Coping Universe I: To Strive (1/4)
Jun. 27th, 2004 07:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
waldos_writingsCoping Universe I: To Strive
By Waldo.
Part 1/4, See Part 0 for notes and disclaimers
I don't remember getting here. Well, I
do, but I don't. Things keep flashing through my
mind like one of those three frame flashback
things they do on t.v. You know, the ones where
it's long enough not to be subliminal (which is
illegal), but not long enough for you to really
look at, process, understand.
I'm sitting in a waiting room surrounded
by senior staff and a shitload of Secret Service.
The chairs are wood and burlap and despite the
padding, hard. And it reminds me of how hard the
ground was where C.J. and I landed. She's okay,
thank God. She didn't have a chance to get her
hands up before hitting the concrete, and
consequently banged her head. But she's okay. I
remember hearing her asking if the President was
dead. She was a little confused once the gunfire
had died down, but then again, weren't we all?
It happened so fast.
So damn fast.
It was just luck. I heard the shots, I
looked up… and I saw… him. Them. Something. A
flash. I've been trying to sort it all out
because I know Secret Service will eventually be
taking our statements, but I don't know what to
say other than it was instinct. I don't know a
damn thing about guns other than way too many
people own them, but when I looked up, it was
like someone shone a beacon. I saw the light hit
off the muzzle and I just moved. C.J. was two
steps away. I took one, looked up, realized I
didn't have time for the other and just leapt.
No one knows there's a hole in the back
of my coat. And I'm going to keep it that way if
I can. I felt the drag of the bullet through the
fabric, the rush of air and heat, but I was too
focused on getting C.J. all the way to the
ground. I saw what was coming, she didn't. I
had to do something or she'd be dead.
The way we went down was awkward. I
tried to brace myself with a hand on either side
of her head so my weight wouldn't land on her.
In the process my watch caught on her necklace.
Once we were down, I tried to roll away and the
chain snagged. Then glass shattered over my
head. I didn't have time to try and untangle my
arm; I just pulled and covered my face to keep it
from getting too scratched up and to keep the
glass out of my eyes. And when I could look up
again, the whole world had descended into chaos.
There were already paramedics there. One
of them grabbed me and said something, but I
couldn't hear over the commotion. He started
running his hands over me, through my hair
looking for any injuries, but as far as I could
tell I was fine. I shook him off and aimed him
at C.J. In my head I could still hear the thump
of her head on the ground, even as the sirens
went off and secret service agents were shooting
back and everyone started screaming and shoving.
I grabbed the first Secret Service Agent
I could find and got an update. The President
and Leo were headed back to the White House, so
apparently was Zoey. No one knew anything else
about anyone else, so I appointed myself
head-counter. I made a mental list of everyone
who had made the trip. The President, Leo, Josh,
Toby, C.J., Me and Charlie. Oh, and Zoey. I
saw the mental checklist in my head and checked
off the President, Leo and Zoey, since Secret
Service said they were already in cars. I saw
C.J. first, checked her off and went to see if
she was hurt. She was clearly scared. Which, I
suppose is healthy. Not being scared after
something like this would be a clear indication
of some sort of mental instability, I suppose.
She kept staring at the shot out windows of the
police car and I found myself trying to pull on
the back of my suit jacket surreptitiously to
cover up the small piece that was missing in the
bottom hem.
Once I knew she was okay, I started back
into the crowd. Toby, Charlie, Josh… once I knew
where those three were, I could calm down. I was
still scanning the crowd when I heard Toby
yelling from behind me. At first I thought he
was hurt. His voice was weak and unsteady. But
then I saw him catch Josh as he fell over and my
stomach dropped.
Part of me knew the best thing to do was
to grab a paramedic, a police man, Secret
Service, someone and make sure they were coming
to help, but after the briefest hesitation, I
just ran for him myself. I don't remember the
paramedics showing up to assess and treat him. I
just remember that I was holding his hand and
trying to talk to him, keep him awake and then an
elbow in my ribs pushed me out of the way. And
then it was happening again. I don't remember
moving back to Josh's side. But after I got
shoved back a second time, C.J. grabbed my elbow
and pulled me away, keeping a hand on my arm to
stop me from trying to move back again. In the
mean time I checked off Toby and Josh, we knew
where they were and Josh was getting help.
I turned and looked at Toby, "Have you seen Charlie?"
Toby put a hand on my shoulder, "Yeah, he's fine.
I saw Secret Service try and get a paramedic to
check him out a second ago. But when I saw him
he was up and talking to people, so he must be
okay, right?"
I just nodded and looked back at Josh.
Everyone was accounted for. Now I could have my
own private little freak out about this all. I
watched as they laid him on the ground, started
taking vitals and tried to find an exit wound. I
couldn't for the life of me remember if no exit
wound was good or bad. It meant the bullet was
still in there, which of course was bad. But
that meant it hadn't destroyed any tissue on the
other side of his body. That was good right? I
had no idea.
I remember the blood. I remember that no
matter how much gauze they packed onto him, it
didn't stop. They'd take off the blood soaked
layers that weren't directly against his skin and
throw them on the ambulance floor before
replacing them with white cotton, soon to be
stained red. They said one of us could ride with
him. I didn't ask, didn't defer. The only
person I felt might have had a better claim to
going with him would be Leo, since he'd known
Josh longer and was his boss. But Leo had been
shoved in a car and I was still there, so I
climbed in after they loaded the stretcher. I
sat where they pointed and was relieved to notice
that I could hold his hand.
I wrapped the fingers of my right hand
around his fingers. His forearms were strapped
down, but I was able to bend his arm at the elbow
and hold his hand close to my heart. They kept
trying to immobilize his head, but he'd panic
whenever they brought the strap across his
forehead, so they eventually quit trying after
getting a vague promise to lie still voluntarily.
I brushed my other hand over his hair as they
loaded up their gear and started away from this
unholy disaster area. Every once in a while, I'd
get my hands pushed out of the way as they put an
oxygen mask over him or some sort of monitor was
run over his shoulder and down onto his chest.
So I moved my left hand down to rest on his
wrist. On his pulse. His eyes were still open
and every once in a while he'd say something, not
usually something that made sense, but I still
wanted that reassurance that his heart was, in
fact, still beating.
He whimpered when they moved him or stuck
another tube in him or shoved more bandages in
the gaping hole in his chest. He called my name
a few times. I wasn't sure if he was asking for
me - that he didn't realize I was with him - or
if he was asking for a little extra reassurance.
That he wanted me to push his hair back and tell
him he'd be okay, because that's what I did
whenever he'd call for me.
Other than my name, not a whole lot of
what he said made sense. I heard something about
Illinois and I think that maybe he asked for his
dad once. I didn't know what to say to that,
since his dad had died when we were on the
campaign trail. Belatedly I wondered if he
wasn't asking if he was going to be joining his
dad or something. I'm glad I didn't think that
in the back of that ambulance, because I probably
would have yelled at him for it. The last thing
Josh needed was me yelling at him for anything,
but the idea that he may have been resigning
himself to die pissed me off like very little had
in a long, long time. I heard him say something
about Gage Whitney, which made me smile a little.
Of all the times for him to finally remember
where I was working when he came to get me.
Then there was more chaos. We stopped
with a lurch and lights exploded in on us and
Josh's hand was ripped from mine as they moved
him into the hospital. I sat stunned for a
second. By the time I was able to move again,
Josh had been taken into the hospital and I was
running to catch up. As I hit the door I heard
him call my name again. I started swearing at
myself for not being there, for letting him get
more scared and confused than he already was.
"I'm here, Josh!" I yelled from the back of the
crowd I was getting swallowed in. C.J. and Toby
had gotten in before I did, and they were in the
car behind us.
My heart was working overtime. Like it
thought it could pump enough blood for Josh and
me both. It occurred to me that I should find
out my blood type and donate if we were a match.
Well, I should donate anyway, but especially if
we were a match.
I pushed past people - Leo had appeared
from somewhere - it occurred to me that Leo
should be back at the White House, what didn't I
know? - and got back to Josh's side. He was
trying to move, kept pulling his head up, which I
knew he wasn't supposed to do, but apparently
that didn't register for him. He was saying
something about not going to a meeting.
Something about… New Hampshire? Oh God. "We went
to New Hampshire. We both did. You came and got
me." I went with you, because even a partnership
at a remarkable law firm and an engagement to a
'society girl' wasn't enough to keep me from
getting caught up in your infectious excitement.
And then he was gone. Whisked behind
more doors and more lights and more people. And
I was just another guy in the hall,
I stood at the door, trying to see in,
but they'd gone around a corner and there was
really nothing to watch, until Leo came up and
mumbled something to me. I knew I needed to ask
why Leo was at the hospital at all, but I had the
uncomfortable feeling that someone had wrapped
about nine wool scarves around my head. I
couldn't hear well and my vision was fuzzy on the
edges. I think one of those scarves had been
shoved in through my ears and wrapped around my
brain, because everything was fuzzy there too.
The look I gave Leo must have telegraphed
exactly how confused I felt, because suddenly
there was a nurse there and more hands going
through my hair, looking for a bump or blood that
my dark hair would cover. "No, no, I'm fine," I
pushed the nurse back. "I just… where's the
men's room?" I asked quickly, suddenly needing
to know.
I followed a fuzzy, wavering finger
across the hall as fast as I could move without
falling flat on my face or my ass. I didn't even
make it to a stall. I wrenched on a sink and
threw up everything I'd even thought about eating
for the past month.
There was a hand on my back after a
while, but at the time I couldn't look up or say
anything.
When I could look up and breathe again,
Leo was there handing me a cool, damp
hospital-issue washcloth.
"Shock's a bitch, isn't it?" he asked me kindly.
I nodded numbly, still not finding the
words to find out why he was there. I hadn't
called. Maybe C.J. or Toby had. But how had he
gotten there so fast? I could only conclude that
he was there when we arrived. But I couldn't
find my voice long enough to whisper "why?"
