***

Sometimes I don't think I fit in here at all.

Being a speechwriter and all in favor of great oratory, I could not even begin to describe the feeling of being the youngest member of the Senior Staff. As someone who is fascinated with mathematics as well, I can only say it is indirectly proportional to that of being a member of the Senior Staff, period.

There. Let Toby say now that I lack punctuation.

But he'll say it anyway. As my direct supervisor, he gets to make sure nothing I write goes unchecked, unscrutinized, unsubjected to microscopic censure. Which is fine with me - except for the times when my writing is below his expectations and then I just feel small.

Then, an excellent education and brilliant wit come to my aid.

"Toby, I'm telling you, it's not going to work."

"If you move paragraph 11 here and drop the bullet points, it may just give this speech the sparkle it needs."

"We've been working on it since January."

"And yet, surprisingly, it can still use a little polish."

"We could give it our best shot, beat it with a stick until the cows come home, and still your polish will be as useful as a whistle in outer space!"

"Whoa. I didn't know you ran the 'cliche of the day' website."

"Then you'll be surprised to learn I also don't like green eggs and ham."

Then he just stares at me and, for a moment, I am safe. I cherish these moments with baited breath, like an actor would cherish a spot onstage while receiving an award, but that's something I know equally little about.

When I was brought on board, Toby Ziegler assumed a paternal station over me, and the consequences of that immediately ensued. I was to be initiated into the sacred kith and kin of Those Who Write For the President. Which, as of right then and there, was just the two of us.

"You know what's the first thing you should do when you decide to become a writer?" he asked me during our first meeting when, young and green, I eyed my surroundings innocently in quiet suffocation.

"Buy some paper and stock up on pencils?"

"No. You get yourself a name. You write something so good that people forget to breathe while reading it. After that, you don't ever have to be coherent again."

"That isn't how I imagined it."

"It's true. You've got to make sure your pen is mightier than... someone else's pen."

And there you have it. Guided by the blind.

Or so I thought. The very next day, everything changed. He wanted my every word to be luminous, my every idea - well-researched and based on hard data, and my every speech a blazing success with the audience. I had no problem with it because I wanted the same thing.

If possible, I wanted it more than he did.

Then, suddenly, in an unspeakably shattering instant, I discovered that I really was good at writing. I knew it when I saw the President's eyes, searching for me in a crowd filled with engineers, astronomers, scientists, and one particularly unlucky NASA Communications staffer, so I could give him words to address the American people on a momentous occasion.

And words poured out of me like warm shimmering rain on a bright sunny day.

The next morning Toby sighed, reading over my speech.

"It's a shame the probe never made it," he said only, but I knew he was unhappy with the language.

I kept Scott Tate's number just in case Toby would ever need a reminder on what bad writing is really like.

I've made it a point to constantly be there for him, day or night. He doesn't always need me, but I'm there nonetheless, even if that time is spent in rethinking the necessity of my commitment. Toby, on the other hand, is indispensable to many people.

"Sam, I'm busy here."

"Sorry, Toby. Had I known you were unavailable this very minute, I would have instructed the Kuwait crisis to, you know, hang on a while."

Again with the staring.

There are times I sit in my office and try to imagine how everything he's ever done would go over if done by other people. Some things, like the Leadership breakfast fiasco, easily weave into life starring, say, me. Then I think about the day at Rosslyn and how he found Josh when none of us thought he was hurt... and there is warmth in my heart and a feeling of debt I think I'll never repay.

As a boss, he is demanding, odd-tempered, overpowering. As a politician, he is fierce, dangerous, reckless and incomparably gifted.

And just when I start feeling I don't fit in here, I remember what he's like as a friend...

Let's just say I wouldn't have it any other way.