1. Love unspoken is the loudest sound of all by xoxoxo
2. Your first love is not always your truest love. by xoxoxo
3. I dream my painting, and then I paint my dream by xoxoxo
4. Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell. by xoxoxo
Slight spoilers for S3 - post Ben Franklin. Nothing more than episode description speculation at this point but I'll keep warning you as we go along.
The title is based on this quote:
Just when you think things can't get any worse, they do. I've learned that life is like hour glass sand. Sooner or later, everything hits rock bottom, but all you have to do is be patient and wait for something to turn everything back around." Author Unknown
This story will take Pam through various events as she tries to finally say exactly what's on her mind. Probably 5 chapters in all. She'll either be encouraged by something or so frustrated she finally cracks under the pressure. You'll have to wait and see. :)
Huge hugs to Morning Angel and colette - who helped me make sense of it all.
“When I saw you, I was afraid to meet you..
When I met you, I was afraid to kiss you...
When I kissed you, I was afraid to love you...
Now that I love you, I'm afraid to lose you.”
Roy Croft
It's amazing all the little details she notices now. She notices what time he comes in, how many minutes later Karen arrives, whether or not they've both brought lunch or need to go out and get something, whether they leave together or not, whether they take one car or two.
He has looked tired all week. She knows this even though she really can't see his face much anymore. She can tell just by the slope of his shoulders, the bit of his hair that flips up over the edge of his collar. She can see his spine tense up when Karen comes over to hug him, and immediately remembers how it felt when it was her arms wrapped around him instead.
Seventy-eight days ago.
It's been seventy-eight days since he'd come back. She knows this because one night soon after she’d moved into her apartment she'd begun to keep track in a little red date book. It was one that Michael presented to her like a gift when he got it free from some supplier at a sales conference. It wasn't fancy but she liked the fact that she had a new page for each day, each blank sheet filled with possibilities.
Usually, she doesn't write much, she'd always preferred pictures to words, but each night she takes the time to jot down a thought or two. Just enough to spark a memory. And she knows, without question, that it has been seventy-eight days since she'd written a single sentence that changed every single one of her newly made plans.
Her name is Karen.
When she'd started to write things down she thought that maybe she'd be able to show it to him someday, to explain what she'd been thinking and feeling when she finally figured it out. They'd laugh and he'd stare into her eyes and they'd both say how sorry they were. She'd keep the book in a shoebox in her closet, drag it out every so often whenever he'd forget their anniversary or say something stupid.
Someday. Maybe.
On this particular night she walks into her apartment just after six, throws her keys on the table next to the door and kicks off her shoes. She sneezes for the hundredth or maybe thousandth time that day and makes her way over to the bathroom to grab a tissue, her stockinged feet sliding a bit over the hardwood floor.
She blows her nose, loudly as she makes her way to the kitchen.
Gotta get your REM cycle…going with the whole sleeping……better than not…
So stupid, Pam shakes her head. That's what you call riveting conversation? That's the way you hope he'll notice you again?
So pathetic.
She sniffles and thinks she wants tea, realizing the light green pot is still soaking in the sink. Normally she wouldn't leave it - she's such a neat freak - but she'd been in a rush this morning. Nyquil always makes her oversleep. She runs the water too hot and the lid to the teapot slips from her hand, clattering against the stainless steel and landing with a crash. She shuts her eyes tightly, afraid to see the damage.
She opens one eye, then the other and lets out the breath she'd been holding. A hairline crack runs across the porcelain but it is still in one piece.
Just like me. She thinks with a shake of her head. Just like us.
Carefully, cautiously she rinses the pot and places it gently back in the cupboard. Tea won't be strong enough to get her through tonight anyway.
She yanks the door to the refrigerator open and pulls out a half full bottle of wine. She struggles with pulling the cork, setting the bottle on the floor between her feet as she tugs with all her might. The time it takes to finally get it open frustrates her to no end. She switches the overhead light on, cursing when it flickers and then burns out. It's one of those bulbs she can't change on her own. She needs a ladder or someone…tall. The realization washes over her, feeling more like exhaustion. She’s so tired of just…everything. The tears she's been warding off all day fill her eyes as she pours a healthy dose of wine into her glass.
Choosing wine over tea was supposed to calm her but it is having the opposite effect. Instead her hands shake as she brings the glass to her lips remembering that these are the very same glasses her Aunt Martha had given her almost five years ago, when she had her own bridal shower.
She takes another lengthy sip, ponders for only a split second before she grabs the bottle and moves to the living room. She glances at the unfinished sketch she’d left on the table and winces a bit. She knows she needs to finish before she has to show it in a few weeks. Now that she's seen it she thinks that maybe she should change some of her collection. She suddenly feels the need to paint, something in deep red and bold slashes of black, something dark and almost chaotic.
