The character of Josh Lyman is the property of Aaron Sorkin; thanks for
letting
me borrow him for a bit.
gaggit@uswest.net
No teaser for this one.
The White Light is Just Window Dressing by gaggit
The steady bleep, bleep, bleep of the cardiac monitor suddenly changed to a
steady, shrill whistle, and the green peaks flattened out to indicate that Josh
Lyman’s heart had stopped beating. Galvanized into action, the green-garbed
medical personnel swarmed over their patient with hypodermics full of
epinephrine and the defibrillation paddles. "Clear!"
On a conscious plane the inert form registered absolutely nothing. But
whether
it was on an unconscious, metaphysical, ethereal, or spiritual plane, Josh was
aware of something very unusual occurring around him, and it was terrifying. If
he could have screamed around the tube in his throat, he would have. In a
blinding flash of clarity, Josh realized this must be what it was like to die,
and he also realized he was totally unprepared for it. He had been immersed in
the tenants of Judaism for the first fourteen years of his life, but a streak of
rebelliousness that had gotten him expelled from his exclusive private school
had also initiated a questioning of the faith he had simply taken for granted up
until then. During his stint in boarding school, Josh had learned some useful
skills: the basics of the three R’s, how to blow a smoke ring, and how to pick
a
lock and a pocket. As punishment for being expelled, his father had decided to
send Josh to public school, and it was there that he learned to think critically
about himself and his world. But as a result of this introspection, he had
drifted away from the spirituality of the temple, the rabbi, and the God that
had allowed his innocent sister to die in a fire. He had never gotten around to
coming to terms with God and mortality and the hereafter, and now it was
probably too late.
Josh became aware of a pressure on his left hand. He focused his attention
there. All he could see was a disembodied forearm, but he recognized it
immediately by the faded blue numbers tattooed there. "Grandpa," he croaked,
surprised that he could make a sound. The hand picked up Josh’s arm and
rotated
it a half a turn, revealing a corresponding set of miniature numbers on the
inside of his wrist. His grandfather’s voice drifted down to him and asked,
"Why
did you have those numbers tattooed on your wrist?"
"How did you know they were there?" Josh asked. "I had it done after you
died."
"It’s obvious that I know, Josh. Why did you do it?"
"So I wouldn’t forget."
"Forget what?"
"You......History......"
"You needed a tattoo to remember?"
"No. It was a symbol, a statement."
"Of what?"
"Your courage and perseverance.......our heritage....I don’t
know.....Grandpa,
am I dead?"
"No, Josh."
"Then how can you be here talking to me?"
"Must you question everything, Joshua? Just have faith, boy."
"In what?"
"In yourself and what you really believe in. Don’t forget the past, but don’t
live in it either."
"Can you help me do that?"
"More questions, Josh?" a new voice asked. "You really should have been
a
lawyer."
"I’m just trying to understand," replied Josh in a resigned tone, not
really
surprised when his father materialized at the foot of the bed. "You sound like
you are still mad at me."
"Why would I be mad, Josh?"
"Because I liked public school? Because I wrapped your Vette around a tree?
Because I never practiced law? Because I left Joanie to die? Because I always
disappointed you?"
"That’s your perception of things, Josh, not the reality of the situation.
But
these things are all immaterial now."
"What is important here?"
"It’s important for you to know that I love you, Josh."
"I never doubted that."
"Have you ever been in love, Josh?"
"Yes."
"Then why are you alone?"
"My job demands all my time."
"That’s a convenient crutch. What’s the real reason?"
"Everyone I ever really loved and counted on died on me."
"There really are no guarantees in life, Josh."
"Are you taking me with you, Dad?"
"Where?"
"To wherever you’re going."
"That’s not up to me, son."
"Who is it up to?"
"You’re still asking questions, Josh," laughed a female voice on his
right. The
voice penetrated his ears across more than twenty years. Turning his head to
the right, he gasped in shock. He was expecting Joanie to be fourteen, but
instead there stood a woman of about forty.
"Joanie? How can you be.....?"
"No more questions, Josh. Just listen. The statute of limitations on guilt has
run out. Now it’s up to you. You have to get busy living or get busy dying."
A surge of electrical power surged through Josh’s chest, causing his body
to
heave off the gurney and thump back down. His family winked out like some
cosmic hand had pushed the power button on the remote control. It was dark and
cold, and he searched in vain for the comforting white light he had read about
when he’d become fascinated by the fine line between science and religion.
Wasn’t he supposed to leave his physical body and follow them? Weren’t they
supposed to beckon him to follow? Weren’t they supposed to show him the future
complete with a son who had engineered global peace? Weren’t they supposed to
tell him what to do? "You didn’t answer my questions," he tried to shout
after
them, but the tube in his throat prevented it. He thought he heard a trio of
voices answer, "Yes, we did." before the total blackness engulfed him.
The second jolt of electricity from the defibrillator’s paddles slammed
through
Josh Lyman’s body. A split second later, the shrill whistle of the cardiac
monitor was replaced by the friendly bleep, bleep, bleep, and the flat green
line climbed to a sharp peak.
The End.
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