Christmas Spirit


Ali Cherry


He wonders if they've ever noticed.

He doesn't think they have. Christmas brings with a certain amount of hustle and bustle, no time for noticing the Ebenezer Scroogish tendencies of his.

This year they had all watched Leo being crucified.

The year before they had watched Josh crumble.

The year before that, they had tried to save Leo from Lillianfield.

The year before that was the transition from campaign to White House staff.

The year before that was Lisa.

No one has noticed how he hates Christmas. He wonders; does anyone else hate Christmas? He hasn't noticed. He's always busy packing, trying to get as far away from the traditional Christmas as he can.

Sure, Bermuda does Christmas, but it has a lazy feel to it with the warm sun and the unhurried jangle of reggae.

So maybe he doesn't hate Christmas. Maybe he just hates the American Christmas. Maybe it's the crass commercialism. Maybe it's the way the radio plays the same twenty songs over and over again. Maybe it's the memories of Christmas' that never turn out the way they were supposed to.

"Hey, Sam," Josh calls from the bullpen. "CJ, Toby and I are going to get an eggnog and, you know, possibly get ticketed for drunken disorderly conduct. Let's go."

Sam starts shoving briefing memos in his briefcase. He has five hundred pages this year to go through. But he isn't sweating it. It's five hundred pages of bullshit, of things that usually go to interns and senior assistants.

He's no longer a good deputy. He's a good lap dog: someone to be petted on the head and smiled at, someone to ignore, when the mood suits them.

And he hates that it's Christmas and that he's let these feelings of resentment leave the dark corner of his heart where he shuffles things he doesn't want to think of.

"Sam? Let's go." Josh is there now, at his door, his hair frizzy and his muffler askew.

"I have a flight tonight."

"You're leaving?" Josh seems surprised by the thought of Sam leaving.

"Yeah." Don't I always? Hangs in the air.

"It's just you didn't say anything."

Sam smiles wryly at Josh. "I didn't want to count my chickens this year."

"Oh."

It is only by a miracle of Congressman Bruno's good grace and wonderful sense of fairness that Leo isn't still being raked over the coals, while Josh blames Sam for not pulling a miracle from his day runner.

But miracles are in short supply this year. And Sam's not counting anything but the minutes until his flight takes him away from the world where he isn't wanted, where he thinks that thought every Christmas.

When had Christmas become the time of feeling sorry for himself? He's never liked himself as the whiner. He has a wheel of cheese in his fridge to remind him that whining gets a person nowhere.

And so Sam is counting the minutes until he can leave for St Thomas. So he can bask in the warm beaches and the impersonal room service.

"I didn't realize you were going somewhere for Christmas. I told Dr. Bartlet you would be coming to dinner tomorrow."

"You should have asked." Sam can't stand that detached sound in his voice, and he wonders if he's stopped being human this holiday season.

"Are you going to see your mom?"

"No, I'm flying to St Thomas." He starts looking for his spare battery for his laptop. He'll need to fax that speech to Toby, who will send it back twenty times just to make sure that Sam doesn't lose himself in where ever he's headed.

And Sam thinks to himself, 'Maybe I'll lose myself this year. I think I deserve it.'

Josh clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably. "Well —"

"You should get going, CJ and Toby won't like it if you hold them up."

"Sam, get your coat. We're leaving," Toby bellows from the doorway of the communications bullpen.

"You should get going, Josh." Sam looks down at his packed briefcase and thinks about leaving it there, in the White House.

"Is something wrong, Sam?" Josh asks.

"No. I just really need this, okay?"

"You need a ride to the airport?"

"No. I don't need anything from you, or Toby, or CJ, or Leo. I need to get on my flight to St Thomas, and I need to leave Washington, I need to get out of here, before I lose what's left of my pride and you know. . . me." Sam's voice rose in the small office and he snapped his mouth shut.

"Sam?"

"I'm going to miss my flight. I'll talk to you when I get back." Sam grabbed his briefcase and jacket and hit the lights on the way out of his office, leaving Josh in the dark.



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