It would certainly match her mood.
But she doesn't move to her easel or reach for her paints. Instead she sinks onto the couch and closes her eyes. She leans her head back, takes a deep breath. The events of the day are still swirling in her mind.
Jim told me about you guys…
It’s not a big deal…
It was just a kiss…
She takes another long swallow, wondering what would have happened if she’d actually been able to form a coherent sentence when she was in the kitchen with Karen.
Yeah, sure Karen. It was just a kiss. That’s all. It was just a kiss that came with an “I just needed you to know.” Just a kiss that came with a “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Just a kiss that pretty much made me change my entire life.
Just a kiss…
She knew what it was like to “just kiss” someone. It was “just a kiss” when she was seven and Bobby Hall pulled her behind the monkey bars and smashed his lips against her cheek. That had been "just a kiss.”
It was “just a kiss” when Roy’s cousin Ronnie had a six pack too many at their Super Bowl Party six years ago and grabbed her in the kitchen. A seething look and a shove was all it took to make it seem like nothing had even happened. That was “just a kiss.” No need to get Roy all riled up about something that didn’t even matter.
Her blood begins to boil as she remembers what Jim had said today.
Any real potential there Beesly?
He'd said it like he didn't care in the least. He could move on, that was fine with her but did he have to rub it in? And if he kept having all those "late night talks" with Karen who knew how long they would even last. It would serve him right if he ended up alone and she ended up with some hotshot MBA.
God. I need a boyfriend…
She shivers and refills her glass her hand shaking and splashing wine onto her coffee table. It barely misses her sketch but she can’t make herself move.
She keeps track of things now and she knows just how long it's been. She know exactly how many days between then and now.
She glances at her date book and can't decide what to write down today. Should she just mention Phyllis' shower? Should she commemorate the fact that a stripper tried to recruit her? The fact that a smarmy guy proudly proclaims he doesn't have syphilis as a way to get a date?
Any or all of those things would work, but only one moment in particular seems to fit.
It was “just a kiss”. Just a kiss that happened after my best friend told me he loved me.
It was “just a kiss”. Just a kiss that happened right after I’d pretty much admitted to my mother that I thought I was in love with him too.
It was “just a kiss”. Just a kiss that happened three weeks before I was supposed to get married.
She takes another gulp of wine and wonders how Roy would have reacted if that was the reason she’d given him instead.
The wedding’s off – but it’s no big deal.
It was “just a kiss”…
Two hundred and sixty-eight days later she suspects she's not the only one who knows that's a lie.
Geez Louise. Excuse me while I drag this knife out of my chest. KILLING ME - these two. Simply killing me.
So - I'm trying to be vague but realistic. I'm also trying to remember why I chose the title for this story.
Say it with me:
"all you have to do is be patient and wait for something to turn everything back around"
The following quotes (Authors Unknown) seem to fit the mood perfectly IMHO:
"Choices that deal with love are like alcohol, when you are under the influence of it you tend to do things that you regret later on."
"...some emotions don't make a lot of noise. It's hard to hear pride. Caring is real faint - like a heartbeat. And pure love - why, some days it's so quiet, you don't even know it's there."
They say you can't go "home" again, but that's exactly where she's headed.
She smoothes the skirt of her dress, grips the edge of her seat. As they drive away one thought fills her mind.
A wedding is not a prom.
It's not, even if it feels like it. It's not, even if you're wearing a fancy dress. Even if the flowers are the same. Even if he asks you to dance, holds you close and makes you feel like you're the only girl in the room.
It's not the same.
She knows why she's here, but she's not sure she should be. It seems she's become the opposite of everything she'd hoped she'd be. And that's why she left in the first place.
But right now, she doesn't care much. Right now, she can see him smiling in the seat next to her. And she knows that smile.
This isn't what you want. What are you doing?
You left this all behind. Why are you here?
You know you want something else. What are you waiting for?
Tonight there's more to consider. There's a voice in her head, one that she thought she'd finally quieted. It comes back, not in a whisper but a roar.
He seems to want you.
He doesn’t.
He seems to remember.
He doesn't.
Maybe it'll be different this time. Maybe…
When he stops the car her stomach is in knots. It reminds her again that it's not like a prom. This time she knows what's coming next. His eyes meet hers. She knows that look.
As she opens the door and steps onto the sidewalk she can almost hear another slamming shut - locks clicking, bolts sliding into place. Even as she takes his hand and steps forward she can feel herself sliding backwards.
She holds his hand tighter, as if he can save her. Somehow, tonight she's nearly convinced herself that he can.
