Pam stared at her computer screen and brought her mug of tea toward her mouth.  Gently breathing out over the surface of the liquid, she willed it to cool.  It had been three years since Pam had left Dunder-Mifflin. Two and a half of those years she had spent at McCloud Designs & Graphics in Buffalo, New York, where she now headed up the real estate arts division.  It was a commanding job that even Pam was unsure she could handle, but her immediate supervisor at the time had encouraged her to apply.  On a whim, she had relented.  For the most part, the risk had been worth it. 

It had been a risk to leave for Buffalo in the first place.  She would be leaving behind the comfortable life as a receptionist at Dunder-Mifflin, along with office Olympics, pranks on Dwight, bouncing castles and Jim Halpert. 

Jim Halpert. 

Once renowned for its gilded age beauty, The Lenox Hotel’s exterior had capitalized on its classical architecture.  Now its modernized cream coloured brick, flat exterior and square entrance left the impression that it was in deep need of a revival. Locals often complained to the city council that the hotel deserved an owner that would revitalize its history. 

After passing Symphony Circle and turning onto North Street, Pam understood why the new owners were driven to restore the Lenox Hotel.  It certainly was an eyesore, dilapidated after years of being neglected. Black stains outlined shadows on the brick, the metallic entrance was beginning to rust, and a letter from the hotel name had fallen from the car awning. 

She parked her car in the adjacent lot, picked up her canvas satchel and pulled out her camera.  As she neared the entrance, Pam captured photos so that the structural design team could analyse them later.  Deep within her pocket her phone beeped, demanding attention.

Pressing the key to retrieve the message, she saw that it was from her project supervisor, Dawn.

 From: Dawn Kauff
2097768651 
Gr8 offer 4 u. Hurry bk when dun 

She replaced the phone in her pocket and resumed taking photos, ensuring that all angles were carefully captured.  Oftentimes, she would also use the same photos to create artistic renderings, which would be used to pacify investors.  Her watercolour paintings of the concept design would give them an idea of what they could be expecting architecturally in the interior and exterior. 

Pam loved the praise she received from clients when they saw her concept paintings.  It was rewarding to see the construction on a project when she’d had a part in the design process. 

Holy hell, she thought to herself as she pushed through the main doors into the lobby.  It was distinctly retro seventies in its design.  Black marble counters and deep violet walls welcomed the guests.  Two flowered smoking chairs sat in a corner with a plastic fichus tree between them. The wooden door frames had been painted repeatedly over the years and were now to the point at which the paint had started to curl.  It was certainly quite the sight.

“Now you see why we’re renovating it,” said a voice from behind.  Pam turned to find the general manager of the hotel smiling at her. 

“You must be Pam Beesly from McCloud,” he said extending his hand in greeting.  “Anthony Cosini.  It’s a pleasure.” His glasses were perched on his nose; his hair was graying, wild and unkempt. Pam figured him to be in his late fifties and noticed that he had a distinctly friendly face. She knew instantly that the hotel’s improvements would finally be realized.

“Yeah… it certainly could… um,” she hesitated looking for the right words to describe the design disaster that surrounded her. “It needs some love and care,” she said at last.

Anthony chuckled.  “I’ll say. If I hadn’t grown up down the street, I’m not sure if I would’ve taken the risk.  I’m starting to wonder if we should just blast it to the ground.”  Pam raised her eyebrows at the comment, surprised that he would be so bold as to suggest a historical monument be completely destroyed.

“Have you seen the rooms yet?”  He asked. Pam shook her head.  Anthony gave a short laugh. “Well then, you’re in for a treat.  Follow me,” he said, gesturing toward the elevators.

***

Jim groaned in frustration, leaning back in his desk chair.  His open suitcase lay on the bed, clothes piled high.  His room was a mess; he had a trip to pack for, yet he sat at his desk trying to write an email to Pam.

Earlier in the week, his brother Jonathan had suggested that the reason he couldn’t propose to Karen after all this time, was in part because he never ended things properly with Pam.  Her abrupt departure had left too many unresolved issues between them. 

