Category: Mostly Margaret with a little L/M at the end
Rating: PG for language you wouldn't use in polite company
Disclaimer: The West Wing and its characters are the property of
Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, Warner Brothers Television and
NBC. No copyright infringement is intended on the author's part.
Feedback: Better than early election returns.
Summary: Election day and night from Margaret's point of view. All
lines in single quotation marks are Margaret's thoughts.
Author's notes: To Flip, Lin and every other person who believes in
the process. To the crew and our shared American Dream. Finally,
this story is for every person, regardless of race, creed, or color,
political ideology or party affiliation, who stood up and put their
name on a ballot. You are part of what makes this country great.
All quotations in this story are the property of their authors.
6:10 a.m.
`I'm scared.'
`Which is pretty silly when you think about it.'
`This isn't rocket science.'
`No, it's political science.'
`I'm scared.'
`I can do this. It's not as though I've never done this before.
Although I have not done it a lot.'
`I think my heart is going to explode. Can't you just see the
headlines in tomorrow's Post: "Senior White House aide suffers fatal
heart attack at polling site".'
`Buck up, Margaret, it's your turn. You *can* do this.'
`Make sure I've got the right button. Okay.'
`See, that wasn't so hard.'
`Now what?'
`One foot in front of the other; left, right, left right.'
"Fourscore and seven years ago our forefathers brought forth on this
continent a new nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the
proposition that all men are created equal."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Noon
"Yes sir. Thank you, sir. I'll let him know you called."
`Why is it, on election day, people we haven't heard from in the last
four years feel the need to come crawling out of the woodwork? And
every last one of them wants to express their best wishes to the
President. And if not him, then Leo. Well, I'm sorry folks,
Tweedledum and Tweedledee have been holed up in the Oval Office since
sunup doing heaven only knows what. You're stuck yammering on to a
Senior Assistant. Not that you mind, probably, so long as your
message makes its way to the intended recipient. Leo's going to be
returning phone calls until Popsicle's are an export of hell. Damned
phone!'
"Leo McGarry's office. I'm sorry, he's not in at the moment. May I
take a message?"
`The folks who haven't called are certainly not at a loss when it
comes to conveying their support. You can't swing a cat in here for
all the flower arrangements, fruit baskets, and gourmet treats. It
looks like somebody died. Maybe we did. And if that's the case,
what a way to go, serving the American public.'
"We the people. In order to form a more perfect union, provide
justice, ensure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense,
promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty for
ourselves and our posterity do ordain and establish this Constitution
of the United States of America."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
5:45 p.m.
`Food. I need food. Breakfast was a lost cause, too nervous.
Lunch, same thing. Now we're fifteen minutes from the polls closing
on the East Coast and my stomach is making noises that indicate I've
developed the talent of channeling Oscar the Grouch. Fruit basket,
yeah, that's the ticket. I can eat a banana while I make these
photocopies. And coffee lots and lots of coffee. Caffeine is our
friend . . .'
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
8:30 p.m.
`This feels like my 500th trip down this hall in the last hour.
Could be my 5,000th – I lost count quite some time ago. Thank
goodness I wore low heels to work. It wouldn't do to have sore feet
on top of a tension headache and a cranky stomach. Here comes
Ginger; she looks like I feel. Her lips have been moving silently
all day; five will get you ten she's praying. And while there might
be a time I'd find that unusual . . . now is not the time. Because
I've had my right hand stuffed in the pocket of my navy wool skirt at
every opportunity, worrying my grandmother's rosary beads.'
"Hail Mary, full of grace. Blessed art thou among women and blessed
is the fruit of thy own womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray
for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
12:59 a.m.
`I'm scared.'
`This election has had more twists and turns than a two lane country
road.'
`For the last couple of hours it has not looked good. Not good at
all. In fact, it's been scary in every sense of the word.'
`The East Room looks like a Circuit City outlet; televisions
everywhere. To say nothing of the White House Press Corps, the news
crews, invited guests and staffers. CJ's over in the corner looking
like she might want to cry before all this is over. Carol is where
she's been all day, right behind her, ready to make the catch should
the worst case scenario prevail. Comes the question, who's going to
catch Carol?'
`Me? I'm right where I should be, along the far wall with the rest of
the assistants, close to a doorway. When the deal goes down, for
good or for ill, we're going to be forced to sprint flat-out for our
offices. There will be an unending tidal wave of work, no matter the
outcome.'
`This television coverage is making be batty. Battier than usual.
Battier than the belfry of Westminster Abbey. So help me if Tim
Russert comes up with one more way to count to 270 I'm gonna . . .
Hold the phone, they're focusing the cameras on Tom Brokaw again.
Would everyone please hush, I can't hear what he's saying. Oh help,
they're ready to call the election . . . no they're not, Tom's got
that look of utter concentration on his face and his hand is pressed
to his ear piece. I think I'm gonna die, right here, right now . . .
I cannot take this. I am too old for this . . .'
`I think I've lost the circulation in my right hand from squeezing
Debbie's fingers. I'm certain I can feel Donna's birthstone pressing
into the palm of my left hand.'
`Directly behind me I hear Bonnie begin to whisper and I join in:'
"To everything there is a season and I time to every purpose under
heaven. A time to plant and a time to reap, a time to kill and a
time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build up, a time to
weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to . . ."
`Here we go. It all comes down to this. My entire adult life
encapsulated in a sound bite.'
(Tom Brokaw on camera)
"Ladies and gentlemen it has been a hard fought campaign and
exhausting Election Night. With 44% of the California precincts
reporting in, we are confident in calling the election for . . ."
`Hail Mary full of grace . . .'
"President Josiah Bartlet."
`It's as though the Puppet Master snapped his fingers and released us
from our bonds. The wall of noise in here is deafening; doubtless
people in Alexandria are hearing this. I'm not sure but I think I
just kissed Donna on the lips. Who cares? We did it . . . we're
still here . . . WE WON ! ! !'
`There's a party in every corner of the room. Except for this one.
Initial moment of exultation over; we know what is expected of us.
It is time to get back to work. The beginning of the President's
second term will not run itself. But first a ritual that has its
origins in a May night three years ago when nothing was certain. No
one knows who started it, although there is a consensus it was Mrs.
Landingham. Forming a tight knot, we look at one another, six solemn
faces in a sea of jubilee.'
"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.
Courage to change the things I can. And the wisdom to know the
difference."
`Okay, back to work. I'd kill for champagne. However, with the lack
of sleep combined with the lack of food, a glass of Moet Chandon
would put me on a Concorde to Giddyland in record time. More
coffee . . . much more coffee.'
`For all our planning, it's proving near impossible to get out of
here. C'mon people, woman on a mission here . . .'
"Excuse me, pardon me, coming through . . ."
`I don't think we've moved five feet in the last five minutes. For
pity's sake, I've got work to do! Leo'll pass a stone the size of
Mt. Rushmore if I don't have everything in order by the time . . .
What on earth? Who is grabbing at the back of my jacket? So help me
if someone pours wine or any other alcoholic beverage on this suit
there will be hell to pay. My dry cleaning bill is already the size
of the national debt. I can't manage to turn around, too many people
I here. Damn! If one more person crashes into my ribs I'm gonna
need an ER visit when this night is over. What the hell is going on
now? Who on earth is trying to . . .'
"Leo McGarry, put me down you old fool!"
Fin