"Better?" he asked.
I nodded again.
"Good we need to talk."
Leo led me out of the bathroom and into
one of the smaller family counseling rooms. As
he shut the door he said, "First off all, the
President is going to be fine."
I looked up sharply and Leo's eyes went
wide for a second and then softened. "He's going
to be fine. He was hit in the side, but he never
lost consciousness and he didn't lose a whole lot
of blood from what I can see. In fact, he faked
it so well, we were on our way back to the White
House until Secret Service realized something was
wrong about half way back. He's going into
surgery and should be out in just a few hours."
I nodded again. It seemed to be all I
was capable of all of a sudden. I felt as
useless as one of those stupid little wobble-head
dogs that people put in their back windshield.
"Sam," Leo was saying quietly. "I have
to get back to the White House. I have to meet
with half the planet. You've known Josh a long
time, right?"
Another nod. I was a speechwriter for
the goddamn President of the United States and I
couldn't find a single word to express myself.
"I knew Josh's dad, so I've probably
known him longer than you have, but I really
think you know him better."
My gut clenched. I knew where this was
going and the vice around my head was turned
another few degrees. Don't make me do this,
don't put this on me, don't make me do this was
all I could think.
"I'm going to call his mom as soon as I
get back to the White House. If she hasn't heard
by now, it won't be long, but with the airports
being closed, it's going to take a while for her
to find a way to get here. Sam, someone needs to
be here to make decisions for Josh until he can
do it for himself."
I hung my head. Neither of us would say
the words. Neither of us would actually
articulate that if it came down to making
decisions for Josh it would be because we needed
to decide if he lived or died. If he became an
organ donor or not. I slouched in my chair.
"Sam, I don't know anyone he'd trust more."
The damn wobble dog struck again. I
didn't want the job. God, I didn't want the job.
But Leo was right. Josh trusted me.
I must have looked as gray and ashen as I
felt, because Leo grabbed my arm again. When I
surfaced from the downward spiral my thoughts had
been on, Leo was saying my name in a way that
told me that he'd said it more than once already.
I shook myself back to the moment. Josh was
going into surgery. He'd be okay. It wouldn't
come to this. He'd be okay.
Leo nodded. "I'll talk to the hospital
staff on my way out. Why don't you go rinse your
face off again and join everyone in the other
room."
Damn wobble-dog. At this point even I
was starting to worry about where my voice had
gone. I knew that I'd eventually have to leave
the secret service perimeter and that as soon as
I did, there'd be press. And I'd have to be able
to say something to them. I'm the goddamn deputy
director of communications. I needed to
communicate dammit!
I felt so useless.
I stood up and headed back to the
bathroom. As I dragged myself down the hall, I
shoved my hands in my pockets. C.J.'s necklace
was still there. I'd pulled it off my watch and
shoved it there so I could give it back. Then
Toby started yelling and C.J. and I started
running…
I fingered the cool metal links.
Maybe not entirely useless.
I wandered around for a while after I
washed my face. When I started looking around
again, I noticed that Leo had left. I assumed
he'd talked to the charge nurse or whoever about
me signing papers for Josh, so I didn't ask. I
went up and down halls, found the cafeteria.
Found the idea of eating or drinking anything
utterly revolting. I did get a pack of gum to
try and get the taste of bile out of the back of
my mouth.
Eventually one of the Secret Service guys
found me and kindly herded me back up to where
C.J., Charlie, Toby and everyone were waiting.
Apparently Mrs.… Dr. Bartlett had come in and
explained that the President was going to be
fine. She then explained what had happened to
Josh and how long he'd be in surgery. When I
came in the room, C.J. grabbed me by the elbow
and steered me into a corner and caught me up on
everything. I nodded a lot, but still hadn't
found my voice. As shaken as she was, C.J. was
still trying to be strong for me. I guess how
much this was affecting me was pretty apparent.
She hugged me and told me everything would be
okay before leading me over to sit on a chair
near her.
Dr. Bartlett asked me if I had any
questions and I just shook my head. Still no
words, but at least the wobble-dog had learned a
new trick.
Leo sent some junior staffer whose name I
didn't know and still don't know over with a
clean shirt for me and my briefcase. I think he
brought Toby some stuff too, but I wasn't really
looking.
I hadn't noticed the blood on my shirt or
my jacket. Between the bullet hole and the
blood, the jacket was a total write off, so I
took it and the shirt and balled them up and
stuffed them in one of those big hospital hampers
after I changed. I put my tie back on so I'd be
somewhat passable when the press caught me, but
that was mostly just functioning on instinct.
When you worked at the White House, you weren't
afforded 'bad hair days.'
I grabbed my briefcase and went back into
the waiting room. I was drawing little abstract
patterns on a note pad for a while when C.J. came
over and sat next to me. She told me that Josh
was strong and he'd pull through. I smiled at
the encouragement, but still couldn't make my
voice work. Besides C.J. didn't know Josh the
way I knew Josh. C.J. didn't know how Josh and I
met.
When most people figure out that Josh and
I have a history, we tell them we met at school.
Which is true enough. What we don't tell them is
that we met in… in a hospital, not too unlike
this one.
I went to a special corporate law program
for pre-law students at Yale the summer after my
sophomore year at Princeton. Josh had just
started law school and had stayed the summer to
get ahead in his classes so he could take a few
more electives. We were waiting for a movie at
the theater near campus. Something big was
coming out that Friday night - I've asked Josh,
he can't remember the title either. Anyway, we
were in line waiting for it. Not together, we
didn't know each other then. I was with Lisa and
he was with some buddies of his. We all leaned
against the building as we waited for them to
open for ticket sales and chatted with the people
we were with and the people around us.
Then a girl, one of about eight in the
giggling pack in front of Lisa and me screamed.
The next thing I saw was the blinding headlights
of a car jumping the curb and plowing into the
crowd.
Josh got hit from behind and went up onto
the hood and into the windshield. Two of the
guys he was with were pinned against the building
and crushed. I pushed Lisa out of the way and
she escaped unharmed, but I had hit the ground
hard, earning me a little road rash and a few
shallow cuts on my arm and face.
I sent Lisa to call the paramedics while
I ran up to check on Josh and the driver. The
driver turned out to be completely shit faced and
only had a bruise from his airbag deploying.
Josh had cuts from the windshield and a clearly
broken leg.
Not knowing what else to do, I made him
stay still until the paramedics could assess him
for spinal injuries. I stayed there, with one
hand on his shoulder, introducing myself and
talking about all kinds if inane shit like
classes and how well the Dodgers were doing that
year just to keep him still.
God, what a place to meet someone. At a
freak car accident. When the paramedics got
there, they pressed me into service, asking me
what happened, handing me the I.V. bag to hold
and getting me to help lift the backboard onto
the stretcher. There were about seven injuries
all told from that incident, and the school only
had two ambulances. They took Josh and me and
one of the giggling girls who got hit with a sign
that fell when the car hit the building in the
first ambulance.
They braced his leg in the ambulance.
Gave him some kind of pain shot, warned him it
would hurt like hell and jerked and jammed it
around. I don't know what possessed me, but I
took his hand. Held his hand while they did it.
Just so he wouldn't be alone I guess.
His leg was a mess. They had to put pins
in it and stuff for a while. I remember that I'd
go visit him in the hospital every other day or
so. I was never sure why I couldn't just walk
away from him, but I couldn't. When he was
finally released from the hospital he had this
huge metal brace and crutches and the whole nine
yards. It turned out that he lived about three
blocks from me in one of the apartment complexes
not far from my building. So I started giving
him a ride to and from campus each day. He felt
bad, of course, so he insisted on making it up to
me. I told him not to be silly, but Josh will
be… Josh. So I let him buy lunch each Friday,
since we both finished classes at one.
Hell of a way to start a friendship.
Hell of a way to end one too.
I derailed that train of thought as fast
as I could. He survived that; he'll survive
this. When we'd been in the emergency room that
first time, they'd put us in the same room. He
was on more morphine than most of the critical
ward and finally feeling no pain of his own.
They poured what they insisted was betadine, but
felt more like citric acid on my cuts and cleaned
them out, and he called me names. Made me laugh.
I should have been pissed at some guy I didn't
know making fun of me as they cleaned small rocks
and bits of glass out of my skin, but I couldn't
be. I just kept laughing. His leg ended up
being broken in three places, but he was making
me laugh to get over a few little cuts, only one
of which even left a scar.
I didn't know I loved him back then. But
I did. It was different. It wasn't at all
sexual. I had Lisa and I was happy with her. I
loved being with Lisa in every sense of the word.
But the time I spent eating cold pizza and
drinking beer with Josh while we poured over our
textbooks or threw popcorn at the t.v. screen (we
gave up on the theater) were really great too. I
missed him horribly when I headed back to
Princeton in August.
I never realized that it was more than
just missing a good friend. I had friends. Lots
of them. But I still found myself picking up the
phone on the weekends Lisa went home to New York
to see what he was up to, if he could get away or
if I should jump on a train to (where's Yale) and
later D.C. Which was great for a while. We saw
each other every few months, but then I was
getting ready for the Bar and he was getting more
involved in things on Capital Hill.
We kept in touch. E-mails almost every
day, birthday cards and Christmas presents. We
didn't see each other much though and I missed
him. I was floored when I heard he was standing
in my office at Gage Whitney. It had been almost
two years since I'd seen him last. And that time
was because he drafted me into some damn bike
ride across the state of Iowa. He'd taken up
bike riding as part of his physical therapy and
decided this Ragbride thing was a good idea for
both of us. I've almost forgiven him for the way
I limped and creaked for the three weeks
following that ride.
Josh was strong. He'd beat this. He had to. I needed him too much.
I heard the door open and someone was
starting to drone on about how long Josh would be
in surgery and how we could go home. Like hell.