“Its therapeutic man,” his brother had said during one of their weekly Burger Barn dinners.  “A couple of my psycho ex-girlfriends have done it to me before.  Really puts things in perspective.”

“Great. So you want me to be like your psycho ex-girlfriends?  Excellent advice, Jon.” Jim rolled his eyes, taking a bite from his double cheeseburger. 

“Well obviously you’re not a psycho,” he said, exasperated.  “But it might actually help if you just tell Pam what the hell your problem is.  I’m told that it’s very liberating.”

“You’re told?” Jim chuckled at the comment.

“Yeah, ran into Mary once,” Jonathan drew in a sharp breath, shaking his head, an incorrigible smile on his face. “She looked hot, too.”

“Focus, Romeo.” Jim snapped his fingers, drawing Jonathan’s attention back from his daydream.

He cleared his throat and smiled at Jim’s antics. “Anyways… she asked if I’d gotten her letter. I told her I had, and she said that it was the best thing she ever did; that it helped her move on.”  Jonathan shrugged and continued, “I suppose it can’t hurt.”

Jim had thought about Jonathan’s suggestion all week.  He knew that his brother was probably right: a letter to Pam might be cathartic.  But it was a thin line he would be treading. The last thing he’d ever want to do was hurt Pam. He feared that that’s what would happen if he sent her a letter.  Then there was Karen. If she found out that he was initiating contact with Pam again, regardless the reason, she would be furious.

It was for the best, he had reminded himself again. He needed to articulate in some way what her departure had done to him emotionally, physically and mentally. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure if he would ever get the nerve to move forward with Karen. 

At times Jim would replay Pam’s final days at Dunder-Mifflin in his mind.  Over the years the details had faded, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t remember Pam even attempting to approach him about her impending departure.  He certainly hadn’t been the best friend he could have been at that time, but he had figured that their history together warranted some explanation.  He vaguely remembered her going to speak to Toby in his cubical the week before, but at the time he hadn’t even considered the repercussions of that unusual meeting.  The pieces didn’t fit; they didn’t make sense.  On her last day she gave no indication to anyone of her plans. Surely the Party Planning Committee would have put something together for her. They probably would have even served Buffalo style chicken wings in her honour.  He suspected something had happened.  That something had been said, but no one could give him any indication that they knew what had happened. Michael even seemed to be just as puzzled as he was.  He had whined for weeks about how his messages were in the wrong tray and that Joyce didn’t know how to operate his video camera like Pam had.

Now, the night before he was to leave with Karen on their vacation, he had finally relented to Jonathan’s suggestion.  Jim recognized that he needed to close that part of his past.  With their trip to Rome, he knew that he would have to make his move and finally propose to her.  It was perfect, it was romantic, and Karen deserved it.

She’s been with you for 3 years. Why he had to continually remind himself of that particular fact, he wasn’t sure. But it seemed to quell the nervous twitch that he felt in the pit of his stomach.

Much better, he thought, returning to the letter. The greeting was partially distant, yet somehow indicated that they had a shared history.

He looked back at his dresser; the ring stared back at him.  How could he explain in an email that he had moved on and was going to marry Karen? It seemed impossible, daunting even.

He began to type, letting everything he was thinking flow from his fingertips, a rush of words racing across his screen.

Jim stopped typing.  He had been about to write “I still loved you,” but knew that he couldn’t. His conscience warned him that it would be the ultimate betrayal to Karen. Not only was he contacting Pam again after all these years; he was about to tell her that he had still loved her while he was well into his relationship with Karen. 

Strangely his eyes drifted to the corkboard over his desk.  There, attached by a push pin, was a ticket stub for “Toy Story”.

He shook his head, pushing all thoughts of Pam away, and closed the browser screen, effectively deleting the email.  Jonathan was wrong; writing it had been a mistake.

***

“You can go right in.  Dawn’s waiting for you,” the secretary waved her toward the oversized double doors.

