Lost—that’s how he feels. Lost in a dance hall he’s never seen before. Being alone in a place like this is nauseating, with all the laughter and smiles and unity. He tightens up his tie, almost tight enough to strangle himself but not tight enough to actually get the job done. He barely knows any of these people. But they're all smiling at him like they've known him for years instead of the four months he's worked at Dunder Mifflin.

Then there's the curly haired girl sitting next to him.

She looks lost too.

Phyllis, one of his fellow salespeople at the Paper Company, had arranged the seating so that he was sitting by all his coworkers. Dwight was across from him, Toby on his right, and Michael was still banned from the reception hall.

But there was a curly-haired girl to his left who was drawing on a cocktail napkin. He didn’t recognize her from the office. He would know if she worked there now.

Maybe she used to.

"I know what you're thinking," she speaks suddenly, stopping the napkin sketch. She turns to him, still messing with his tie. "I'm an old friend of the bride. We've known each other for a long time, but I can't remember how we met." His eyes widen with every word she speaks. "There wasn't any room at any other tables, so here I am." She raises her hand in triumph, or maybe it's to show where she is.

"I wasn't... I wasn't really thinking about it." He lies through his teeth, and his eyes dart around the room. It's vaguely familiar, but he's only been in Scranton for four months. He's never been here before. "I'm Jim, by the way."

"I know," she says confidently. "It says so on your little name tag."

She holds up the tan cardstock, folded in half, with his name written in calligraphy.

"Well then, Pam... Anderson," he says, leaning over to read her card, offering his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Shoot," Obviously flustered, she adds "It's Beesly, actually. I RSVP'd before the divorce..."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Jim says sympathetically.

"Why should you be? It wasn't your fault," she says, and something deep down tells him to laugh.

It's indescribable.

"Have I met you before?" she asks, suddenly. She straightens out a wrinkle in her dark red dress, and he scratches his head. "Because you look really familiar."

"Um, I don't think so," he replies, astounded by the fact that she said that because he was thinking the exact same thing.

Because she looks really familiar too.

"So tell me, Jim. What do you do?" She asks, shaking the previous thoughts from her head.

"Well, Pam. I sell paper," he retorts, trying to make it sound more riveting than it actually was. She rests her chin on her hand, deeply enthralled.

"Really? That sounds cool."

"It’s not," he says immediately, and she breaks into laughter.

"So what do you do?" he asks, trying to switch topics. He’s always hated talking about selling paper in his free time. And during work.

"I work at Michael’s, the art supply store. Not with that guy Phyllis kicked out of the reception." They both share awkward smiles again.

"Maybe that’s why you look so familiar. I was just there, not too long ago. My niece had an art project, and her dad was busy, so..."

"Yeah, that might be it."

"Hey, Pam. Can I talk to you for a second?" Phyllis interrupts, blushing like a bride normally does. Pam nods, and asks Jim to excuse her.

"Sure. Maybe I’ll see you around here?" he says, a half smile stitched to his face. She nods.

"Maybe."

When Pam and Phyllis walk off, Jim smiles to himself. Suddenly he doesn’t feel so lost around here anymore. The happiness of this occasion doesn’t seem so distant any more. He feels more centered, and puts some slack into his tie. For once he feels like he’s whole again, if only for the few brief moments when he was talking to her.

Why did he get this weird feeling deep down that he’s met her before? They had just met minutes ago, yet he felt in his heart that they had known each other for much longer.

How had he lived his life without feeling so alive? Where had she been?

"So..." Phyllis begins, trying to weasel some information out of her. Things had been going so wrong lately, but seeing those two talking again seemed to be a step in the right direction. She widens her eyes, and waits for Pam’s response. Pam merely looks stumped.

"What?" She squeaks, and the two of them take a seat at an open table.

"Who was that you were just talking to?" Phyllis asks, eager for girl talk. It was her wedding, and she wanted to see her friend happy.

Jim was just the guy to do that.

"Jim; I think he works with you." Pam says nonchalantly. Phyllis just beams at Pam with pride. "What?" With the realization of what Phyllis is so excited about, Pam shakes her head. "Oh, no. No, you are not setting me up with another guy."

"Come on, Pam. Your divorce was finalized a couple months ago, and you’ve been working nonstop. You need to relax. Have a little fun. Jim is nice, and funny, and he’s..." Her voice lowers to a whisper, "Cute and single. He just broke up with his girlfriend."

Pam shakes her head. "I am not going to be his rebound relationship… no matter how cute he is." She swings around, to see him still sitting there nervously. Their eyes meet and he smiles at her. "Even if he is pretty cute."

"He is, isn’t he?" Phyllis giggles, and leans in closer towards Pam. "You two seemed to be getting along really well. Just give him a chance."

