|
Title: The Woman's Got Soul
-She waits for me at night, she waits for me in silence...- She's there when you get to your apartment, curled up on your couch, eating your maple walnut ice cream, and wearing the gray sweatshirt you've had since your college days. You've almost gotten used to finding her like this. On the campaign trail, she'd wait in your hotel room sometimes, and after Rosslyn... she was always here, on your couch, wearing your old clothes. She hears you shut the door, and looks up so that you see the tears spilling from her pretty blue eyes. -And so far she hasn't run, though I swear she's had her moments You had expected her to go home after Cliff returned her diary. You assumed that she would want to be alone. That's certainly how you feel; the incident has left you reeling, stunned, drained, exhausted... You wonder if Sam would be impressed with your descriptive abilities right now. Probably not. It's another moment before she finally breaks the silence between you. "I don't want you to be angry," she whispers. And you sigh as you remove your coat and gloves, then move towards your kitchen. You aren't angry. Not anymore. She was afraid, and she made a mistake. You don't have enough numbers to count how many times you've made mistakes because you were afraid. -She's got to be strong She's watching you now- you see her out of the corner of your eye as you rummage through your cupboards. By her expression, you'd think she's looking at Chaos Incarnate. There are a number of Senators, Congressmen, lobbyists, and secretaries that quite possibly think of you this way, but she should never... "Do I have spoons anywhere?" You ask mildly. She looks startled, as if she expected you to spit fire, not ask about silverware, but she answers quickly, "Bottom drawer, to your right." "I knew that... Really." You join her on your couch, digging your newfound spoon into the cartoon of ice cream. "You'd better not tell the President we're eating this stuff," you remark around a mouthful, "'cause then, y'know, we'd have to listen to him rant about the poor quality of maple walnut ice cream outside of New England, which would probably be followed by a history of ice cream making and then of the importance of the maple tree..." You see a tiny, if bewildered, smile appear on Donna's face. She begins speaking, "Josh, I-" You shake your head, hearing the note of apology in her voice. "It's going to be all right." It must be at least the hundredth time you've told her that today. You lift one hand to her face, to brush away the remaining tears, and then find your fingers smoothing her hair. You've spent so many likes like this. You really are almost used to them. Eventually, you'll have to tell her how much it's meant to have her beside you. You'll have to tell her that you owe her your life- more than you owe a doctor, a therapist, your best friend, or the leader of the free world- you owe her... Before you can think to deeply about hatred, or sirens, or shattering glass, you feel her fingers close over yours, and you look up to see her watching you with that uncanny understanding in her eyes. She puts her head against your chest, as though she needs to hear your heart beating, and you tighten your arms around her. -She turns to me sometimes and asks me what I'm dreaming She doesn't say that she's sorry, and you don't want her to. You just want to hold her like this, because it makes you believe that everything really is going to be all right. -It's all about soul "They're not going to get us," you say firmly, and you feel her nod her head. -There are people who have lost every trace of human kindness You know that you've given Cliff Calley the means to destroy you both, but the tiny part of your brain that isn't locked into politics tells you that he is a decent man. You hate to admit that about a Republican on Oversight, but you saw it in his face when he returned Donna's diary. "It's almost Christmas," Donna says to you. You refrain from pointing out that you don't celebrate Christmas, and that it isn't even December. Donna's always considered the spirit of Christmas a universal thing, and her definition of "almost Christmas" is everything after Labor Day. You hope you can give her a merry Christmas this year. Peace on earth will have to wait still, but maybe you can give peace to Donna. She speaks again, softer this time. "There won't be any Christmas cookies in her jar this year." You know what she's thinking is not really about Christmas cookies. It's about MS, death, reelection, Republican lawyers, subpoenas, boxes... -It's all about soul "Maybe I can make cookies," you suggest lightly. Donna laughs. "You couldn't even find a spoon in your own kitchen!" You grin back at her. "What about the kind you just slice up and stick in the oven? Surely someone with my intelligence can handle that." She's still laughing, and shaking her head. "So maybe you can do it," you tell her. And, once again, you're talking about more than Christmas cookies. You're saying that she can hold everyone together, like the old lady did. She already does it, without really knowing. -You've got to be hard You lean down to give her a quick kiss on the forehead, and she smiles at you. And you think that maybe she does know now, that it's okay. -But that's only part, you know in your heart
|
|
|