Pam had been inside Dawn’s office numerous times, but with each occasion she was stunned at the canvases that lay strewn about the room.  Each had a different design, painted in acrylic, watercolour or oil.  Drop sheets were bundled in corners along the sides of the office, protecting the linoleum floor from the paintings that stood on angles against the wall. A large drafting table was pushed to the side, a small blonde bob poking out from behind it. 

“Hey Pam, sorry about the mess,” Dawn said, tucking a pencil behind her ear. “Just push the papers from the chair; you can have a seat there.” 

Pam moved the large pieces of sketch paper from the chair and carefully placed the drawings on the nearby office desk.

“So listen, you’re not going to believe what Joe wants us to do.”  Joe Sokowski was an executive partner at McCloud. His involvement on a regional project was rare, so it was obvious that whatever news Dawn had to share must be important.

“The Lenox account is going to be big for us,” Dawn continued. “Joe is completely salivating at all the potential revenue that it’s going to bring the company.”

Pam nodded slowly.  Her eyebrows furrowed; she was confused as to her part in the discussion. It was no secret that the Lenox would be huge publicity for the company, especially if the redesign encapsulated the intended theme. Pam’s job, though, required nothing more than mock-ups, sketches and paintings of sample rooms, the lobby and the exterior framework.

“You know how Cosini is looking for a classical theme, Romanesque to the bone?” Pam nodded again, as Dawn continued. “Arches, barrel vaults, piers, statues, columns, the works, right?  Well Joe is going to foot the bill and have an associate go to Rome to take photographs, draw up some composite sketches, and basically get ideas for the hotel.”

Pam smiled, happy for her friend.  “That’s great Dawn.  You’re going to have so much fun in Rome.”

“No Pam. I can’t.  I’ve got to stay and keep an eye on the Delaware Avenue project.  Joe wants you to go.”

Pam’s heart skipped a beat, her mouth opening in protest.  She wanted to suggest a more qualified associate, a more talented artist.  Someone, anyone else.   She’d never even left the continental U.S. before, much less flown in a plane. 

“You leave on Sunday.  You’re going to have an amazing time.”

Pam clutched her passport, her ticket stub stuffed between the pages as she followed the signs toward customs at Leonardo da Vinci Fiumicino Airport.  Lining up behind an eclectic mix of travelers, Pam looked at her passport photo again.  It had been serendipitous that she even had a passport in the first place.  While still in Scranton, Pam had applied for one. At the time, part of her had hoped that there might be a reason to use it.  Instead, like most things in her life, it ended up buried away and hidden from sight.

“La Sua passaporto.” The voice startled her, waking her from her thoughts.

“Oh, right.  Here you go,” she slid the passport under the window.  The guard flipped to her photo page, looked up at her and back down at the picture.  He took his stamp and with a heavy hand brought it down on one of the many blank pages.

“Benvenuto.  Welcome,” he said giving a quick smile.  He handed back her passport and pointed her toward the baggage carousel.

She nodded, shifting the shoulder strap of her bag.  “Grazie,” she smiled.  Her Lonely Planet phrasebook was already coming in handy.

As she waited for the carousel to bring her luggage, crushed between travelers, she opened her passport to page twelve.  There, within a small blue square was the date, an outline of a plane and the name “FIUMICINO”.

She had arrived.  The city that had in part birthed classical architecture and the finest artwork in history had now given her the first stamp in her passport.

***
Shortly after arriving in Rome, Karen and Jim had successfully hailed their first Italian taxi.  Despite an obvious communication barrier, Karen had managed to use what broken Italian she knew to ask their driver to take them to the Hotel Aurelius. 

The small hotel was located off of the longest road in Rome, Via Aurelia. A travel website had promised a short distance to Vatican City and central Rome.  They had booked with the hotel in part because of its simplistic brick framed entrance and reasonable rates.  Upon arrival they discovered a quaint, yet comfortable lobby where issues of the daily newspaper, La Repubblica, lay strewn about.    To the left of the lobby, down a small flight of stairs, was a simple breakfast lounge.  Red chairs were tucked under yellow flowered tablecloths and fake grape vines hung from the ceiling, giving the impression of a Roman vineyard.