Deep down, she really wanted to. Her marriage had been such a disappointment, and she always wanted to have that connection with someone that she had started to feel with Jim. Still, she couldn’t help but feel guilty. Two months after her divorce was finalized seemed a little too fast to be jumping into a new relationship.

Still, he made her feel different. More fun, more relaxed, more alive. That was a feeling she wanted to chase.

On a day like this back in Scranton, he’d go for a drive; look at the plush green grass, blue sky, and kids running through sprinklers beating the heat. It was simple, but distracting. He’d call Mark and they’d play basketball until their heads spun and they’d need a few beers to set them straight.

July used to be his favorite month. The heat brought back memories of freedom: freedom from school, from the winter and the cold. It brought him back home—where things were nice, and quiet.

But he’s in a new apartment now, one that he could hardly call home. Surrounded by noisy streets, with barely any kids, and none of that kitschy suburban setting he once knew.

Beautiful weather, and he still feels like complete excrement. This is irony at its finest. His twenty-ninth and longest day at Stamford is finally over—diversity training, because of some "trouble at the Scranton branch", according to Josh. The entire time, Jim wondered if it was the Chris Rock impression or the Larry the Cable Guy bit.

He couldn’t help but notice the empty chair beside him - the chair where she should have been.

It’s been exactly one month since he’s seen her, and but her face still haunts him.

This is what his life has been reduced to: sulking on the couch.

A sizeable stack of mail rests in his hands. He manages to walk down the hallway without running into doors. Bill; junk mail; a letter from his mom, telling him all about their trip to Alaska; more bills; an ad. He glances at the ad and reads it out loud to himself in a deep voice that sounds suspiciously like a game show host.

He scans the beige envelope. It’s neat and professional like all clinic brochures are, but he remembers seeing something from this particular clinic before.

He stands up from his second-hand couch, and is heading for his trashcan, when he comes upon the blue stationary.

He recognizes the handwriting, and it knocks the wind out of him.

"Mr. and Mrs. Roy Anderson"

He sets the letter down on the counter—he could really use a beer right about now.

He pops the tab and collapses back onto his couch. The letter rests in his trembling hands, and he spends ten minutes silently debating whether or not opening it is a good idea or not. He can’t do this—open this can of worms. He’s already suppressed his feelings for this long.

But he’s never been one for willpower, and he’s breaking the seal before he can stop himself.

"Dear Jim,

I had to go to corporate to get this address, so just know that I went through a lot of trouble getting in contact with you. We wanted to thank you for your gift. I’ll be sure to carry on the ‘Dwight’s stuff in Jell-o’ torch now that you’re gone. Anyway, thank you for everything."

~Roy and Pam"

His first response is anger—anger that she would even do this to him. Flaunt in his face that she’s oh-so-happily married. He wants nothing more than to call her up, and scream at her, "Leave me alone. You’ve done nothing for me but drive me insane and out of Scranton!"

Then that anger fades to sadness, and he misses her so much it sucks. Then he wants to call her, just to see if anything has changed. See if she’s left Roy, and see if they can finally be happy together.

Despite how impossible that scenario may seem.

He is mid sip when the Lacuna envelope shines on the kitchen counter.

He sifts his fingers through his hair, recounting all the times that he’d like to forget. All the kisses he didn’t get, every argument he witnessed that ended with a public make up scene, every wedding plan, every rejection, every time his heart broke just a little bit more because of her.

He remembers the people from the commercial—that relief on their faces. He desperately wanted that kind of relief.

He picks up the phone and dials the number in the corner. "Hi, I’d like to make an appointment."

"My name is Jim Halpert, and I’m here to erase Pam Beesley." His voice catches as he says her name. "Well, Pam Anderson."

The doctor motions for him to carry on, and Jim looks down at the slip of paper they gave him explaining what they need for his tape.

"I’ve known her for six years, and I’ve pretty much loved her for that long."

"I’m sorry, Mr. Halpert" the doctor interrupts, "but we’re looking for why you want to erase Mrs. Anderson from your memory." Jim nods in approval.

"Okay." Jim says, clearing his throat. "Pam’s too weak, she’s too afraid to fight for what she really wants." The doctor bobs along, looking quite pleased. "Whether it’s going to Hawai’i for her honeymoon, or doing that graphic design thing in New York, or..." Jim pauses, and the doctor leans in.

"Or what?"

"Or not marrying Roy." He says, his eyes glazing over with sadness. "I’ve been hiding my feelings for almost six years now, and I’m just sick of it."