Twelve hours. They were going to be cutting into
him and sewing up and reconstructing for twelve
hours. I knew I couldn't possibly stay the whole
time, no matter how much I wanted to. This was a
press magnet. They'd eventually need Toby and me
to go back and write all the magic words for C.J.
And as much as I didn't want to go do my job, I
would have wanted to go do her job even less. I
could look like I hadn't slept in over
twenty-four hours - which incidentally, I hadn't
- and still do the best I could do under the
circumstances. I didn't have that added layer of
crap to deal with. If I started crying while
writing, no one would know. If I needed to back
up and rewrite, rephrase I could; no one would
know if I slipped up. I could pass anything I
wrote to someone else for a read-through to make
sure I didn't have any glaring errors or
anything. C.J. had to go in front of flashbulbs
and news cameras for the entire world and if she
made a mistake, the whole world would know.
Donna came in then. I couldn't look at
her. Donna and I bicker a lot, but we truly like
each other. I should have thought to call. I
should have told Leo to grab her if she was still
at work. She shouldn't have had to hear about
any of it on the news. I couldn't look at her.
When she smiled at hearing that the President
would be okay, I almost started crying, because
that's when I realized that she had no idea.
That it was possible that the news hadn't picked
up on what happened with Josh yet. C.J. hadn't
done her first press briefing and they were
probably just running with what made bigger news.
What had more lights and sirens. More pomp and
circumstance.
It didn't seem fair that Josh would be in
surgery for a total of something like fourteen
hours and he would be a footnote to the
President's two or three hour exploratory. He'd
be in recovery for weeks if not months, I
assumed. But I was willing to bet he'd fade out
of the media spotlight in about two weeks. If
the President got indigestion that started
anywhere near the sight of his injury for the
next year it would be front-page news.
I tried to swallow my rising anger. This
wouldn't help anyone. I knew that no one out
there chose to get shot. No one chose to be hurt
less or more than anyone else. It wasn't the
president's fault that he wasn't hurt as badly as
Josh, but that he was more high profile. C.J.
and I exchanged looks. She was waiting for me to
say something, but must have seen something in my
eyes that told her that I couldn't. Toby finally
stepped in. I took deep breaths and tried to meet
Donna's eyes as he and C.J. filled her in. I
watched while she collapsed into a chair and C.J.
rubbed her back reassuringly.
I hated myself for not being there for
her. Donna and I have had this very bizarre
subliminal competition for Josh's attention going
on for years. It was never a… romantic thing…
but I couldn't help feel slightly discarded when
he spent a lot of time with her or when they were
at their usual bantering and bickering. And I
knew from the looks I sometimes got, that she
felt the same way. Donna came on board the
election not long after I had, so I've known her
for a while, so I felt like shit for not being
able to be strong for her.
I thought about the somewhat odd
relationship I had with Donna. The competition.
It wasn't… well, I didn't think we were competing
over Josh, but over time I started to wonder.
I'd gone all the way through grade school
and high school assuming I was straight. I liked
girls, ergo I was straight. Then I ended up
meeting this guy, Alex, on-line who was an open
bisexual. He didn't push a lifestyle on anyone;
he just wasn't shy about how he lived. And it
made me think. I'd always put people in two
boxes - gay or straight. You were one or the
other. And since I liked girls, I assumed I fit
in the straight box.
But then I thought about being bisexual.
I'd never joined in the other kids when they'd
pick on an effeminate guy at school. I didn't
freak out when there was some sort of homosexual
overtone in a movie or a book. I just figured I
was even more of a bleeding heart liberal than
most folks.
Then one night I was thinking about Josh.
He'd called, saying he was going to work as a
staffer for some Congressman. I wasn't even sure
what state the guy was from, but I didn't think
it was Connecticut. Anyway, hearing from Josh
and getting email from Alex in the same night got
me thinking. What if I was bi? I thought about
all the time I spent with Josh when we'd both
been in school. How much I missed him when he'd
gone on. Was it possible that I had a crush on
him and didn't realize it because he was another
guy? I rolled the question around in my head for
a while, but for a few months all I could come up
with was 'well, maybe, and if so, so what?'. I
knew that the idea that it might have been a
crush didn't bother me. Okay, so maybe I was bi,
but I was with Lisa and I liked that too.
When Josh came to get me for the
campaign, my excitement at being with him was
more to do with getting myself out of a job that
I was starting to hate, because it worked against
every principle I had and an engagement I felt
cornered into. Late at night, my first day with
the campaign, in a hotel room I was sharing with
Josh, because the hotel was full by the time I
came on board, I could admit that I'd gotten
engaged to Lisa to get my mom off my back. I
love my mom to death, but if I had had to hear,
"So when are you going to set a date?" one more
time, there would have been problems. So in the
end, little-old-non-confrontational Sam just
decided that Lisa wasn't so bad and just did it.
What was I thinking?
Lisa deserved better than 'getting
married to you beats a kick in the teeth' and
frankly, so did I.
But it was never about having a crush on
Josh, which I still hadn't decided if I did or
didn't, though dropping my entire life the way I
did and running away to New Hampshire should have
been a big hint. I just liked hanging around the
guy. He was fun. He was there for me when I
needed someone. For anything. He reminded me
why I'd given up the partnership and told me,
several times, that I could do better than Lisa.
She'd always been a little too manequinesque for
Josh, too society for his quiet New England ways.
He was always very polite to her and we'd double
dated often when he was still in school, but I
knew he'd never be truly upset for me if things
didn't work out. Not that I thought he'd be
upset if they did, just that he'd be the
pick-me-up-dust-me-off-send-me-back-out-there
sort if something did happen, long before he'd
offer to go try and patch things up between us.
Then Donna happened. I never in a
million years wanted to date Donna. She's pretty
and she's… cute, but she was needy in a similar
way to Lisa. When Josh told me how she came to
the campaign I mentally painted a big 'don't go
there' sign on her forehead. I was jumping in to
do speechwriting for a possible future President
of the United States. I didn't need any other
complications. And when Donna heard that I'd
recently ended a very long relationship and
engagement, she gave me a big sisterly hug and
told me that it was okay if I needed some time to
get over her. Nice of her to hand me an out.
I don't think Josh ever wanted to date
her either, though I jumped in with everyone else
when it came to teasing them about it. It was
all in fun though. Josh adopted her. She was
down on her luck and needed a place to go. I
knew Josh had lost a sister when he was younger
and had, in some pretty subliminal ways, been
looking for someone to take her place. Joanie
had been his older sister, and he treated Donna
more like a little sister, but there it was.
And then this odd rivalry started between
us. We picked on each other more to get Josh's
attention and see whom he'd side with than
because we didn't like each other. The three of
us spent a lot of time together on the campaign
trail, sharing cars, meals or drinks. I knew
Donna pretty well. Almost as well as Josh did.
And right now I couldn't even get up to
give her a hug or tell her it'd be okay. I've
never been able to lie well. A terrible failing
in a politician, I know, but I couldn't stand the
idea of going over and telling Donna - who would
almost certainly believe me - that Josh would be
okay when I didn't know that for sure for myself.
The guy who'd been briefing us tried to
kick us out again. We sat there silently for a
moment and I pulled my pad out again and
scribbled a quick note to C.J. "I'm staying."
She just nodded and gathered up her things to go
prepare for the first press briefing.
God, how I didn't want her job.
Two and a half hours later Dr. Bartlet
was called out of the room by a nurse. Half an
hour after that she came back in, smiling and
telling us that outside of a dozen stitches or
so, the President was just fine. A little groggy
from the anesthesia, but awake and already trying
to get a situation report.
She looked right at me when she said, "I
haven't told him about Josh yet. He's resting
now and when he wakes up he may ask to see some
of you. If he does, please don't mention
anything yet. If he asks directly, come get me."
She couldn't look at me when she added,
"Josh is in a surgical theater with an
observation room. If anyone wants to go see him,
you can. But I need to warn you, it's not easy
seeing a friend's chest open in front of you."
I stood up. I needed to see his face. I
needed to see if he looked any more calm asleep
than he had when they'd rolled him out of the
trauma room.
"You want to go see him?" Dr. Bartlet
asked me quietly. Yet again, all I could do was
nod. Charlie had returned from the residence and
rose to accompany us. I looked at Donna, but she
shook her head and sniffled. I tried to smile
reassuringly as I left.
Dr. Bartlet explained the idea of bypass
to us as we walked. That a machine was pumping
his blood and oxygenating it for him, so that his
heart and lungs could take a time out for repairs.
I found that I didn't like the idea of
by-pass on a philosophical level. On an
intellectual level I knew it was his only chance
to survive, but on a … philosophical or spiritual
level the idea that Josh's heart and lungs
weren't doing their assigned jobs meant that he
was technically dead.
I found my voice for the first time in
hours. The question seemed ludicrous, I was sure
there was a plan, but I needed to know. "What
happens if the power goes out?"
Dr. Bartlet smiled at me. From anyone
else it would have been a patronizing smile, but
from her it let me know that she understood where
I was coming from, that at some point she'd had
that question or a similar one herself. "The
hospital has a generator. And a back up
generator. It kicks in in about fifteen seconds."
"Fifteen seconds? But if Josh -"
"Can you hold your breath for fifteen seconds?" she cut me off.
I nodded. I'd been a swimmer in high
school and college. I could - at least back in
those days - hold my breath for over a minute.
"But what about his heart?"
"The human brain can go for up to four
minutes without oxygen before damage begins. "
"Right. Thanks."
We reached a door and a Secret Service
agent opened it for us. Dr. Bartlet stepped in
front of Charlie and me. "I meant what I said
before. This is a teaching hospital, so we'll
have a good view of the operating field when we
go in there. If that's a little more of Josh
than you really need to see, just step back out.
There's no shame in that."
I took a deep breath and stepped in.
All I could see of him was his face and
well… his heart and lungs. Everything else was
covered in blue surgical drapes.
Part of my brain detached from the rest.
