Notes: Donna's family is loosely based on my own, so
let me just say that all this is possible. And
frightening. Don't forget frightening. And no, they're
not Mormon. Just insane.
*******************************************************
I’m beginning to remember why I was in such a hurry to
leave Wisconsin in the first place. My history with
the state isn’t exactly exemplary.
I lived in the same house for eighteen years with the
same six people. I went to college to gain
independence, and ended up dependant on a clone of my
father. I finally left Dr. Free Ride and ran away to
New Hampshire, only to find that once you achieve your
independence all you want is to reconnect with the
parasitical force that drove you away in the first
place: your family.
Now, you probably assume that I was just a rebellious
teenager who imagined her loving family was smothering
her. Everyone thinks their family’s crazy, right?
Let me tell you a bit about the Moss Clan. My house
includes six regular occupants (my extended family
visits often): My grandmother Enid, my parents Ulysses
and Edith, my older sisters Godelieve and Abidemi, and
my twin brother Oswald.
The names alone should be a clue that this is not your
average, ‘Leave It to Beaver’ household. And these
names are not a cultural thing like they are with most
families. My great-grandfather Arthur (who was a
little eccentric) began the tradition of picking baby
names randomly out of the ancient books we keep in the
family library. Had I been a boy my name would have
been Ishmael.
This is only the tip of the insanity ice burg. I could
go on for hours about the innumerable oddities I
suffered as a child, but I’ll save it for my
autobiography.
The point of all this is, as strange as my family is,
I’m too weird for them. I’m the Black Sheep. The fact
that I’m in my mid-twenties and not married yet is
inconceivable. Hell, I should have produced three
grandchildren by now! I can’t tell you the number of
times I’ve heard the phrase ‘Why can’t you be more
like your sisters?’
At the moment both of my perfect female siblings are
sitting in the living room each nursing a baby. They
live in perfect houses not half a block away from
where they’re sitting now. Abi’s on her first husband
and second child, while Eve is on her third husband
and fourth child. It doesn’t matter how many times you
get married, just as long as all your husbands are
wealthy and you generate lots of grandchildren.
I’m grinding my teeth just watching them.
“Donnatella, stop that unpleasant noise.” My mother
chides primly. She refuses to use anyone’s nickname,
something that drives even my siblings insane.
“I could take myself and my offending noise elsewhere
if you’d let me have my computer back,” I say slowly,
carefully controlling my voice.
“Nonsense. You didn’t come home to do more work for
that horrendous president of yours.” I’m going to
scream. I’m going to scream.
“She doesn’t work for the president, Mother. She works
for one of his lackeys,” Eve intones disdainfully.
<Who you calling a lackey, you cow?> Oh God. I’m
hearing Josh’s voice in my head. This can’t be good.
“He’s not a lackey, Eve. He’s the Deputy Chief of
Staff,” I say even though I know it’s pointless. They
could care less.
<You tell ‘em, Donna. You defend my honor.> He’s
annoying even when he’s a disembodied voice. Just
wonderful.
“I do not want that man to be discussed in my house.
Do you understand me, Donnatella?”
<That man? She won’t even say my name? What’d I do to
her?> You’re withholding her grandchildren, you
nitwit.
“Yes, mother,” I say like the good little subservient
daughter I am. After a few moments of familial silence
I try again.
“I only want the computer so I can e-mail my
boyfriend. He’s probably worried.” That got their
attention real quick.
My mother gives me the eye. She doesn’t quite believe
me. “Your boyfriend? You didn’t mention a boyfriend.”
<BOYFRIEND! What boyfriend? I would know if there was
a boyfriend!> Shut up and let me do this.
“I didn’t? I must have forgotten to tell you.” Three
years with politicians has taught me a lot about
lying.
“Are his intentions honorable?” I hear Josh laughing
faintly in the background. He caught on and finds this
very entertaining. Mental Josh. Not real. I have to
keep telling myself that.
“Of course. We’re just taking it slow,” I say, giving
Abi a significant look. She knew her husband for a
week before she dropped out of college and married
him. See? I was genetically engineered into the whole
Dr. Free Ride mess.
Abi snorts. “He’s probably one of those filthy
politicians.” Grrr.
<Are you sure you’re not adopted?> I ask myself that
everyday.
“However did you guess?” I smirk and return to my
book. Take that, genes.
“Why hasn’t he called?”
“I asked him to e-mail me instead. So we wouldn’t
disturb the house.”
“What’s his name?”
“Josh Lyman.” Shit! Why did I just do that?
