The Day the Music Died

I'm sitting at my desk a little after 8 when Margaret comes over with a Styrofoam take out container. "Is Josh busy? This is from Leo," she says as she puts the box on my desk. "A corned beef sandwich," she adds as I point towards it.

"He's brooding in there," I mutter as I nod my head in the direction of Josh's office.

"Brooding? We just got two people nominated to the Supreme Court. What could he possibly have to brood about?"

"I honestly have no idea. And for once that's true. Usually I can figure out pretty quickly what's going on with him but I'm rather stumped tonight.

"Was he hung-over this morning?" Margaret asks as she picks up the bottle of Glenlivet that was just delivered from Senator Pierce's office.

"Surprisingly he wasn't. I made sure he took Advil, ate something and drank a huge glass of water before he went to bed last night." Margaret arches a well-groomed eyebrow. "I took him home, tucked him in and went home to sleep in my own bed."

"Damn."

"Got that right," I mutter. "You want to take that in to him?" I ask, pointing towards the sandwich.

"No thanks, you can do it. Leo says for both of you to take the day off tomorrow. Enjoy it."

"I will. Thanks."

I push my chair back, grab Josh's goodies and head across the hall. The light is off, not a good sign. I open the door enough to stick my head in. He's sitting with his feet on the desk, head popped up in his right hand. In his left hand is the picture of Josh and Joanie that normally sits on his desk. Well, at least now I have some idea of what he's brooding about. But I have no idea what American Pie has to do with it, but he's been humming it all day. "Josh," I whisper as I notice his eyes are closed and he probably doesn't realize I'm standing here.

"Hmmm?" he asks, clearly not completely awake. He pulls his feet down and quickly puts the picture back on the corner of the desk as if he doesn't want me to notice he had it in his hand. I just ignore his actions.

"You've got gifts," I say as I place the items on his desk and reach over to turn on the desk lamp.

"What's in there," he asks pointing towards the white container.

"Corned beef sandwich, from Leo. And this is from Senator Pierce," I add as I point to the bottle. "And we have tomorrow off. So let's go to your place, share the sandwich and get drunk." Josh just stares at me trying to figure out if I'm serious.

"Really?"

"It's been a long, long week Joshua. Damn right I'm serious."

"Then let's go," he laughs as he jumps to his feet grabs his bag in one hand and the bottle in the other. I pick up the sandwich and turn off the light. For the first time in months and months Josh doesn't stuff his bag with work before leaving. Maybe he'll actually relax this weekend.

It's raining and we have to make a run for Josh's car. Even with running we're soaked by the time we get to the car. We're laughing harder than we have in a long, long time. We sit for a minute so the windshield has a chance to clear. Josh slips off his suit jacket and uses his shirt sleeve to wipe the drops of rain from his face. He hands me his handkerchief and I wipe my own face as he puts the car into gear and backs out of his space. The rain slows us down a little and by the time we get to Josh's place I am starving.

*****************

We make the quick run from Josh's parking space to his front door in the pouring rain. By the time we get into his apartment "drowned rats" doesn't begin to describe how we must look. Josh toes off his shoes in the entry way and hangs his suit jacket on the hook. I kick off my own shoes and head for the bathroom to dry off.

"Here are some clothes," Josh says as he sticks just his hand in the bathroom and hands me a pair of pajama pants I left here a while ago and an old Bartlet for America t-shirt of his. By the time I dry off and get to the living room Josh has put the sandwich on a couple of plates. I sit down and pick up the plate with the dill pickle, knowing it's mine. The mere smell of dill makes Josh gag. "You want to do shots or do you want it with ginger ale?" Josh yells from the kitchen.

"Joshua, if you drink it straight you'll be passed out after 3 shots," I tease as I pick up the sandwich. I have to find out where Leo got this, it is heavenly.

Josh comes into the living room a few minutes later holding the two drinks. He's got the bottle tucked under his arm. His hair is curly from being damp and he looks absolutely adorable. Maybe this getting drunk thing isn't such a good idea.

Or on the other hand, maybe it is.

"Thanks," I mutter as I take a glass from him. We watch the news while we eat. Josh practically inhales his food. I think he forgot to eat lunch, again. As the news ends and I turn to a rerun of Friends he gets the bottle of ginger ale out of the kitchen and makes himself another drink.

"You sure you don't want another one," he asks as he holds up his glass and taps it against mine in a wordless toast.

"No, I'm good for now." What I'm really hoping is to stay sober while he drinks enough so maybe he'll open up a little and explain why he spent a good deal of the day brooding when he should have been celebrating.

Josh downs the drink quickly, glancing over to see if I'm going to say anything. I don't care if he gets drunk. He's a grown man, he can take care of himself.

Oh who the hell am I kidding, I'm going to spend tomorrow morning holding his head while he pukes.