Suddenly the heart and lungs I was looking at
weren't attached to Josh. I'd always found the
human body fascinating, and had as a kid,
entertained the idea of being a surgeon. But
now, I couldn't associate all the blood and
tissue exposed to me as a part of Josh. Josh
was… too vital for that. Too alive and spirited
to be reduced to a set of organs held together by
tissue as thin as skin. Maybe it's movies and
television… they show so much now, cable specials
on open-heart surgery, dramas about emergency
rooms and horror movies where the fake blood
budget is higher than the Craft Services budget.
I didn't see those organs as being his. I mean, I
was never meant to be looking at the inside of
Josh's chest. I had to remind myself that it was
real and not some really good special effects
job. That if they didn't get his heart and lungs
repaired and restarted, there wouldn't be a take
two.
One of the surgeons was pulling a pair of
long forceps from Josh's chest as we watched
silently. He held it up to the light and
examined it from all angles. A nurse brought a
small metal tray and the doctor dropped it into
the tray. It hit the metal and rolled to one
side. It didn't squish or slide. It rolled.
Dr. Bartlet was smiling.
"What was that?" Charlie asked.
"The bullet."
"So that's good, right? I mean, all they
have to do is close everything up?"
"Well, yes," Mrs. Bartlet said, "But that's the tricky part."
"Where are his ribs?" I asked suddenly.
It seemed odd that I could stare straight at his
heart.
There was a teaching skeleton in the
corner and Mrs. Bartlet dragged it over. "They
did what's call a sternal incision. They sawed
his sternum in half," she drew a line with her
finger down the middle of his breastbone on the
skeleton.
"They cut it in half?!" I'd fractured a
rib once when my seatbelt locked when my car had
slid off a snowy upper New York road and into a
ditch. I'd developed a cough from walking the
four miles in wet snow to get to a service
station and I had thought I was going to die.
Lisa ended up driving me to the hospital at
something like four in the morning to get me some
codeine so I could sleep, since taking a deep
breath shifted the cracked rib and coughing shot
a pain through me unlike anything I'd experienced
up to that point.
And that was just one rib with a bruise
and a hairline fracture in it. They cut his
breastbone in half.
"They'll wire it back in place when
they're done. It's certainly not comfortable,
but it's actually less painful than broken ribs,"
Dr. Bartlet explained. "They have to get in
there to repair the damage," she added softly.
"It's just that… I cracked a rib once…
thought it was going to kill me." I quickly told
her about the snowstorm on my way up to see Lisa
at her parents.
Dr. Bartlet moved to sit in one of the
chairs in the observation room and motioned me
into another. "Sam, Josh will have a long and …
fairly painful recovery in front of him. When he
first wakes up they'll give him something for the
pain, probably something to help him breath, some
antibiotics… But it is going to be a while
before he's up and moving again."
Despite the bad news I was mentally
latching on to her tone, her word choices. 'Josh
will have…' He will… Not an 'if' statement. A
'will' statement. "So they're sure he'll make it
out of this?"
She looked at the ground and was silent.
I regretted asking immediately. I liked it
better the way I had worked it out in my head.
"Not for sure, no," she answered softly. "But
things look good. I can't really see the
monitors too well from here, but the O.R. staff
seems very calm. They're moving slowly and
carefully, like they're following a game plan,
not rushing around and trying to keep everything
going. It looks good, Sam, but I won't make
promises he," she pointed to Josh, "may not let
me keep. It's going to be a long operation and a
long recovery. But it looks very promising right
now."
I nodded. I wanted desperately to be
with him. To hold his hand. To stroke his hair
or his cheek. Josh is strong and he's brave, but
even the strong and the brave get scared. And
although I know he wouldn't have been conscious
of my presence, I wanted to do something. I
wanted to call him names to make him forget the
pain. I wanted to just sit and talk quietly to
him, tell him he'd be okay and that I was there,
to say again all the things I'm not sure he heard
me say in the ambulance.
I listened half-heartedly as she
explained about what would happen during and
after the surgery, about the chest tube that
would suck out blood and air and anything else
that got in the way of his lung re-expanding.
About the wire they'd put him back together with.
It occurred to me to ask if he'd have to have
that removed or if he'd be setting off metal
detectors for the rest of his life, but it seemed
petty, so I didn't.
I understood, optimistically, half of
what she said. It sounded like the worst worry
was the damage to the artery taking blood into
his lung. For whatever reason they couldn't use
a synthetic or do some sort of transplant. They
had to fix what was left in there. I didn't
follow a lot of that conversation, but I didn't
really care. I knew just enough to know that it
would be hours of pulling pieces of him out of
places they didn't belong and even more hours of
trying to put together the pieces that were left.
After a while, Charlie started
distracting himself by asking Dr. Bartlet to
explain, well… everything. When she was going
over the difference between internal and external
stitches I slipped out.
I wandered around for a while, showing my
credentials when needed to move in and out of the
secret service perimeter. I had a vague sense of
wishing I smoked so I'd have an excuse for why I
was standing in a blindingly bright ambulance bay
in my shirt sleeves. I wondered if I looked as
bad as I felt.
I'd gone into the waiting room earlier
and the only people in there were Zoey and Toby
and some more secret service guys. Leo was back
meeting with the Security Advisors and the
Cabinet and C.J had headed back to the West Wing
to start preparing initial briefing notes. Even
the various assistants who'd been there were
gone. Charlie was still with Dr. Bartlet, Mrs.
Landingham had gone back with to the White House
to clear the president's calendar. Margaret left
with Leo and Donna had gone to see Josh. I
wished I'd been around when she decided to do
that. I hadn't seen her in the halls, but I'd
wandered around for a while, so I was fairly sure
that it was too late to go chase her down and
warn her off. In some ways I was regretting
seeing Josh like that and I really didn't think
Donna was going to handle it well if… Well, if.
I'd heard no end of shit from my father when I
refused to go to my grandmother's open casket
wake when I was fourteen. I couldn't convince
him that I wouldn't go because I loved her too
much to see her like that. My last memory of her
was of me sitting on the floor of her apartment
working on an English report and explaining the
pros and cons of mandatory drug testing in sports
to her while she made dinner. That was the
memory I wanted to keep. I didn't want to think
of her cold and pale and still in a coffin each
time her name came up.
And though I was wishing, hoping and
praying with everything in my soul that I'd see
Josh up and talking and walking again, I knew
there was a chance. And I knew the last memory
I'd have of him would be one of his chest split
open before me. I didn't want Donna to share
that memory with me. I kicked at a cigarette
butt on the ground. Nothing to be done for it
now.
After a little while I saw Toby leave
through the emergency room door and get into a
waiting motorcade car. Probably going back to
work with C.J. on the press release.
I was grateful that they'd let me stay.
It wasn't that I couldn't write about what had
happened. It wasn't a particularly difficult
thing to explain. Leo would tell us what we
could release and we'd release it. It wasn't a
campaign speech or the State of the Union or some
policy announcement we needed to curry favor for.
What had happened was ugly. It was raw and ugly
and cruel and the words to explain it could be
too.
Just to be doing something, I mentally
wrote C.J.'s next press briefing in my head.
'The president's surgery was completed at 12:30
a.m. He's resting comfortably in the company of
his wife and youngest daughter, Zoey. The
surgeons reported that the bullet caused only
minor damage, and laproscopic examination
revealed no serious tissue or organ damage. Josh
Lyman is still in surgery to repair a collapsed
lung and lacerated artery -' or was it the vein.
I couldn't remember if they'd said it was the
blood vessel going into or out of his heart. I
reworded it. 'Josh Lyman is still undergoing
surgery to repair a collapsed lung and lacerated
blood vessel between his heart and lung.' I
mentally erased the sentence. That would just
leave the press asking if it was the vein or
artery, which I didn't know, so I tried to find a
better way to say it. Maybe C.J. knew. She
probably had notes. So maybe I could leave it
that way.
I shook my head. No wonder Toby was
writing this. 'Surgery is progressing well, but
it's still to early to predict an outcome.' I
concluded.
"Sam?"
I jumped. "Geez!" I had no idea Mrs.
Landingham had come back, let alone that she was
standing right next to me. "I'm sorry. I'm
sorry, I didn't see you there." I fought down
the adrenaline surge. There was so much
adrenaline in my system from everything that had
happened that night already that I could feel the
knots forming in my muscles. I knew I wouldn't
sleep for days and that I'd be cranky as hell as
it started to wear off.
"I don't think you'd have heard the
Marine Band if they'd been standing on top of
that ambulance right there," she said, smiling at
me.
I sighed and tried to smile back. "I was
just writing C.J.'s next press briefing in my
head."
"Really?" she asked disbelieving.
"Honest," I said, putting my right hand over my heart.
"You and Josh Lyman have a long history," she stated.
"Yep." I supposed I was supposed to
elaborate, but I had no idea where to start.
"It's getting a bit chilly, isn't it?" she let me off the hook.
"Yep." Great, I had my voice back, but I
literally couldn't string two words together. I
realized that perhaps Mrs. Landingham was trying
to talk to me. She and the president have a long
history too. I knew she was his secretary when
he was Governor of New Hampshire and I was pretty
sure she was with him when he was in the House.
If it went further back than that, I didn't know
about it, but something about the way she took
him to task over what he ate, how he spoke and
his sense of humor (or lack of it in her
estimation) spoke of an incredibly long
acquaintance.
Before I could say anything, she lay her
hand on my arm. "Why don't you come inside?"
"Yeah, sure." It was easier to let other
people make decisions for me, tell me what to do
and when to do it.
I followed her back into the waiting room
and fell into the same chair I'd been in earlier.
_________________
End Part 1, To Strive
Continued in Part 2
By Waldo.
Part 1/4, See Part 0 for notes and disclaimers
I don't remember getting here. Well, I
do, but I don't. Things keep flashing through my
mind like one of those three frame flashback
things they do on t.v. You know, the ones where
it's long enough not to be subliminal (which is
illegal), but not long enough for you to really
look at, process, understand.