She wonders how it had all changed so quickly. She really had been fine. It hadn't been easy but she had been dealing. Though it was surreal to see her own wedding play out before her eyes it was really okay.
But then he'd teased her, he'd smiled that smile and as she stood beside him she thought maybe. It was the closest they'd come to where they'd been since he'd been back and she tried to hold on to that feeling.
She'd sat there, watching him and tried to figure out exactly when her chance had slipped away. She didn't want to believe there had only been that one chance, that tiny sliver of opportunity.
Life is about choices and even though she had been sure in the end she'd made the right one it was becoming more and more obvious that it was simply too little, too late.
So now, she's here. Back where she started. It's oddly familiar and foreign all at once.
Arms close around her, but they're not the right arms. Lips seek hers but they're not the right lips. Right now, in this moment she doesn't care. It's been so long and he's been so distant and more than anything right now she simply wants to feel wanted.
They don't really speak, which isn't news to her. He's never been one to talk much. It was part of the problem, part of why she knows she'll be sorry. But she can't think about that now. She's come to find that thinking is overrated. Thinking things through has gotten her no where but alone.
In this moment, she chooses to forget how it used to be. In this moment, she's seventeen again. In this moment, she gives in to the memory and goes back to the time when her life was filled with possibilities instead of doubts.
In this moment, it's not perfect but somehow it's enough.
That Pam. The girl's her own worst enemy. I'm not expecting a happy ending anytime soon. Damnit. When I started this story I was so optimistic that the fourth chapter would make us all giddy - now - not so much. :(
"I dream my painting, and then I paint my dream." Vincent Van Gogh
"Life and the road to love is not easy. It is bumpy, smooth and strewn with accidents, but well worth the trip." Unknown
Real art takes courage, okay? And honesty…
It really was nothing she didn't already know.
When she was small she'd sit for hours with a box of Crayolas. After she'd finished she'd carefully tear out her favorite pages. Her mom would always make a huge deal as she pinned them on the refrigerator.
Each one was perfect, neat and contained. All her life, she'd colored inside the lines.
She'd always followed someone else's blueprint. In the beginning it was because she'd been afraid to disappoint her parents, later, she'd been afraid to disappoint Roy.
Now, at long last she's finally gotten around to what's most important. She's afraid she'll disappoint herself and it's terrifying.
This whole year has been a nightmare. Calling off her wedding had been hard enough - and now leaving Roy again was not going to be easy at all. If that's what she actually decided to do. She still wasn't sure. She could kick herself for being so stupid, for being so desperate, for giving him hope when there really was none. She could still see his face, he really was trying so hard but tonight had just reinforced what she already knew.
He simply didn't understand.
He never had. He didn't understand that tonight wasn't about whether or not he showed up, or who he came with, or whether or not he thought what she'd created was "pretty." This was something she'd done for herself, not for anyone else. Not for Roy and not even for Jim. Tonight was about the fact that she had opened a door she had closed so many years ago, how she'd let something important to her slip away and how she went back to find it.
Maybe it wasn't perfect - maybe it wasn't honest - but it had taken courage.
She glances around her apartment and it occurs to her it's the first thing she'd had that's actually all her own. She picked out the paint for the walls, placed the furniture where she wanted it, filled the fridge with only the things she liked to eat.
It was hers, every square foot, every knick-knack and every framed print on the wall - all of it.
And that was something wasn't it?
So she wasn't an Impressionist. So she wasn't Picasso. So what? It doesn't matter what everyone else thinks - it matters what she thinks. It doesn't matter what everyone else wants, it matters what she wants. She just keeps forgetting that.
Sometimes she thinks she likes it this way. This way the what ifs can stay in her mind and she doesn't have to hear what she dreads the most. That he's really over her, that he's really moved on. That he's not in love with her anymore.
If she never says anything, she'll never have to know.
If she never says anything, she'll never know.
Right now, as she sits with her obviously mediocre attempt at art spread out on the table before her she's trying to figure out which is worse.
I heart colette, Morning Angel and Moxie!
Oh - and Jim and Pam too. :)
Chapter title courtesy of Emily Dickinson. And the calculations of date and time came from this website. Duration Calculator
I'm obsessed - but I do have a life outside of fanfic. ;)
I wanted to add a quick note of thanks to all those who are still reading. Works in progress are tough to keep up with - I know. I'm experimenting with this fic a bit a) in telling Pam's side of the story - coupled with all the uncertainty I feel about where the "real" story is going b) in not having a word of dialogue. My brain simply won't turn off at the end of each episode lately - and I am desperate to explain what's going on in Pam's mind.