With a wink, the hotel representative had given them a key to a room that he promised faced onto a terrace and would be perfect for the “ragazzo e ragazza.”

Karen heaved her suitcase onto the bed in their hotel room, its weight causing her to fall next to it. 

“This country is really hot in August,” she declared, fanning herself, leaning up from the bed.  “Is there a window we can open?”

Jim turned, looking around their tiny room. “Where would they even put a window?”  Laughing, he added, “There’s a door, though.”  

“This is looking pretty miserable,” she grimaced, sitting on their small double bed as Jim headed into the bathroom.

“You’re going to die when you see this,” he called out.

“Don’t even tell me… does it at least have a toilet?” Karen groaned, closing her eyes, afraid of his answer.

“Definitely has a toilet.”  Jim’s voice hid a slight chuckle.  “But it’s right below the showerhead.”

“What?!” Karen leapt up and ran into the washroom, pushing her small frame past Jim.  Sure enough, the showerhead was placed directly above the toilet. 

“What happens when you shower?” She asked, eyebrows raised in annoyance.  “Does it go into the toilet?”

“I guess you could close the lid…?”  Jim laughed.  “This is going to be seriously interesting.” 

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Karen declared, grabbing her travel guide.  “I don’t even want to think about the toilet that doubles as a shower.”

As Karen headed out the door, Jim patted his pocket.  The ring was safely tucked away in his cargo shorts, ready to appear at the perfect moment.

***
Pam quickly flipped through her phrasebook.  Throughout the seven hour flight, whatever time she hadn’t spent sleeping she had spent memorizing Italian phrases.  She knew she had passed by a section on taxis and now at the moment she needed it most, it was nowhere to be found.

“Signorina?” called out the driver.

“Um…err,” she stalled, the pages bending as she fervently searched.  “Uno… um….una…”

“Where to?” the driver finally asked, his words affected by his accent.

“Oh!” Pam exclaimed.  “You speak English!” She glanced down at her travel information. “Uh… Hotel Parco Tirreno.  Via Aurelia.”

“Si.”

The car swerved in and out Rome’s traffic, eclipsing speeds that Pam was sure were beyond any reasonable local limit. She clutched the head rest of the passenger seat in front of her, afraid that her first trip abroad might just be her last.

Eventually the taxi slowed as it approached a small single lane that wound up a hill.  It was protected by an automatic barrier, monitored by hotel security.  The driver rolled down his window, navigating their entry in a blur of Italian; Pam watched as the barrier lifted.  Her eyes widened as the trees and greenery cleared and she began to see the face of her temporary home. 

Parco Tirreno certainly exceeded her expectations.  Not having had the time to search the internet for an image of the hotel, she arrived in Rome with only an address.  The hotel resembled something she’d seen in films.  Surely there wasn’t anything similar to it in either Scranton or Buffalo.  The front entrance was shaded by palm trees, their fronds reaching skyward. A lovely terrace sat to the left, protecting the outdoor furniture with several awnings.  An alluring garden was just in front, surrounding a small pond with a three tiered fountain that sprayed a stream of water.

As she pulled her luggage behind her, she found it difficult to control her excitement.  She was in Rome and at a beautiful hotel that she never would have dreamed of staying in, much less be able to afford. The automatic doors slid open, a rush of cool air greeting her. 

“Buongiorno,” said a voice from behind a capacious desk. His smile welcomed her, his black hotel uniform pressed and immaculate.

“Hi.  I have a reservation.  Pam Beesly.”

“Si.  One minute, I’ll pull up your information.”

Pam gazed around the lobby; three beautiful orange and green sofas sat below a large window with a view to the front gardens.  A large map of Rome covered another wall, historical locations brightly identified by cartoon renderings.  Pam’s excitement continued to grow; she desperately wanted to stow her suitcase in her room so she could explore the city immediately.

The clerk tore a page from a computer print out and had her sign the hotel confirmation.   Once she’d confirmed the credit card information, he handed her a door key card.

“Room 450.  The elevator is down the hall.”