I'm sitting in a waiting room surrounded
by senior staff and a shitload of Secret Service.
The chairs are wood and burlap and despite the
padding, hard. And it reminds me of how hard the
ground was where C.J. and I landed. She's okay,
thank God. She didn't have a chance to get her
hands up before hitting the concrete, and
consequently banged her head. But she's okay. I
remember hearing her asking if the President was
dead. She was a little confused once the gunfire
had died down, but then again, weren't we all?
It happened so fast.
So damn fast.
It was just luck. I heard the shots, I
looked up… and I saw… him. Them. Something. A
flash. I've been trying to sort it all out
because I know Secret Service will eventually be
taking our statements, but I don't know what to
say other than it was instinct. I don't know a
damn thing about guns other than way too many
people own them, but when I looked up, it was
like someone shone a beacon. I saw the light hit
off the muzzle and I just moved. C.J. was two
steps away. I took one, looked up, realized I
didn't have time for the other and just leapt.
No one knows there's a hole in the back
of my coat. And I'm going to keep it that way if
I can. I felt the drag of the bullet through the
fabric, the rush of air and heat, but I was too
focused on getting C.J. all the way to the
ground. I saw what was coming, she didn't. I
had to do something or she'd be dead.
The way we went down was awkward. I
tried to brace myself with a hand on either side
of her head so my weight wouldn't land on her.
In the process my watch caught on her necklace.
Once we were down, I tried to roll away and the
chain snagged. Then glass shattered over my
head. I didn't have time to try and untangle my
arm; I just pulled and covered my face to keep it
from getting too scratched up and to keep the
glass out of my eyes. And when I could look up
again, the whole world had descended into chaos.
There were already paramedics there. One
of them grabbed me and said something, but I
couldn't hear over the commotion. He started
running his hands over me, through my hair
looking for any injuries, but as far as I could
tell I was fine. I shook him off and aimed him
at C.J. In my head I could still hear the thump
of her head on the ground, even as the sirens
went off and secret service agents were shooting
back and everyone started screaming and shoving.
I grabbed the first Secret Service Agent
I could find and got an update. The President
and Leo were headed back to the White House, so
apparently was Zoey. No one knew anything else
about anyone else, so I appointed myself
head-counter. I made a mental list of everyone
who had made the trip. The President, Leo, Josh,
Toby, C.J., Me and Charlie. Oh, and Zoey. I
saw the mental checklist in my head and checked
off the President, Leo and Zoey, since Secret
Service said they were already in cars. I saw
C.J. first, checked her off and went to see if
she was hurt. She was clearly scared. Which, I
suppose is healthy. Not being scared after
something like this would be a clear indication
of some sort of mental instability, I suppose.
She kept staring at the shot out windows of the
police car and I found myself trying to pull on
the back of my suit jacket surreptitiously to
cover up the small piece that was missing in the
bottom hem.
Once I knew she was okay, I started back
into the crowd. Toby, Charlie, Josh… once I knew
where those three were, I could calm down. I was
still scanning the crowd when I heard Toby
yelling from behind me. At first I thought he
was hurt. His voice was weak and unsteady. But
then I saw him catch Josh as he fell over and my
stomach dropped.
Part of me knew the best thing to do was
to grab a paramedic, a police man, Secret
Service, someone and make sure they were coming
to help, but after the briefest hesitation, I
just ran for him myself. I don't remember the
paramedics showing up to assess and treat him. I
just remember that I was holding his hand and
trying to talk to him, keep him awake and then an
elbow in my ribs pushed me out of the way. And
then it was happening again. I don't remember
moving back to Josh's side. But after I got
shoved back a second time, C.J. grabbed my elbow
and pulled me away, keeping a hand on my arm to
stop me from trying to move back again. In the
mean time I checked off Toby and Josh, we knew
where they were and Josh was getting help.
I turned and looked at Toby, "Have you seen Charlie?"
Toby put a hand on my shoulder, "Yeah, he's fine.
I saw Secret Service try and get a paramedic to
check him out a second ago. But when I saw him
he was up and talking to people, so he must be
okay, right?"
I just nodded and looked back at Josh.
Everyone was accounted for. Now I could have my
own private little freak out about this all. I
watched as they laid him on the ground, started
taking vitals and tried to find an exit wound. I
couldn't for the life of me remember if no exit
wound was good or bad. It meant the bullet was
still in there, which of course was bad. But
that meant it hadn't destroyed any tissue on the
other side of his body. That was good right? I
had no idea.
I remember the blood. I remember that no
matter how much gauze they packed onto him, it
didn't stop. They'd take off the blood soaked
layers that weren't directly against his skin and
throw them on the ambulance floor before
replacing them with white cotton, soon to be
stained red. They said one of us could ride with
him. I didn't ask, didn't defer. The only
person I felt might have had a better claim to
going with him would be Leo, since he'd known
Josh longer and was his boss. But Leo had been
shoved in a car and I was still there, so I
climbed in after they loaded the stretcher. I
sat where they pointed and was relieved to notice
that I could hold his hand.
I wrapped the fingers of my right hand
around his fingers. His forearms were strapped
down, but I was able to bend his arm at the elbow
and hold his hand close to my heart. They kept
trying to immobilize his head, but he'd panic
whenever they brought the strap across his
forehead, so they eventually quit trying after
getting a vague promise to lie still voluntarily.
I brushed my other hand over his hair as they
loaded up their gear and started away from this
unholy disaster area. Every once in a while, I'd
get my hands pushed out of the way as they put an
oxygen mask over him or some sort of monitor was
run over his shoulder and down onto his chest.
So I moved my left hand down to rest on his
wrist. On his pulse. His eyes were still open
and every once in a while he'd say something, not
usually something that made sense, but I still
wanted that reassurance that his heart was, in
fact, still beating.
He whimpered when they moved him or stuck
another tube in him or shoved more bandages in
the gaping hole in his chest. He called my name
a few times. I wasn't sure if he was asking for
me - that he didn't realize I was with him - or
if he was asking for a little extra reassurance.
That he wanted me to push his hair back and tell
him he'd be okay, because that's what I did
whenever he'd call for me.
Other than my name, not a whole lot of
what he said made sense. I heard something about
Illinois and I think that maybe he asked for his
dad once. I didn't know what to say to that,
since his dad had died when we were on the
campaign trail. Belatedly I wondered if he
wasn't asking if he was going to be joining his
dad or something. I'm glad I didn't think that
in the back of that ambulance, because I probably
would have yelled at him for it. The last thing
Josh needed was me yelling at him for anything,
but the idea that he may have been resigning
himself to die pissed me off like very little had
in a long, long time. I heard him say something
about Gage Whitney, which made me smile a little.
Of all the times for him to finally remember
where I was working when he came to get me.
Then there was more chaos. We stopped
with a lurch and lights exploded in on us and
Josh's hand was ripped from mine as they moved
him into the hospital. I sat stunned for a
second. By the time I was able to move again,
Josh had been taken into the hospital and I was
running to catch up. As I hit the door I heard
him call my name again. I started swearing at
myself for not being there, for letting him get
more scared and confused than he already was.
"I'm here, Josh!" I yelled from the back of the
crowd I was getting swallowed in. C.J. and Toby
had gotten in before I did, and they were in the
car behind us.
My heart was working overtime. Like it
thought it could pump enough blood for Josh and
me both. It occurred to me that I should find
out my blood type and donate if we were a match.
Well, I should donate anyway, but especially if
we were a match.
I pushed past people - Leo had appeared
from somewhere - it occurred to me that Leo
should be back at the White House, what didn't I
know? - and got back to Josh's side. He was
trying to move, kept pulling his head up, which I
knew he wasn't supposed to do, but apparently
that didn't register for him. He was saying
something about not going to a meeting.
Something about… New Hampshire? Oh God. "We went
to New Hampshire. We both did. You came and got
me." I went with you, because even a partnership
at a remarkable law firm and an engagement to a
'society girl' wasn't enough to keep me from
getting caught up in your infectious excitement.
And then he was gone. Whisked behind
more doors and more lights and more people. And
I was just another guy in the hall,
I stood at the door, trying to see in,
but they'd gone around a corner and there was
really nothing to watch, until Leo came up and
mumbled something to me. I knew I needed to ask
why Leo was at the hospital at all, but I had the
uncomfortable feeling that someone had wrapped
about nine wool scarves around my head. I
couldn't hear well and my vision was fuzzy on the
edges. I think one of those scarves had been
shoved in through my ears and wrapped around my
brain, because everything was fuzzy there too.
The look I gave Leo must have telegraphed
exactly how confused I felt, because suddenly
there was a nurse there and more hands going
through my hair, looking for a bump or blood that
my dark hair would cover. "No, no, I'm fine," I
pushed the nurse back. "I just… where's the
men's room?" I asked quickly, suddenly needing
to know.
I followed a fuzzy, wavering finger
across the hall as fast as I could move without
falling flat on my face or my ass. I didn't even
make it to a stall. I wrenched on a sink and
threw up everything I'd even thought about eating
for the past month.
There was a hand on my back after a
while, but at the time I couldn't look up or say
anything.
When I could look up and breathe again,
Leo was there handing me a cool, damp
hospital-issue washcloth.
"Shock's a bitch, isn't it?" he asked me kindly.
I nodded numbly, still not finding the
words to find out why he was there. I hadn't
called. Maybe C.J. or Toby had. But how had he
gotten there so fast? I could only conclude that
he was there when we arrived. But I couldn't
find my voice long enough to whisper "why?"
"Better?" he asked.
I nodded again.
"Good we need to talk."
Leo led me out of the bathroom and into
one of the smaller family counseling rooms. As
he shut the door he said, "First off all, the
President is going to be fine."
