are burning on the tip of my tongue, but I refuse to say them for the first time to a cold, silent room. I want Donna to be able to hear them, and I want her to be able to speak in return.
So instead of speaking, I sit here silently, willing her to wake up so I can give her the only words that matter.