The answer to that question you asked me last week, Josh.

Yes, I slept with him.

Would it make you feel better knowing?  If you had a picture in your head of how it all happened, could you just shut up about it and let us both move on with our individual lives?

Fine, here -- let me tell you all about it.  Metaphorically, of course.  I'm not about to say any of this to you; and if recent history has taught me anything, it's the wisdom of not committing your thoughts to paper.

But just for you, Josh.  In my head -- the story of how it happened.

You were wrong, you know.  Cliff isn't a tall, blonde, Nordic type.  You'd love this.  You'd get an absolute kick out of seeing Cliff.  You'd compare it to looking in a funhouse mirror.

Yes, Josh, he looks a little like you.  Same general type, right down to the curly hair.  No doubt you'd exaggerate how short he is.  You'd be like some kind of preening peacock, imagining that I was only attracted to Cliff because he reminded me of you.

Maybe he did.  But he was funny and nice, despite his misguided political beliefs.  And the first night, when I met him for drinks, I felt so -- I don't how to describe this to you.  You would never understand this; this concept is totally alien to you.  We talked about art and literature and movies.  We never once, until he was walking me back to the office, talked politics.  It was like this weight had been lifted off me.  To think that I could have a conversation that didn't center around policy and briefing memos and polling numbers.

That was when I realized that I felt free.  I felt like I was rediscovering myself, finding interests I'd forgotten I used to have.  I suddenly remembered that there was this person named Donna, who existed independently of Josh.  And I felt like I didn't know her at all.

Honestly, I don't know what I would have done with that moment of self-realization if I'd never seen Cliff again:  Set it down to a momentary aberration, I suppose, and gotten back to being the lesser half of you and me.  But then Cliff came back the next evening.

He said that all he'd intended to do was stop by and apologize.  Explain, in case I hadn't figured it out yet myself, why we couldn't see each other again.  And he said, very politely, that he was sorry things couldn't work out because he would have liked to getting to know me better.

I think I made some lame joke about how it was just as well, since Ainsley'd told me his girlfriend had broken up with him recently and in my experience it was best to avoid men who are on the rebound.  I think that was what started it.

Somehow, anyway, he got to talking about her -- his old girlfriend.  I suppose he thought that it was safe to talk to me.  I can see his reasoning.  If you're trying to impress a woman, you don't want to go on about the woman you loved and lost.  (Yeah, you might want to remember that one for future reference.)  But to a woman you're never going to see again?  Sure, why not?  Pour your heart out.

It was touching actually.  He'd truly loved her and, just as clearly, he wasn't over her.  He projected this sense of loss and melancholy, and I suppose I identified with that.

In case you're wondering, no, I don't have any convenient excuse, like being drunk.  I knew exactly what I was doing; I made a conscious choice.  Yes, it was the wrong choice.  It was a bad decision, both in terms of the political ramifications and in terms of what it did to you and me.

Or maybe it was a bad idea politically and the right choice for us.  Clearly, there are -- were -- things I needed to work through on my own.  I wouldn't have even considered sleeping with Cliff if my relationship with you was as strong as I'd assumed.  So ultimately, I suppose, this had little to do with you.  Ultimately, I suppose, I was proving something to myself.

I'm still working on that.

So here is Cliff, this nice guy who needs comforting.  And me, who didn't even know there was anything I needed.  Yet somehow we ended up in each other's arms, and the next thing I knew we were having sex.

Yes, I know how awkward that sounds, but there isn't any other way to put it.  We didn't make love.  I've made love; that involves you.  This wasn't that intense.  Cruder words, like "fucking," don't work either.  This was much more tender than that would imply.  "Sleeping together" is ultimately inaccurate, since neither of us fell asleep.  "Going to bed" doesn't work either; we were on the couch.

I know what you'd want me to say now.  You'd want me to say that I was thinking of you the entire time.  Or that the sex was terrible.  Sorry to disillusion you.  While it wasn't the greatest sexual experience of my life (again, that involves you), it was good.  Nice.  And just to satisfy your morbid curiosity, no; it wasn't a case of (as you so eloquently put it) "man on top; get it over with fast."  There was that awkward quality when you're with someone for the first time and you're both used to other partners and you have to tell him things that your ex does as a matter of course.  (Yes, I just referred to you there as my ex; get over it.)  But on the whole, I enjoyed it.  The earth moved and all that.

It was only afterward that the whole "my God, what did I just do?" thing kicked in.  Judging from the panicked expression on Cliff's face, I wasn't the only one having second thoughts.  I have to admit that his reaction was kind of touching.  I mean, there he was, rushing around my apartment trying to find all his clothes while still attempting to be a gentleman.  He kept assuring me that he hadn't come over intending for all this to happen and he didn't want me to think he was usually this forward with every woman he'd just met.  (Yes, "forward."  That's the word he used.  Stop laughing.)  At that point he must have decided that didn't sound right because he kind of backtracked and went on about how he didn't mean to imply that I usually, yadda yadda.  You will no doubt find this part hysterically funny, but I remember wishing that he'd shut up and go away.  He really talked way too much, Cliff did.

Joshua Lyman, you miserable, controlling bastard, stop laughing.

Finally -- blessed relief! -- Cliff left.  As I was getting dressed, I reached an important conclusion.  Because, yes, I asked myself the same questions that you're asking now.  I mean, if I am so damn in love with you that it physically hurts to be around you without touching you, what was I doing screwing Cliff?  Why did this happen, and what does it say about me?  About us?

My conclusion:  Yes, I do love you.  Passionately.  Deeply.  But sometimes loving you is like being locked up in a stuffy room; it's hard to take a breath on your own or concentrate on anything other than how much you'd like to feel a gust of fresh air on your skin.  I guess Cliff was my gust of fresh air.

Yeah, that's one hell of a troubled metaphor.  Remind me never to share it with Toby, okay?

But here's my point:  You're smothering me.  Not intentionally, I know, but still.  It's all tangled up together here, our personal and our professional lives.  My role in both is clearly cut out, isn't it?  I'm the person in the background, the one who takes care of you and stays quiet in public.  The one who seems to be losing her own identity.

Maybe this would all have turned out differently if the President hadn't been ill.  I would have resigned, started college, had a part of my life separate from you.  But things turned out this way, and it took the incident with Cliff to show me exactly how trapped I feel.  You wouldn't believe me if I told you this right now, Josh -- and who could blame you? -- but I love you as much today as I ever have.  I'm sure I will always love you, but I've learned something essential about myself through all this.

I need to discover who Donna Moss is when she's not part of JoshandDonna.  I need to become my own person, separate from you.

Becoming that woman, whoever she'll be, is not without cost.  I've lost this amazing bond we shared for a few months this spring.  I've lost you, and I know I'll always regret that.  But if we stay together under these conditions, we'll end up resenting each other eventually.  Lord knows I've been halfway to that point myself lately.

If you're waiting for me to apologize about my decision to sleep with Cliff, don't bother.  That's not going to happen.  I made a choice; and regardless of how it turned out, I learned something from it.

I need to leave you, Josh.  It's as simple and as painful as that.

Goodbye, Joshua.  This time, I'm really leaving.  This time, thinking about life without you doesn't even break my heart.

How very strange.

THE END

11.14.01