I looked up sharply and Leo's eyes went
wide for a second and then softened. "He's going
to be fine. He was hit in the side, but he never
lost consciousness and he didn't lose a whole lot
of blood from what I can see. In fact, he faked
it so well, we were on our way back to the White
House until Secret Service realized something was
wrong about half way back. He's going into
surgery and should be out in just a few hours."
I nodded again. It seemed to be all I
was capable of all of a sudden. I felt as
useless as one of those stupid little wobble-head
dogs that people put in their back windshield.
"Sam," Leo was saying quietly. "I have
to get back to the White House. I have to meet
with half the planet. You've known Josh a long
time, right?"
Another nod. I was a speechwriter for
the goddamn President of the United States and I
couldn't find a single word to express myself.
"I knew Josh's dad, so I've probably
known him longer than you have, but I really
think you know him better."
My gut clenched. I knew where this was
going and the vice around my head was turned
another few degrees. Don't make me do this,
don't put this on me, don't make me do this was
all I could think.
"I'm going to call his mom as soon as I
get back to the White House. If she hasn't heard
by now, it won't be long, but with the airports
being closed, it's going to take a while for her
to find a way to get here. Sam, someone needs to
be here to make decisions for Josh until he can
do it for himself."
I hung my head. Neither of us would say
the words. Neither of us would actually
articulate that if it came down to making
decisions for Josh it would be because we needed
to decide if he lived or died. If he became an
organ donor or not. I slouched in my chair.
"Sam, I don't know anyone he'd trust more."
The damn wobble dog struck again. I
didn't want the job. God, I didn't want the job.
But Leo was right. Josh trusted me.
I must have looked as gray and ashen as I
felt, because Leo grabbed my arm again. When I
surfaced from the downward spiral my thoughts had
been on, Leo was saying my name in a way that
told me that he'd said it more than once already.
I shook myself back to the moment. Josh was
going into surgery. He'd be okay. It wouldn't
come to this. He'd be okay.
Leo nodded. "I'll talk to the hospital
staff on my way out. Why don't you go rinse your
face off again and join everyone in the other
room."
Damn wobble-dog. At this point even I
was starting to worry about where my voice had
gone. I knew that I'd eventually have to leave
the secret service perimeter and that as soon as
I did, there'd be press. And I'd have to be able
to say something to them. I'm the goddamn deputy
director of communications. I needed to
communicate dammit!
I felt so useless.
I stood up and headed back to the
bathroom. As I dragged myself down the hall, I
shoved my hands in my pockets. C.J.'s necklace
was still there. I'd pulled it off my watch and
shoved it there so I could give it back. Then
Toby started yelling and C.J. and I started
running…
I fingered the cool metal links.
Maybe not entirely useless.
I wandered around for a while after I
washed my face. When I started looking around
again, I noticed that Leo had left. I assumed
he'd talked to the charge nurse or whoever about
me signing papers for Josh, so I didn't ask. I
went up and down halls, found the cafeteria.
Found the idea of eating or drinking anything
utterly revolting. I did get a pack of gum to
try and get the taste of bile out of the back of
my mouth.
Eventually one of the Secret Service guys
found me and kindly herded me back up to where
C.J., Charlie, Toby and everyone were waiting.
Apparently Mrs.… Dr. Bartlett had come in and
explained that the President was going to be
fine. She then explained what had happened to
Josh and how long he'd be in surgery. When I
came in the room, C.J. grabbed me by the elbow
and steered me into a corner and caught me up on
everything. I nodded a lot, but still hadn't
found my voice. As shaken as she was, C.J. was
still trying to be strong for me. I guess how
much this was affecting me was pretty apparent.
She hugged me and told me everything would be
okay before leading me over to sit on a chair
near her.
Dr. Bartlett asked me if I had any
questions and I just shook my head. Still no
words, but at least the wobble-dog had learned a
new trick.
Leo sent some junior staffer whose name I
didn't know and still don't know over with a
clean shirt for me and my briefcase. I think he
brought Toby some stuff too, but I wasn't really
looking.
I hadn't noticed the blood on my shirt or
my jacket. Between the bullet hole and the
blood, the jacket was a total write off, so I
took it and the shirt and balled them up and
stuffed them in one of those big hospital hampers
after I changed. I put my tie back on so I'd be
somewhat passable when the press caught me, but
that was mostly just functioning on instinct.
When you worked at the White House, you weren't
afforded 'bad hair days.'
I grabbed my briefcase and went back into
the waiting room. I was drawing little abstract
patterns on a note pad for a while when C.J. came
over and sat next to me. She told me that Josh
was strong and he'd pull through. I smiled at
the encouragement, but still couldn't make my
voice work. Besides C.J. didn't know Josh the
way I knew Josh. C.J. didn't know how Josh and I
met.
When most people figure out that Josh and
I have a history, we tell them we met at school.
Which is true enough. What we don't tell them is
that we met in… in a hospital, not too unlike
this one.
I went to a special corporate law program
for pre-law students at Yale the summer after my
sophomore year at Princeton. Josh had just
started law school and had stayed the summer to
get ahead in his classes so he could take a few
more electives. We were waiting for a movie at
the theater near campus. Something big was
coming out that Friday night - I've asked Josh,
he can't remember the title either. Anyway, we
were in line waiting for it. Not together, we
didn't know each other then. I was with Lisa and
he was with some buddies of his. We all leaned
against the building as we waited for them to
open for ticket sales and chatted with the people
we were with and the people around us.
Then a girl, one of about eight in the
giggling pack in front of Lisa and me screamed.
The next thing I saw was the blinding headlights
of a car jumping the curb and plowing into the
crowd.
Josh got hit from behind and went up onto
the hood and into the windshield. Two of the
guys he was with were pinned against the building
and crushed. I pushed Lisa out of the way and
she escaped unharmed, but I had hit the ground
hard, earning me a little road rash and a few
shallow cuts on my arm and face.
I sent Lisa to call the paramedics while
I ran up to check on Josh and the driver. The
driver turned out to be completely shit faced and
only had a bruise from his airbag deploying.
Josh had cuts from the windshield and a clearly
broken leg.
Not knowing what else to do, I made him
stay still until the paramedics could assess him
for spinal injuries. I stayed there, with one
hand on his shoulder, introducing myself and
talking about all kinds if inane shit like
classes and how well the Dodgers were doing that
year just to keep him still.
God, what a place to meet someone. At a
freak car accident. When the paramedics got
there, they pressed me into service, asking me
what happened, handing me the I.V. bag to hold
and getting me to help lift the backboard onto
the stretcher. There were about seven injuries
all told from that incident, and the school only
had two ambulances. They took Josh and me and
one of the giggling girls who got hit with a sign
that fell when the car hit the building in the
first ambulance.
They braced his leg in the ambulance.
Gave him some kind of pain shot, warned him it
would hurt like hell and jerked and jammed it
around. I don't know what possessed me, but I
took his hand. Held his hand while they did it.
Just so he wouldn't be alone I guess.
His leg was a mess. They had to put pins
in it and stuff for a while. I remember that I'd
go visit him in the hospital every other day or
so. I was never sure why I couldn't just walk
away from him, but I couldn't. When he was
finally released from the hospital he had this
huge metal brace and crutches and the whole nine
yards. It turned out that he lived about three
blocks from me in one of the apartment complexes
not far from my building. So I started giving
him a ride to and from campus each day. He felt
bad, of course, so he insisted on making it up to
me. I told him not to be silly, but Josh will
be… Josh. So I let him buy lunch each Friday,
since we both finished classes at one.
Hell of a way to start a friendship.
Hell of a way to end one too.
I derailed that train of thought as fast
as I could. He survived that; he'll survive
this. When we'd been in the emergency room that
first time, they'd put us in the same room. He
was on more morphine than most of the critical
ward and finally feeling no pain of his own.
They poured what they insisted was betadine, but
felt more like citric acid on my cuts and cleaned
them out, and he called me names. Made me laugh.
I should have been pissed at some guy I didn't
know making fun of me as they cleaned small rocks
and bits of glass out of my skin, but I couldn't
be. I just kept laughing. His leg ended up
being broken in three places, but he was making
me laugh to get over a few little cuts, only one
of which even left a scar.
I didn't know I loved him back then. But
I did. It was different. It wasn't at all
sexual. I had Lisa and I was happy with her. I
loved being with Lisa in every sense of the word.
But the time I spent eating cold pizza and
drinking beer with Josh while we poured over our
textbooks or threw popcorn at the t.v. screen (we
gave up on the theater) were really great too. I
missed him horribly when I headed back to
Princeton in August.
I never realized that it was more than
just missing a good friend. I had friends. Lots
of them. But I still found myself picking up the
phone on the weekends Lisa went home to New York
to see what he was up to, if he could get away or
if I should jump on a train to (where's Yale) and
later D.C. Which was great for a while. We saw
each other every few months, but then I was
getting ready for the Bar and he was getting more
involved in things on Capital Hill.
We kept in touch. E-mails almost every
day, birthday cards and Christmas presents. We
didn't see each other much though and I missed
him. I was floored when I heard he was standing
in my office at Gage Whitney. It had been almost
two years since I'd seen him last. And that time
was because he drafted me into some damn bike
ride across the state of Iowa. He'd taken up
bike riding as part of his physical therapy and
decided this Ragbride thing was a good idea for
both of us. I've almost forgiven him for the way
I limped and creaked for the three weeks
following that ride.
Josh was strong. He'd beat this. He had to. I needed him too much.
I heard the door open and someone was
starting to drone on about how long Josh would be
in surgery and how we could go home. Like hell.
Twelve hours. They were going to be cutting into
him and sewing up and reconstructing for twelve
hours. I knew I couldn't possibly stay the whole
time, no matter how much I wanted to. This was a
press magnet. They'd eventually need Toby and me
to go back and write all the magic words for C.J.