<WHAT!>
“What? Isn’t he-” Eve starts, but my mother interrupts
her.
“Donnatella, is that not the name of your employer?”
“Yes.” I gulp.
Mother looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm.
“Why-”
The phone rings, an unusual sound in our house. My
mother shuts her mouth abruptly and her shade of
purple fades to a dark pink. "Godelieve, would you
answer that please?" Eve hands her baby to Abi and
walks into the kitchen.
I hear Mental Josh's faint <MOO> as she walks away.
Why the hell did I do that?
“The Moss residence. How may I help you?” I hear Eve
say formally into the telephone. Abi, Mother, and I
listen closely while pretending not to.
“I’m sorry, who?” She sounds surprised.
After a pause she says, “Oh, you must mean Donnatella.
Yes, she’s here. May I ask who’s calling?” Huh? I
didn’t give anyone my number here.
“Oh. Really.” Her voice is so cold I can see my breath
in the air. “Well, she can’t come to the phone right
now.”
I jump up and run into the kitchen. “Thank you for
screening my calls, Eve, but I think I can handle it
from here.” I practically wrestle the phone from her
grip and speak into the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Donna. Thank God. I thought you were dead.”
“Josh!” I say happily, not realizing my mistake until
I hear my mother come up behind me. I don’t so much
hear her as feel the waves of disapproval flowing from
her small frame. Shit. This is not going to be good.
“Umm...this really isn’t a good time.”
“NOT A GOOD TIME? I’ve sent you twenty e-mails in the
past five days! Do you have any idea how many that is
a day?”
“Um, four?”
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Here. My computer was confiscated.”
“Confiscated? Are you in prison?”
“It only seems that way.” I turn to my mother. “Could
I have a few minutes, please?”
“You’re dating a politician,” she accuses.
“Yes,” I lie, desperately wanting to speak to Josh
alone before my mother seizes the telephone.
“Why?”
“I’m in love with him,” I answer without thought. She
gives me a strange look and walks back into the living
room, shutting the kitchen door behind her. What just
happened?
“Josh? You still there?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” He suddenly sounds unusually quiet and
distracted. Must be the long distance connection.
“How’d you get this number?”
“Oh, I looked in your FBI file.” WHAT?
“I have a *FBI* file?”
“Yeah. Nothing very incriminating, though. I forgot I
even had it.”
“Why do you have my FBI file?” Why isn’t he gloating
over this?
“Actually, Leo had it. He gave it to me so I wouldn’t
call in the National Guard to find you.”
I smile at that. “You wanted to call in the National
Guard?”
“I would have settled for the FBI. You really didn’t
get any of my e-mails?
“No, I got caught hiding in the closet while I was
yelling at you about your drunkenness.”
“Were you actually yelling aloud?”
“Yeah, that might have been what gave me away.”
“Stealth was never a big thing for you.” Now he sounds
a bit better, but there’s still something strange in
his voice.
“Are you okay? You sound weird.”
“No, no. I’m fine. How’s the family?”
“At this point I wish I really had an Uncle Vito.”
I can almost see him nod in understanding. “Who
answered the phone?”
“My sister Godelieve.”
“Godelieve?”
“Yup.”
“That’s just frightening.”
“Tell me about it.” I pause, wondering if I should
tell him about my little Freudian slip earlier. “I
have a confession to make.”
“Yeah?” How am I supposed to tell him this?
“My parents are republican.” Damn. I chickened out.
“WHAT? WHAT?”
“See, and I was afraid you make a big deal out of
this.”
“How-you...how could you-” he continues to stutter
while I talk over him.
“Actually, only my father’s republican. My mother
hates all politicians.”
Suddenly his sputters of indignation cease. “Oh.”
“What is with you?”
“Nothing. I just need to go back to work.”
“Just two more days and then you can resume your role
of slave driver.”
“Yeah. When do you get back?” He’s really creeping me
out with this quiet thing.
“Tomorrow night.”
“Do you have a ride?”
“Huh?”
“Do you have a ride back from the airport?”
“No. I was just going to take a taxi. Why?”
“I was just wondering if someone was...you
know...taking care of...” I don’t think I have ever
heard Joshua Lyman being uncomfortable.
“Are you offering to pick me up?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Josh-”
“Yes, I’m offering to pick you up.”
“That would be wonderful. Flight 345 on TWA. Okay?”
“Yeah. Great. See you then.” And with that he hangs
up.
See what happens? I come back to this house for one
damn week and the insanity spreads to the rest of my
life like a damn disease.
ARGH!