He runs through his apartment, a black trash bag in hand. Mix CDs she’d made, emails she had sent and he’d printed, framed pictures of them at various company camaraderie events. Dumping in item after item, as if they meant nothing. And they do mean nothing—she’s made her feelings drastically clear. Painstakingly, inescapably clear.

His mantra becomes "It’s for the best".

And as he throws the last thing—a sketch of his desk she gave him for Christmas—he feels a sudden sense of relief.

And he actually believes it’s for the best.

The drive from the clinic goes by in a flash. The sun has gone to rest for the night—leaving a trail of pink clouds. He comes out of his reverie when he pulls into the parking lot of his apartment. He pulls the keys out of the ignition, and just sits in silence.

Tomorrow is going to be different. No more longing, no more wanting. He won’t go into work thinking about her, he won’t spontaneously remember her because of the most mundane details of his life. He can move on.

All he wants is to be free. Feel alive again.

The last time I saw her she was dressed in white. She was so beautiful, it hurt to even be in the same room with her.  Her hair was down, just like she had shown Kelly that day in the office.  Her dress showed an appropriate amount of skin, but it still drove me crazy.  Her cheeks were flushed because the reception hall’s air conditioner was slowly dying. 

 I had to cancel a plane ticket, get completely drunk and call a taxi before I could make it to the reception.  I was on my first flute of champagne (of the dinner; three shots, two beers and one glass of the bubbly stuff of the day) when she brushed her hand against my shoulder.  She said in that saccharine voice of hers, 

"You came." 

"I'm glad." 

I tried to smile, but all the muscles in my face were frozen.  I looked like an idiot, playing with my tie as she loosened her grip.  Her brand new husband was acting drunker than I was, out on the dance floor with some of her friends dancing to a Bon Jovi song.  I broke the awkward silence with, 

"I wanted to talk to you." 

She replies, 

"Again?  I think you told me everything." 

It's an awkward joke, and I couldn't help but think she's adorable.  I fought my hardest not to kiss her right then and there. 

"I was talking to Jan...that night..." 

I can't even combine the words casino and night together.  That's how bad it hurts to think about it. 

"I'm transferring to Stamford." 

I finished speaking, and she had this look of shock on her face.  Her mouth made that O shape it does whenever she's shocked, or sad, or confused. 

"When?" 

Her eyes flood with tears.  I answered, 

"Monday." 

She pursed her lips together, and nodded slowly.  I remember that look vividly--she gave the exact same one when she warned me this wedding was coming. 

"You’re leaving me?  Especially now?" 

She looks down at her tightly-wound bodice. I nod slowly, and one tear falls down her face.  Her flawless makeup was ruined in that moment.  

“You married him.” 

I retorted, refusing to be bested.  She widens her gaze at me, and began to tremble. 

“You’re my best friend.   Who else am I going to talk to?” 

I chuckled in that bitter way.  Like I’m doing it to keep from bursting out into tears. 

“How about your husband?” 

“If you’re going to be like this, why did you come?” 

This question genuinely stumps me. 

“I wanted to see you one last time.” 

She shook her head and scoffed at me.  Friends for six years, and she never once scoffed at me. 

“Have a wonderful life in Stamford.” 

She said apathetically, and turned towards the dance floor.  I didn't try to stop her.  After that glass of champagne, I called a taxi and went home to finish packing.  

My cell phone rang twenty minutes later.  I didn’t bother to answer it; I was knee deep in boxes. 

I listened to the voice mail the second after it came in.  It was her, bawling at first. 

“Jim, I’m so sorry I said those things...”  She sniffled again, speaking between sobs.  “I was just angry that you’re leaving, so... please call me before you go.  I’m so sorry.” 

She hung up, and I put my phone in my pocket.  I returned to my packing, and halted when I got to the bookshelf.  I flipped through the yearbook, and for the first time ever, actually laughed at my picture.  Not just my picture, the way she sounded as she laughed. 

“You were so dorky!” 

I could still hear her voice, even though it had been months since she’d been in my room, on my bed.  I could almost see the wrinkle she left in the bed sheet.  I didn’t want it to go away.  I wanted to preserve that feeling, that moment forever. 

Then it dawned on me that she married him.  She actually married him. 

I made sure the blankets on my bed were straight and flat. 

I threw the yearbook in a box labeled “Junk”. 

I never did return that voice mail.  I deleted it the first chance I could. 

Casino night was supposed to be May 11, but an "emergency" of Michael's lead to him to postpone it-leading theories include his inability to get a date, and trying to convince Darryl to allow the fire eaters into the warehouse.

So he held it on June 2 instead-about a week before Pam's wedding.  I had managed to delay the inevitable long enough.  When Roy left, it was just she and I standing in the parking lot.  She was wearing that periwinkle dress, and swaying nervously as we stood there.  I asked her to talk-our mics were off, and the cameras were long gone.  She had said something about needing to talk to me too.  But I was going to lose nerve if I didn't start right then and there.