And as much as I didn't want to go do my job, I
would have wanted to go do her job even less. I
could look like I hadn't slept in over
twenty-four hours - which incidentally, I hadn't
- and still do the best I could do under the
circumstances. I didn't have that added layer of
crap to deal with. If I started crying while
writing, no one would know. If I needed to back
up and rewrite, rephrase I could; no one would
know if I slipped up. I could pass anything I
wrote to someone else for a read-through to make
sure I didn't have any glaring errors or
anything. C.J. had to go in front of flashbulbs
and news cameras for the entire world and if she
made a mistake, the whole world would know.
Donna came in then. I couldn't look at
her. Donna and I bicker a lot, but we truly like
each other. I should have thought to call. I
should have told Leo to grab her if she was still
at work. She shouldn't have had to hear about
any of it on the news. I couldn't look at her.
When she smiled at hearing that the President
would be okay, I almost started crying, because
that's when I realized that she had no idea.
That it was possible that the news hadn't picked
up on what happened with Josh yet. C.J. hadn't
done her first press briefing and they were
probably just running with what made bigger news.
What had more lights and sirens. More pomp and
circumstance.
It didn't seem fair that Josh would be in
surgery for a total of something like fourteen
hours and he would be a footnote to the
President's two or three hour exploratory. He'd
be in recovery for weeks if not months, I
assumed. But I was willing to bet he'd fade out
of the media spotlight in about two weeks. If
the President got indigestion that started
anywhere near the sight of his injury for the
next year it would be front-page news.
I tried to swallow my rising anger. This
wouldn't help anyone. I knew that no one out
there chose to get shot. No one chose to be hurt
less or more than anyone else. It wasn't the
president's fault that he wasn't hurt as badly as
Josh, but that he was more high profile. C.J.
and I exchanged looks. She was waiting for me to
say something, but must have seen something in my
eyes that told her that I couldn't. Toby finally
stepped in. I took deep breaths and tried to meet
Donna's eyes as he and C.J. filled her in. I
watched while she collapsed into a chair and C.J.
rubbed her back reassuringly.
I hated myself for not being there for
her. Donna and I have had this very bizarre
subliminal competition for Josh's attention going
on for years. It was never a… romantic thing…
but I couldn't help feel slightly discarded when
he spent a lot of time with her or when they were
at their usual bantering and bickering. And I
knew from the looks I sometimes got, that she
felt the same way. Donna came on board the
election not long after I had, so I've known her
for a while, so I felt like shit for not being
able to be strong for her.
I thought about the somewhat odd
relationship I had with Donna. The competition.
It wasn't… well, I didn't think we were competing
over Josh, but over time I started to wonder.
I'd gone all the way through grade school
and high school assuming I was straight. I liked
girls, ergo I was straight. Then I ended up
meeting this guy, Alex, on-line who was an open
bisexual. He didn't push a lifestyle on anyone;
he just wasn't shy about how he lived. And it
made me think. I'd always put people in two
boxes - gay or straight. You were one or the
other. And since I liked girls, I assumed I fit
in the straight box.
But then I thought about being bisexual.
I'd never joined in the other kids when they'd
pick on an effeminate guy at school. I didn't
freak out when there was some sort of homosexual
overtone in a movie or a book. I just figured I
was even more of a bleeding heart liberal than
most folks.
Then one night I was thinking about Josh.
He'd called, saying he was going to work as a
staffer for some Congressman. I wasn't even sure
what state the guy was from, but I didn't think
it was Connecticut. Anyway, hearing from Josh
and getting email from Alex in the same night got
me thinking. What if I was bi? I thought about
all the time I spent with Josh when we'd both
been in school. How much I missed him when he'd
gone on. Was it possible that I had a crush on
him and didn't realize it because he was another
guy? I rolled the question around in my head for
a while, but for a few months all I could come up
with was 'well, maybe, and if so, so what?'. I
knew that the idea that it might have been a
crush didn't bother me. Okay, so maybe I was bi,
but I was with Lisa and I liked that too.
When Josh came to get me for the
campaign, my excitement at being with him was
more to do with getting myself out of a job that
I was starting to hate, because it worked against
every principle I had and an engagement I felt
cornered into. Late at night, my first day with
the campaign, in a hotel room I was sharing with
Josh, because the hotel was full by the time I
came on board, I could admit that I'd gotten
engaged to Lisa to get my mom off my back. I
love my mom to death, but if I had had to hear,
"So when are you going to set a date?" one more
time, there would have been problems. So in the
end, little-old-non-confrontational Sam just
decided that Lisa wasn't so bad and just did it.
What was I thinking?
Lisa deserved better than 'getting
married to you beats a kick in the teeth' and
frankly, so did I.
But it was never about having a crush on
Josh, which I still hadn't decided if I did or
didn't, though dropping my entire life the way I
did and running away to New Hampshire should have
been a big hint. I just liked hanging around the
guy. He was fun. He was there for me when I
needed someone. For anything. He reminded me
why I'd given up the partnership and told me,
several times, that I could do better than Lisa.
She'd always been a little too manequinesque for
Josh, too society for his quiet New England ways.
He was always very polite to her and we'd double
dated often when he was still in school, but I
knew he'd never be truly upset for me if things
didn't work out. Not that I thought he'd be
upset if they did, just that he'd be the
pick-me-up-dust-me-off-send-me-back-out-there
sort if something did happen, long before he'd
offer to go try and patch things up between us.
Then Donna happened. I never in a
million years wanted to date Donna. She's pretty
and she's… cute, but she was needy in a similar
way to Lisa. When Josh told me how she came to
the campaign I mentally painted a big 'don't go
there' sign on her forehead. I was jumping in to
do speechwriting for a possible future President
of the United States. I didn't need any other
complications. And when Donna heard that I'd
recently ended a very long relationship and
engagement, she gave me a big sisterly hug and
told me that it was okay if I needed some time to
get over her. Nice of her to hand me an out.
I don't think Josh ever wanted to date
her either, though I jumped in with everyone else
when it came to teasing them about it. It was
all in fun though. Josh adopted her. She was
down on her luck and needed a place to go. I
knew Josh had lost a sister when he was younger
and had, in some pretty subliminal ways, been
looking for someone to take her place. Joanie
had been his older sister, and he treated Donna
more like a little sister, but there it was.
And then this odd rivalry started between
us. We picked on each other more to get Josh's
attention and see whom he'd side with than
because we didn't like each other. The three of
us spent a lot of time together on the campaign
trail, sharing cars, meals or drinks. I knew
Donna pretty well. Almost as well as Josh did.
And right now I couldn't even get up to
give her a hug or tell her it'd be okay. I've
never been able to lie well. A terrible failing
in a politician, I know, but I couldn't stand the
idea of going over and telling Donna - who would
almost certainly believe me - that Josh would be
okay when I didn't know that for sure for myself.
The guy who'd been briefing us tried to
kick us out again. We sat there silently for a
moment and I pulled my pad out again and
scribbled a quick note to C.J. "I'm staying."
She just nodded and gathered up her things to go
prepare for the first press briefing.
God, how I didn't want her job.
Two and a half hours later Dr. Bartlet
was called out of the room by a nurse. Half an
hour after that she came back in, smiling and
telling us that outside of a dozen stitches or
so, the President was just fine. A little groggy
from the anesthesia, but awake and already trying
to get a situation report.
She looked right at me when she said, "I
haven't told him about Josh yet. He's resting
now and when he wakes up he may ask to see some
of you. If he does, please don't mention
anything yet. If he asks directly, come get me."
She couldn't look at me when she added,
"Josh is in a surgical theater with an
observation room. If anyone wants to go see him,
you can. But I need to warn you, it's not easy
seeing a friend's chest open in front of you."
I stood up. I needed to see his face. I
needed to see if he looked any more calm asleep
than he had when they'd rolled him out of the
trauma room.
"You want to go see him?" Dr. Bartlet
asked me quietly. Yet again, all I could do was
nod. Charlie had returned from the residence and
rose to accompany us. I looked at Donna, but she
shook her head and sniffled. I tried to smile
reassuringly as I left.
Dr. Bartlet explained the idea of bypass
to us as we walked. That a machine was pumping
his blood and oxygenating it for him, so that his
heart and lungs could take a time out for repairs.
I found that I didn't like the idea of
by-pass on a philosophical level. On an
intellectual level I knew it was his only chance
to survive, but on a … philosophical or spiritual
level the idea that Josh's heart and lungs
weren't doing their assigned jobs meant that he
was technically dead.
I found my voice for the first time in
hours. The question seemed ludicrous, I was sure
there was a plan, but I needed to know. "What
happens if the power goes out?"
Dr. Bartlet smiled at me. From anyone
else it would have been a patronizing smile, but
from her it let me know that she understood where
I was coming from, that at some point she'd had
that question or a similar one herself. "The
hospital has a generator. And a back up
generator. It kicks in in about fifteen seconds."
"Fifteen seconds? But if Josh -"
"Can you hold your breath for fifteen seconds?" she cut me off.
I nodded. I'd been a swimmer in high
school and college. I could - at least back in
those days - hold my breath for over a minute.
"But what about his heart?"
"The human brain can go for up to four
minutes without oxygen before damage begins. "
"Right. Thanks."
We reached a door and a Secret Service
agent opened it for us. Dr. Bartlet stepped in
front of Charlie and me. "I meant what I said
before. This is a teaching hospital, so we'll
have a good view of the operating field when we
go in there. If that's a little more of Josh
than you really need to see, just step back out.
There's no shame in that."
I took a deep breath and stepped in.
All I could see of him was his face and
well… his heart and lungs. Everything else was
covered in blue surgical drapes.
Part of my brain detached from the rest.
Suddenly the heart and lungs I was looking at
weren't attached to Josh. I'd always found the
human body fascinating, and had as a kid,
entertained the idea of being a surgeon. But
now, I couldn't associate all the blood and
tissue exposed to me as a part of Josh. Josh
was… too vital for that. Too alive and spirited
to be reduced to a set of organs held together by
tissue as thin as skin. Maybe it's movies and
television… they show so much now, cable specials
on open-heart surgery, dramas about emergency
rooms and horror movies where the fake blood
budget is higher than the Craft Services budget.
