The Powder Room

First, go read Background, by Ryo and Jo. Then, after you’re done sobbing, come back and let me make you laugh.
Summary: Life goes on. . .

Author’s Note: If you haven’t read “Background,” by the inimitable Ryo Sen and Jo March, go grab some Kleenex and do that first, because that piece of writing downright *defines* angst. This is a parody of one of the vignettes that was the most painful. Cause it’s cheaper than therapy, since Background SCARRED ME FOR LIFE!
Disclaimer: Background belongs to Jo March and Ryo Sen. I totally stole large sections and phrases. The characters mentioned herein belong to Aaron Sorkin and a bunch of
corporations. Well, except CJ’s mother. I don’t think she’s been mentioned, so I’m gonna claim her. She’s mine! All mine!

***
3:32 p.m.
June 18, 2000

It’s been a month since I buried my daughter.

Thirty days since Joshua Lyman delivered a stunning eulogy for my little girl, since I tossed a small handful of dirt onto her coffin, since the President wept at CJ’s gravesite in front of God, CNN, and everyone.

It’s been a month, and I’m not sure I can take this anymore.

Danny Concannon came to California for the funeral like everyone else. But he stayed to sit Shiva for CJ. Toby came out early to help with the preparations. Sam, Josh, and Leo came for the funeral, but this aging Irish Catholic man sat Shiva with me.

This is probably a sign of his devotion to CJ, but we’re not Jewish, and quite frankly it’s more than a little bit creepy.

At first it was rather sweet even though we rarely got a chance to see CJ with any regularity anymore, the house seemed quieter without her frequent phone calls.

I miss that quiet.

I thought I’d never be able to recover from the loss of my child. I thought that having Danny around would be a constant reminder of the daughter that was no longer with us.

It is, and I’m starting to think that CJ is punishing us from beyond the grave.

Every time I look at Danny, I am both relieved and angry. I’m so glad my CJ was loved so fiercely, but I am furious that she had to put up with this constant pestering. I’ve had a month of it and it’s been more than enough.

I know from hearing CJ speak that she had feelings for him. I also know that insanity runs in our family. She could be so demented sometimes, a trait she inherited, I assure you, from her father.

I also know, from watching Danny fall apart this last month, that he absolutely adored my daughter. I wish so much that he just wasn’t so very strange. I’m sure grief transforms us, but he had to have been a little wacky from the beginning.

And for the last month, I’ve been able to focus my energy on Danny, on keeping him entertained. I’m spending all of my time in the kitchen, preparing meals. It’s an uphill battle trying to keep him fed, to leave the house, to do anything but mope. Concentrating on Danny’s needs allows me not to think about the daughter I’ve lost, but more importantly, it keeps him quiet for a few minutes at least with food in his mouth he won’t talk.

Keeping busy like this means that I don’t have to think about the fact that my daughter will never hit forty years old She’ll never retire. She’ll never take that vacation to Greece she talked about for so long. She’ll never turn down Danny’s advances again, never experience the
elation of using her Tae Kwan Do on him. She’ll never know the indescribable high that I imagine comes with ridding your life of Danny Concannon.

I’m not sure he’s strong enough yet to go back to D.C.–he’s still remarkably pale, the shadows under his eyes are as dark as bruises–but I’m determined. I have to get rid of him. He needs to stand on his own two feet.

I accompany him one last time to CJ’s grave. I’ve come to love these visits, because at least here he never talks. I imagine that he’s speaking with CJ, but at least it’s not aloud, so I don’t have to suffer through the incessant yammering.

Before we leave, I place the small bunch of flowers I brought on the tombstone. As he has every time before, Danny kisses his fingertips and runs them over her name. Then, with a small sob, he takes a small bag filled with water out of his jacket pocket, opens it, and reverently places one tiny goldfish next to my offering.

I don’t understand the significance, and quite frankly I don’t think I want to, but Danny whispers that Josh told him she liked goldfish.

We stand there for a moment, watching as the small creature flops helplessly around and finally falls off of the edge of the stone. It twitches a few more times before it’s finally still.

Danny seems a little better after we leave, and I feel slightly less worried about his mental health when I drop him at the airport. I repeat the empty promise he has an open invitation to come back any time, and he says again that I should come to D.C.

Then I wave frantically as he walks toward the plane and disappears from view.

I am truly alone now.

Thank GOD.