By the time Friends is over Josh has abandoned the idea of diluting the liquor with ginger ale. I do however put my foot down at the idea of him drinking straight out of the bottle. So far he hasn't said much of anything and I'm about to give up hope. I lost count of how many shots he has had, but I did decide to have two.

As I flick the channel to see who is on Leno Josh gets up to use the bathroom. As he stumbles down the hall I take the opportunity to stretch out on the couch, Josh can sit in the recliner, I'm ready to get comfortable.

"Hey, I was sitting there," he says, slurring his words as he staggers back into the room.

"Sit in the recliner," I mutter as I flick from Leno to Letterman looking for who has the best guest. Josh pushes the coffee table out of the way and sits on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back so his head is right by mine. I guess the trip across the room to the recliner would take too much energy. He tips his head back and gives me a drunken grin before pouring himself another shot. His hand eye coordination, which isn't stellar to begin with, has deteriorated immensely in the last half hour. I'll be scrubbing the coffee table and the floor tomorrow. He downs the shot in a single gulp and tips his head back again. He looks so cute I can't help myself. I brush my fingers through his hair and drop a quick, innocent kiss on his forehead. His eyes slide closed and he starts to hum again.

"What's with the song?" I ask. He opens his eyes, stops humming instantly and sits upright, staring straight ahead at the television. Apparently I've hit a nerve. "Josh?"

"CJ and Senator Pierce were singing it last night. I guess it just got stuck in my head."

I'm sure that's true but I am not buying that there's not more to it than that. Josh flops down on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. He's just far enough away that I can't reach to touch him so I, not so gracefully, grab a pillow and roll off the couch. I crawl over to him, flopping on my back next to him, the two of us staring up at his ceiling fan. "Josh," I whisper as I nudge him with my foot. He sighs and I can tell he's trying to get his thoughts together.

"You know the line in the song, the day the music died?"

"Of course."

"It makes me think of Joanie," he says as he sits up. I resist the urge to sit up with him. He downs another shot before he crawls back over to where I'm stretched out. He lies down on his back and rests his head on my stomach, our bodies making a big T on the floor. I don't want to push him; he opens up about Joanie so rarely. I put my right hand behind my head and rest my left hand on Josh's shoulder. "She loved music. There was always music on in the house. She would stand in front of the mirror and pretend to conduct. She took piano and practiced for hours. She had just started to teach me how to play a few little songs when she...when she died." I can't think of anything to say, there's nothing I can do to make him feel better so I just run my fingers through his hair, hoping he'll keep talking. "I think my Mom would have liked for me to continue with the piano but I couldn't. But after all these years I've never forgotten those few songs she taught me."

"That's really sweet Josh," I say, cringing at how lame that sounded.

"Anyway after she..she died we didn't play much music around the house. I played it in my room, with my friends and all but it wasn't like it was before the fire. Everything was just different," Josh sighs. His voice is weak and soft, the lisp that he sometimes has is more pronounced from the liquor. It's all I can do to keep from taking him into my arms. "I was 8 when she died, she was 15," he says quietly. He's never shared the events of that night in any kind of detail. I wasn't even sure how old he was when she died. "She was babysitting me. We were watching TV and we wanted popcorn. The popcorn maker shorted out or something. We ran outside. She sent me to the neighbor's house. I thought she was right behind me...but..." Josh stops short and takes a deep shaky breath. He's close to the proverbial edge. Most of the time when he gets like this I say something to send him over the edge and let him get it all out. But I don't think he's ready to fall apart. I think he has some things to say.

"Where did she go?"

"She ran back into the house for something. I don't know what, probably her records or something. They found her on the stairs. I really don't remember anything else from that point up until the funeral two days later. She died on a Friday so the service was Sunday," he explains. "I remember sitting on my grandfather's lap at the funeral home as if it were yesterday, the smell of his cologne, the rough wool of his suit jacket on my cheek and the sound of his voice as he prayed in Hebrew." Josh's last few words come out in a choked sob. I tug on his shoulder a little to get him to move up but he stays where he is, staring at the ceiling. I can feel his tears as they stream down his face and soak through my shirt. "I remember the music they played and the rainy ride to the cemetery. I remember my aunts and uncles just looking at me and bursting into tears. Sitting Shiva was the worst. By the end I was just ready to go outside and scream at the top of my lungs, ride my bike, play with my friends, anything to feel alive.

"Josh, if this is too hard, you can stop," I whisper as I wipe away his tears and a few of my own. He shakes his head and turns on his side. I fold the pillow in half so I can prop up my head and look down at him. He's got one hand tucked between his cheek and my stomach, the other one is reaching out to hold my hand. The fact that my breasts are directly in his line of vision is something I don't even bother contemplating, although maybe I should. But I don't really care about that right now. And it's pretty apparent he hasn't noticed the view either. The sadness in his eyes is like nothing I've ever seen before. He's silently pleading with me to make it all better and I can't. In fact I can't think of anything to say that doesn't sound contrite or stupid so I caress his cheek and squeeze his hand.