I didn't see those organs as being his. I mean, I
was never meant to be looking at the inside of
Josh's chest. I had to remind myself that it was
real and not some really good special effects
job. That if they didn't get his heart and lungs
repaired and restarted, there wouldn't be a take
two.
One of the surgeons was pulling a pair of
long forceps from Josh's chest as we watched
silently. He held it up to the light and
examined it from all angles. A nurse brought a
small metal tray and the doctor dropped it into
the tray. It hit the metal and rolled to one
side. It didn't squish or slide. It rolled.
Dr. Bartlet was smiling.
"What was that?" Charlie asked.
"The bullet."
"So that's good, right? I mean, all they
have to do is close everything up?"
"Well, yes," Mrs. Bartlet said, "But that's the tricky part."
"Where are his ribs?" I asked suddenly.
It seemed odd that I could stare straight at his
heart.
There was a teaching skeleton in the
corner and Mrs. Bartlet dragged it over. "They
did what's call a sternal incision. They sawed
his sternum in half," she drew a line with her
finger down the middle of his breastbone on the
skeleton.
"They cut it in half?!" I'd fractured a
rib once when my seatbelt locked when my car had
slid off a snowy upper New York road and into a
ditch. I'd developed a cough from walking the
four miles in wet snow to get to a service
station and I had thought I was going to die.
Lisa ended up driving me to the hospital at
something like four in the morning to get me some
codeine so I could sleep, since taking a deep
breath shifted the cracked rib and coughing shot
a pain through me unlike anything I'd experienced
up to that point.
And that was just one rib with a bruise
and a hairline fracture in it. They cut his
breastbone in half.
"They'll wire it back in place when
they're done. It's certainly not comfortable,
but it's actually less painful than broken ribs,"
Dr. Bartlet explained. "They have to get in
there to repair the damage," she added softly.
"It's just that… I cracked a rib once…
thought it was going to kill me." I quickly told
her about the snowstorm on my way up to see Lisa
at her parents.
Dr. Bartlet moved to sit in one of the
chairs in the observation room and motioned me
into another. "Sam, Josh will have a long and …
fairly painful recovery in front of him. When he
first wakes up they'll give him something for the
pain, probably something to help him breath, some
antibiotics… But it is going to be a while
before he's up and moving again."
Despite the bad news I was mentally
latching on to her tone, her word choices. 'Josh
will have…' He will… Not an 'if' statement. A
'will' statement. "So they're sure he'll make it
out of this?"
She looked at the ground and was silent.
I regretted asking immediately. I liked it
better the way I had worked it out in my head.
"Not for sure, no," she answered softly. "But
things look good. I can't really see the
monitors too well from here, but the O.R. staff
seems very calm. They're moving slowly and
carefully, like they're following a game plan,
not rushing around and trying to keep everything
going. It looks good, Sam, but I won't make
promises he," she pointed to Josh, "may not let
me keep. It's going to be a long operation and a
long recovery. But it looks very promising right
now."
I nodded. I wanted desperately to be
with him. To hold his hand. To stroke his hair
or his cheek. Josh is strong and he's brave, but
even the strong and the brave get scared. And
although I know he wouldn't have been conscious
of my presence, I wanted to do something. I
wanted to call him names to make him forget the
pain. I wanted to just sit and talk quietly to
him, tell him he'd be okay and that I was there,
to say again all the things I'm not sure he heard
me say in the ambulance.
I listened half-heartedly as she
explained about what would happen during and
after the surgery, about the chest tube that
would suck out blood and air and anything else
that got in the way of his lung re-expanding.
About the wire they'd put him back together with.
It occurred to me to ask if he'd have to have
that removed or if he'd be setting off metal
detectors for the rest of his life, but it seemed
petty, so I didn't.
I understood, optimistically, half of
what she said. It sounded like the worst worry
was the damage to the artery taking blood into
his lung. For whatever reason they couldn't use
a synthetic or do some sort of transplant. They
had to fix what was left in there. I didn't
follow a lot of that conversation, but I didn't
really care. I knew just enough to know that it
would be hours of pulling pieces of him out of
places they didn't belong and even more hours of
trying to put together the pieces that were left.
After a while, Charlie started
distracting himself by asking Dr. Bartlet to
explain, well… everything. When she was going
over the difference between internal and external
stitches I slipped out.
I wandered around for a while, showing my
credentials when needed to move in and out of the
secret service perimeter. I had a vague sense of
wishing I smoked so I'd have an excuse for why I
was standing in a blindingly bright ambulance bay
in my shirt sleeves. I wondered if I looked as
bad as I felt.
I'd gone into the waiting room earlier
and the only people in there were Zoey and Toby
and some more secret service guys. Leo was back
meeting with the Security Advisors and the
Cabinet and C.J had headed back to the West Wing
to start preparing initial briefing notes. Even
the various assistants who'd been there were
gone. Charlie was still with Dr. Bartlet, Mrs.
Landingham had gone back with to the White House
to clear the president's calendar. Margaret left
with Leo and Donna had gone to see Josh. I
wished I'd been around when she decided to do
that. I hadn't seen her in the halls, but I'd
wandered around for a while, so I was fairly sure
that it was too late to go chase her down and
warn her off. In some ways I was regretting
seeing Josh like that and I really didn't think
Donna was going to handle it well if… Well, if.
I'd heard no end of shit from my father when I
refused to go to my grandmother's open casket
wake when I was fourteen. I couldn't convince
him that I wouldn't go because I loved her too
much to see her like that. My last memory of her
was of me sitting on the floor of her apartment
working on an English report and explaining the
pros and cons of mandatory drug testing in sports
to her while she made dinner. That was the
memory I wanted to keep. I didn't want to think
of her cold and pale and still in a coffin each
time her name came up.
And though I was wishing, hoping and
praying with everything in my soul that I'd see
Josh up and talking and walking again, I knew
there was a chance. And I knew the last memory
I'd have of him would be one of his chest split
open before me. I didn't want Donna to share
that memory with me. I kicked at a cigarette
butt on the ground. Nothing to be done for it
now.
After a little while I saw Toby leave
through the emergency room door and get into a
waiting motorcade car. Probably going back to
work with C.J. on the press release.
I was grateful that they'd let me stay.
It wasn't that I couldn't write about what had
happened. It wasn't a particularly difficult
thing to explain. Leo would tell us what we
could release and we'd release it. It wasn't a
campaign speech or the State of the Union or some
policy announcement we needed to curry favor for.
What had happened was ugly. It was raw and ugly
and cruel and the words to explain it could be
too.
Just to be doing something, I mentally
wrote C.J.'s next press briefing in my head.
'The president's surgery was completed at 12:30
a.m. He's resting comfortably in the company of
his wife and youngest daughter, Zoey. The
surgeons reported that the bullet caused only
minor damage, and laproscopic examination
revealed no serious tissue or organ damage. Josh
Lyman is still in surgery to repair a collapsed
lung and lacerated artery -' or was it the vein.
I couldn't remember if they'd said it was the
blood vessel going into or out of his heart. I
reworded it. 'Josh Lyman is still undergoing
surgery to repair a collapsed lung and lacerated
blood vessel between his heart and lung.' I
mentally erased the sentence. That would just
leave the press asking if it was the vein or
artery, which I didn't know, so I tried to find a
better way to say it. Maybe C.J. knew. She
probably had notes. So maybe I could leave it
that way.
I shook my head. No wonder Toby was
writing this. 'Surgery is progressing well, but
it's still to early to predict an outcome.' I
concluded.
"Sam?"
I jumped. "Geez!" I had no idea Mrs.
Landingham had come back, let alone that she was
standing right next to me. "I'm sorry. I'm
sorry, I didn't see you there." I fought down
the adrenaline surge. There was so much
adrenaline in my system from everything that had
happened that night already that I could feel the
knots forming in my muscles. I knew I wouldn't
sleep for days and that I'd be cranky as hell as
it started to wear off.
"I don't think you'd have heard the
Marine Band if they'd been standing on top of
that ambulance right there," she said, smiling at
me.
I sighed and tried to smile back. "I was
just writing C.J.'s next press briefing in my
head."
"Really?" she asked disbelieving.
"Honest," I said, putting my right hand over my heart.
"You and Josh Lyman have a long history," she stated.
"Yep." I supposed I was supposed to
elaborate, but I had no idea where to start.
"It's getting a bit chilly, isn't it?" she let me off the hook.
"Yep." Great, I had my voice back, but I
literally couldn't string two words together. I
realized that perhaps Mrs. Landingham was trying
to talk to me. She and the president have a long
history too. I knew she was his secretary when
he was Governor of New Hampshire and I was pretty
sure she was with him when he was in the House.
If it went further back than that, I didn't know
about it, but something about the way she took
him to task over what he ate, how he spoke and
his sense of humor (or lack of it in her
estimation) spoke of an incredibly long
acquaintance.
Before I could say anything, she lay her
hand on my arm. "Why don't you come inside?"
"Yeah, sure." It was easier to let other
people make decisions for me, tell me what to do
and when to do it.
I followed her back into the waiting room
and fell into the same chair I'd been in earlier.
_________________
End Part 1, To Strive
Continued in Part 2
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Mmmm, powerful.
Date: 2004-06-28 12:55 am (UTC)...also, your icon? I have a similar one. I'm just curious, where'd you get the source material? I've been racking my brain trying to remember. >.
Re: Mmmm, powerful.
Date: 2004-06-28 01:07 am (UTC)My icon... this one or the black one with the floating faces on my kwaldo12 journal? Actually, I can't remember where I got any of them from. I did a big search for images when I wanted to do some icons about 2 years ago. If you want it, let me know and I'll search around for the source picture I used. It should be in my 'big ole icon picutres' folder. :)
Waldo.
Re: Mmmm, powerful.
Date: 2004-06-28 01:42 am (UTC)