A tad overly invested? Perhaps. But none the less true. :)
Love works in miracles every day: such as weakening the strong, and stretching the weak; making fools of the wise, and wise men of fools; favouring the passions, destroying reason, and in a word, turning everything topsy-turvy.
~ Marguerite De Valois
It's been like a roller coaster, she thinks, the way this all has happened. She had been sitting high at the crest of the hill when she'd spoken to Jim after months of silence, she came tumbling down at breakneck speed when she realized not only that he was busy but who he was busy with.
She's realized lately that there are times when she needs to shut her eyes tightly in order to remember. Times when she arrives at work early just to run her hand over the phone on his old desk, the one that Ryan took over after he left. There are times now when she looks at the two of them together, sees them laughing and wonders if he really meant the words he said all those months ago.
No matter what has happened or what hasn't - it doesn't make the slightest bit of difference.
Two hundred and eighty-seven days...
Forty-one weeks....
Six thousand and eight hundred and eighty-eight hours...
She thinks of him. Still...
When she does she remembers exactly when she decided to settle, exactly when she decided to give up, when she came to believe it was all hopeless anyway.
She glances at her date book and knows that to remember today she doesn't need to write anything more than two simple words.
It's over.
The thing that worries her is that this might just be the end - of absolutely everything.
What happened tonight is going to change things, whether she wants them to or not. What she said to Roy is going to cause something to happen - at the very least it will cause some sort of trouble between Jim and Karen.
She isn't sure how she feels about that.
Part of her wants it to. Part of her can't stomach watching them together, day after day, week after week, month after month. But part of her feels like she deserves it for being too slow, for not saying anything sooner, for letting it all pass her by.
As she moves to put her key in the lock she can't stop shaking. It's not like this is the first time she's seen Roy this way and it's telling. He hasn't changed at all.
He's the same. Still...
It doesn't matter that he'd seemed to have quieted down or tried to be sweet or made some sort of an effort. In the end the only thing he heard was that Jim kissed her. Not that she wanted a fresh start. And definitely not that she'd kissed Jim.
Which is really the point of all this.
She'd kissed Jim - at a time when her reaction should have been pushing him as far away as she could. At a time when the anticipation of marrying someone she'd been with for so long should have drowned out everything and anything else. But it hadn't. In retrospect it was easy to admit it. There had always been that nagging, lingering feeling that something was not quite right. She could see clearly now exactly what she'd been doing back then. She'd been hanging onto Jim for dear life.
Almost literally.
The tears don't come when they should. She's not mourning the events of the evening. Her eyes are swimming only as she remembers that day...that night.
When she had grabbed his hand earlier that day, he'd stayed right there with her. When she thinks back about that night she's quite sure he would never have left if when he asked her that all important question she'd actually had the courage to open her mouth.
Maybe that's what she needs to start doing. Open her mouth - say something to someone whose response to her words wouldn't be throwing things like a five year old having a tantrum. Maybe she needs to say something to someone who has actually evolved since high school.
Someone who might have evolved a bit too much.
As she slips into her sweats and hangs up her work clothes she thinks of his - the way he dresses now. His suits, his shirts, all buttoned up and serious. Now he only has time for pranks between sales calls and meetings, only has time to blow off steam when it's an absolute state of emergency.
It was true, nowadays she had to close her eyes to remember but whenever she did it was clear. He kissed her. It wasn't her imagination, it really had happened. And if it was "just a kiss" it didn't explain why he went running when she didn't give him the answer he'd wanted, why he'd pretty much stopped talking to her.
Why though he was right here he still felt so very far away.
Maybe that's what he was doing - simply trying to keep his distance. Maybe the only reason he moved on was because she'd kept her mouth shut. Maybe if she'd just said something no matter how awkward or scary it'd be...different...
Because she knows she's the one who kept quiet far too long. And she knows when all was said and done she didn't marry Roy.
The way things ended tonight - though embarrassing and awkward and humiliating she is absolutely celebrating that fact.
She curls up on the couch, pulls an afghan around her, and clicks the TV on. The sound comforts her, makes her forget for a moment that she's alone.
Maybe this is what she needed. Maybe this is finally the thing. Maybe she'd have to finally find her voice, to really say...something. At the mere thought panic consumes her so she backpedals a bit in her mind.
She wouldn't have to say everything of course. Just enough to keep what she suspects will happen from actually happening.
The possibilities swirl in her head - the least of which did not exclude Roy's fist connecting squarely with Jim's unsuspecting face. A scene like that was something she was desperate to avoid.
At all costs.
She closes her eyes and thinks of Jim again and as she does she recalls something she should have thought of two hundred and eighty-seven days before. The first drop on the roller coaster is always the scariest.
But for all the ups and downs, when it's over you coast right back to where you started.