Josh takes a deep breath and speaks a few minutes later. "I blamed myself for a long time. I guess deep down I still do."

"Josh, you were a little boy. You did what she told you to do."

Josh lets out a forced chuckle, "That's the same thing Stanley told me a few years ago."

"He was right."

"Anyway for a few years after she died we didn't have a whole lot of music in the house. When I turned 13 and had my Bar Mitzvah I got money from my grandparents. And I used some of the money to buy a new baseball glove, some baseball cards and my first 45."

"American Pie?" I guess. Josh just nods. He fidgets a little, kicking his legs and scrubbing his hands down his face a few times before rolling onto his back again. "I think I wore it out. Drove my parents nuts with it. Hearing CJ and Senator Pierce sing it last night, it just hit me like a ton of bricks. But I didn't have time to dwell on it then, I had to sober up and get back to work."

"You realize that you've been humming it all day long, right?"

"Yeah. I figured I only had so long before you asked me about it," he laughs.

"You know Josh, Joanie's love of music explains a lot."

"What do you mean?"

"I think it's why music affected you that Christmas, why it turned out to be the thing that drove you to... to that place you ended up," I stumble over my words trying to put things as delicately as possible. "You have this love/hate relationship with music. Sometimes you use it to calm down and other times you can't stand to have it on. That makes more sense now. You love it because Joanie did and sometimes that makes it too hard to enjoy it. Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah, I guess I never really thought of it that way. There are times Ave Maria comforts me and other times it just....just causes me to fall apart."

"I know. Joanie didn't happen to play the cello too did she?"

"She played the violin. But I guess the violin was close enough to the cello when it came down to what was going to push me over the edge," he mutters with a shrug of the shoulders.

"Oh my God, and I spent 5 days going on and on about Yo Yo Ma," I gasp. "I am so sorry."

"Donna, you have nothing to apologize for. You had no idea. Hell, I had no idea what was happening. I'm just glad you were able to figure things out before they got any worse."

"They got bad enough," I whisper as I pick his right hand up and trace the faint scars.

"Yeah," he whispers. "Do you know what Stanley asked me that day?" I have a pretty good idea but I just shake my head. "He asked me if I thought I was suicidal. And I flat out lied to him. I was...I mean I didn't have a plan or anything. Just a vague feeling that things would be better off if I was in another place."

And once more tonight Josh has rendered me speechless. He sits up and puts his head in his hands. He doesn't break down, which is a pretty surprising given the amount of alcohol he's consumed. "Josh," I whisper as I sit up next to him and rub his back. "Was that the only time you felt that way?"

"Yeah, I swear it was."

He sounds sincere and I do believe him. He crawls over to the entertainment center and flips through the CDs. I have a pretty good guess what he's looking for. As he searches I grab the Glenlivet off the coffee table and pour two final shots before putting the bottle in the kitchen. As the first strains of American Pie fill the room Josh gets up on shaky legs and sits sideways on the couch facing me. He takes the shot glass from me and stares at it for a minute, almost as if it holds the secrets of the universe. I'm expecting some big sentimental toast when he simply touches his glass to mine. "To Joanie," he whispers softly.

"To Joanie," I echo. We down the liquor and I put the shot glasses safely on the coffee table. Not wanting to make the first move I wait until Josh gives me some kind of signal. Him wrapping his arms around me and holding on for dear life seems like just the signal. I hold him tight and rub his back as he listens to the song. He sings along, quietly slurring the lyrics.

************************

Half an hour later and I'm putting Josh to bed. He's had Advil, a big glass of water and he has a Tupperware bowl next to the bed, just in case. He's completely drunk and I have no idea if he's going to remember anything in the morning. I'm just hoping he falls asleep quickly and stays that way until morning.

"Are you st-staying tonight?" he asks as he climbs into bed.

"I'll stay. Call me if you need me," I say as I point towards the couch, the place I will be sleeping tonight.

"Don't you want to stay in here," he says, motioning towards the empty spot next to him. Yes, of course I want to stay in his bed with him. But I am honestly afraid of what might happen. He's drunk, he's had an emotional night and I don't want us to do anything we may regret later.

"I'm sleeping on the couch. I'll stay until you fall asleep."

"OK," he whispers sleepily as he lets me tuck him in. He rolls onto his stomach and I rub his back.

A few minutes later and I think he's fallen asleep. "Donna," he mutters, guess he wasn't completely asleep. "I really wish...."

"Wish what Josh?"

"I wish you and Joanie had met. You would have liked each other," he says simply before closing his eyes again.

"I'm sure we would have. Get some sleep. Call me if you need anything." I press a kiss to his forehead, lingering a second or two longer than I should.

I sit down on the couch and wrap myself up in the afghan. I find the remote for the stereo and I replay American Pie. Tears stream down my face. Tears for someone I never met, a girl who never made it to the age of 16, a girl whose spirit lives on in the man I've fallen in love with.

THE END

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