"I'm in love with you."

I burst out, completely going off what I had spent the entire year planning.  She had that shocked look on her face-one I'd learned quite well. 

All the times I had planned on telling her, it certainly wasn't like this.  We weren't in the parking lot of Dunder Mifflin, half drunk.  And I certainly didn't just come out with it.

"Please say something."

I said out of anxiety.  The silence had been killing me slowly.  Watching her eyes dart around, pacing nervously, her eyes filling with tears-it was all enough to strike me dead, right there in the parking lot.

I just needed her to say something.

"What are you doing?  What do you expect me to say to that?"

Every switch in my brain was going off, and I had no idea what to do next.  I wasn't prepared for this scenario.  I was ready for the, "Okay Jim, I love you.  Let's do this thing now, forgetting about my oafish fiancé."  The silent Pam, then the angry Pam-these were things I was unprepared for.

"I just needed you to know."

She stands silent, all the color drained from her face.

"You're my best friend, Jim.  But I can't...  I love my fiancé."

I nodded slowly, knowing where this conversation was going.  I wiped away one tear from my eye.

"You have no idea..."

I tried to stop her.  I didn't want this sentence finished.  But she bull-headedly interrupts with,

"What your friendship means to me."

I looked at her with sympathetic eyes.  Like staring at her with tear-filled eyes would have changed the way it worked.

"I don't want to do that.  I want to be more than that."

I felt like I was going to die.  Right there, in that damn parking lot.  Just drop dead, at her feet.  But I didn't.  I just stood there, dazed.

"I can't."

She said, all the breath escaping from her in those two little words.  I was expecting an apology, or some kind of a plea to remain friends.  Instead, she burst in with,

"I can't..."

Her mumbles made it seem like she was actually contemplating this.  I didn't need that pushed into my face.  Like if I had done this earlier, things would have been different.

"I'm sorry if I misinterpreted our friendship."

I walked off, my hands buried in my pockets.  Because if I left them at my sides, I would run back and either grab her and take her away, or choke myself to end this misery right then and there.

I didn't look back to see what she was doing.  It didn't matter.  Her use of the word "can't" just said that she was not interested.

===

I don't even remember walking back into that office.  I remember seeing her walk in, sit down at my desk, pick up my phone.  After that, the nerves just took over.

"Mom, I have to go."

She said, in a hurry to hang up the phone.  I wondered what she was talking about, but I had an inkling.  She looked up at me, and began with,

"Jim..."

Before she could even finish her thought, I grabbed the small of her back and pulled her towards me.  Her abdomen pressed against mine, and I pressed my lips to hers.

At first, her body was tense against mine.  She was fighting this.  But after a second, her grip on me tightened. She was sinking into it. Her hands went up my chest, along my neck.

It was the most perfect thing I had ever done before.  Sparks went from my feet to my neck, and I just wanted to scream I was so happy.  I had fantasized about this moment for so long, and it was finally here.

Then she pulled away.

"I can't do this."

She walked away, and I followed her.  We stood at the door of the elevator.

"You're just going to walk away?  After... that?"

I shrieked, sounding suspiciously like Kelly.  She nods.

"Jim, you're a great guy.  But..."

She bit her lip, and looked on the brink of tears.  Which seemed to be impossible, seeing how the entire night had gone.

"What?  What is it?  Tell me that kiss meant nothing, and I will walk out of here right now."

She stood in silence.  I followed suit.

"Then what is it?"

Before my brain can process the interchange, she bursts out in a voice louder than I'd ever heard before,

"I'm pregnant, okay?  I can't leave him now."

She fell on the floor in tears.  I sat down next to her, despite my best wishes not to.  I put my hand on my shoulder, despite how much it hurt.  She rested her cheek on my hand, and I could still feel her warmth.  It was a feeling at that time I never wanted to be rid of.

"I haven't even told him. I just need a friend right now."

And there was the secret buzz word-friend.  I was just a friend.  I wasn't something more, I wasn't something admirable.  I was just a friend.  I muttered softly,

"I'm sorry."

I pulled my hand away softly, and she looked up at me like a deer in the headlights.

"I can't do that."

I said, tearing away what was left of my heart.  She pressed out a wrinkle in her periwinkle dress, and just let out one sad sob.

"What are we going to do now?"

I shook my head, and pressed the button for the elevator.

"I don't know."

She didn't stand up to stop me.  She had that look in her eye that she wanted to, but she couldn't find the strength to.  I wanted her to find that strength, to fight for this.

But I knew when the elevator door shut that it wasn't going to happen.