REPORTER: Senator Bartleby, would you care to comment on your refusal to meet with Supreme Court nominee Merrick Garland?

BARTLEBY: I would prefer not to.

REPORTER: You’ve reportedly conveyed to Judge Garland that if he comes knocking on your office door he’ll be wasting his time. But would you deign to meet with him somewhere off the grounds of the U.S. Capitol? Say, at a Starbucks?

BARTLEBY: I would prefer not to.

REPORTER: What if you were at the Starbucks and Garland just happened to walk in? Would you say hello?

BARTLEBY: I would prefer not to.

REPORTER: Suppose he initiated contact. “Hello, Senator Bartleby. Nice day for a latte,” something like that. Would you so much as look him in the eye?

BARTLEBY: I would prefer not to.

REPORTER: Okay. Let’s say you’re having a heart attack in a corridor somewhere in the bowels of the U.S. Capitol and Judge Garland happens to be the only other person in sight. He seems like a guy who would know CPR. Under those circumstances, would you meet with him?

BARTLEBY: I would prefer not to.

REPORTER: Well, you would probably also prefer not to be having a heart attack. Yet here you are, crumpled on the cold, hard floor, gasping, clutching your chest, preparing to meet your maker, who may well be displeased with you. Along comes Garland. Your vision’s gone blurry — you’re not even 100% certain of the identity of this man who hurries toward you exuding sound judgment, who bends over you with assurance in his manner, who, using the latest methods approved by middle-of-the-road cardiologists, begins trying to knock some sense into your heart. Now do you meet with him?

BARTLEBY: I would prefer not to.

REPORTER: Think of it! There is no one else around, no witnesses. A despondent Garland has gone for a walk, the better to brood about how near he is to realizing his lifelong dream of being a Supreme Court justice — so near yet so far — and here on the floor in front of him, apparently dying of a heart attack, is the very man who, as Senate majority leader, stands most squarely in his path. Or, well, lies down in it, twitching. A lesser nominee might scan the corridor for security cameras and, seeing none, back away slowly. But Garland? He’s a decent sort, a believer in mainstream American values like life. He rushes to your side. Let us say that he approaches from the left flank. Without preamble, without any citation of the relevant precedents, he administers CPR. Just like that, your heart remembers how to do its job. Will you, once you’ve caught your breath, remember how to do yours?

BARTLEBY: I would prefer not to.

REPORTER: Another scenario. In this one, Garland’s daughter is marrying your nephew. The invitation comes in the mail, together with a special plea from the groom: he wants you to give a toast. He has even suggested a theme: “Unlike politics, love brings people together.” Your wife prevails upon you to honor your nephew’s request. So there you are at the wedding. Obviously Judge Garland is there too. He escorts his daughter down the aisle. You watch in grudging admiration. Garland wears his emotions so gracefully, an art you’ve never mastered. His eyes shine with the tears one might expect of a bleeding-heart liberal — and yet, like any good conservative, he also appears to be doing the hard but necessary work of suppressing his feelings: the tears in his eyes stay there; they do not wet his cheeks. After transferring control of his daughter from himself to your nephew, thus helping to preserve the patriarchy, Garland turns and exchanges friendly glances with wedding guests on both sides of the aisle. He is well respected by both families, you can see that. Fast-forward to your toast. You have been unable to prepare any remarks. Love is a theme about which you have little to say. The master of ceremonies hands you a microphone. Your skin goes hot and prickly. You feel an overwhelming urge to engage in some sort of parliamentary maneuver. Maybe you could tack on an amendment that would kill the need for you to give this toast. But no, you can’t do that. There is no bill under consideration. This is a wedding, the wedding of your nephew and the daughter of Merrick Garland, who is — you must remember not to say this into the microphone — about as qualified a candidate for the Supreme Court as a Senate majority leader could possibly wish for. The silence in the banquet hall swells until it is like a symphony. You seek out your wife’s eyes, her beautiful mysterious eyes, the ones you’re still in love with after all these years. But her eyes are fixed upon a spot on the floor — and the floor is yours, Senator Bartleby. What kind of orator takes the floor and doesn’t speak? What would your constituents think of you? And that is when the idea arrives. It appears fully formed, a shining orb in a darkened world. You will announce, right then and there, that you are dropping your opposition to Judge Garland’s nomination. Immediately after the reception, you’re going to step outside and call your Republican colleagues and tell them to meet with Garland, to shake his hand, even to exchange words with him, almost as though he were a fellow human being who deserved some basic level of respect. You can do this — and why shouldn’t you? Your announcement will bring the room to its feet. Your nephew will be so happy. “Unlike politics,” you will say, “love brings people together.” It sounds like something Bill Clinton would say, which gives you the willies, but the difference is, you’re not just going to say it; you’re going to do something about it. Because you’re a man of action, not a man of inaction, as has often been alleged in the press. “BARTLEBY TAKES ACTION” will be tomorrow’s headline. The subhead will read, “PARTY OF NO BECOMES PARTY OF SURE, WHY NOT.” It’ll be the start of a jubilee year in America. Because unlike politics, love brings people together, and that is what this country needs right now. A bit more togetherness. And you are the man for the moment. That’s why you went into public service all those years ago, to be the man for some future moment. Senator Bartleby, that moment is now. What do you say, sir? Is this something you can do? Theoretically?

BARTLEBY: …

REPORTER: Senator, are you crying?

BARTLEBY: …