“Thank you,” she said.  As Pam was about to turn away from the counter, a thought occurred to her.  “Excuse me?  Sorry…” she began meekly.  “I was wondering if there was a computer or the internet I could use.”

“Si.  We have a computer here in the lobby.  But its internet is not working today.  There is an internet café just down Aurelia, before Piazza San Giovanni.”  He reached down and pulled out a stack of maps.  Tearing a page from the pile, he circled the piazza.

“Parco Tirreno here,” he said pointing with his pen to a blue dot marked Parco Tirreno.  “Internet Café, là,” his pen made a sharp arrow to the piazza. “Simple, no?”

“Yes, grazie.”  She smiled, folded up the map and stuffed it into her satchel.  Her heart beat quickly as she headed toward the elevators, ready to begin her Roman adventure.

***
Jim craned his neck, his eyes thirsty, drinking in the scenes that had five hundred years ago been so lovingly hand painted by the many talented artists of Rome’s history.

Michelangelo, Perugino, Botticelli, Rossellini…

Every inch seemed to be covered; each fresco’s brilliant colours having recently been restored to their original splendor.  The long wait outside of the Vatican walls had certainly proven to be worthwhile.

“Silencio!”

Every so often, the noise level in the chapel would rise as travelers and visitors became increasingly excited with the artistry that surrounded them.  A Swiss guardsman, clad in a ridiculous uniform of red, yellow and blue, chastised the onlookers, reminding them that it was indeed the Sistine Chapel and ultimately a place of worship.

“Look,” he whispered to Karen, pointing to a large painting hung from a lower tier in the room.  “It’s Perugino’s ‘Christ giving the Key to St. Peter’.  You totally can see the old Vatican and everything.  See the guy on the right, with the black cap?  That’s supposedly Perugino.”

“How do you know that?”

How did he know that?  In his distant past, when he’d been blind and foolish, there had been a time where he would pick up a book on art- any book- and just absorb it.  He wanted to learn everything, devour every detail, wanted to know what she knew. He wanted to amaze her with his knowledge of classical paintings, Flemish artwork and Grecian sculptures.  At the time it had been a way to show that he was different, that he loved what she loved, loved her more than anyone else. Now, looking back, it had likely been a childish endeavor; but there was something about the chapel.  He could almost see her sitting on one of the small benches off to the side, crushed between camera-laden tourists, her sketch pad on her lap, her pencil strokes quick and precise. 

He smiled at the thought and for a brief moment and wished that he could share this room with Pam. He wished he could stare at her as she breathed in all the details.  Surely her eyes would be wide, her neck arched toward the ceiling.  Michelangelo’s artistry would likely attract her interest first.  Its incredible beauty and symbolism would not be lost on her.  There, high above, was God, reaching out to man; not quite touching, yet united at the same time.
“Earth to Jim?”

“I guess I must have read it somewhere,” he said finally.

***
As excited as she was to begin exploring the city and to begin sketching the history that surrounded her, it was still Monday.  And every Monday she was drawn back into her old habit.

Inside the internet café she found rows of computers, most of them occupied by an assortment of tourists.  Pam selected one near the front window and slid three Euros into the coin slot.

Like previous Mondays, she logged into Facebook, the process having long become mechanical.  The irony was not lost on her.  There she was in Rome, yet still thinking of Jim. She led the cursor to the “Search” box and typed in his name, always lower case: jim halpert.

Within seconds the list of familiar Jim Halperts from across the world flooded the screen.  Like before, Pam scrolled the list, expecting nothing new.  As she drew the cursor down, her hand froze, her heart stopped, her mouth suddenly dry. 

She stared at the photo, his name bolded.  His face staring back at her, it was a photo from when he had dressed up as Dwight several years back as a prank.  His hair was parted in the middle, oversized glasses perched on his nose; the yellow short sleeved shirt that in any other circumstance would have made her laugh at the memory.  Only today, as she sat in the internet café, she was in stunned silence.

Her mouth hung open, her eyes not daring to tear away from the photo.  Her heart pounded in her chest.  For a year she had been waiting for his profile to appear.  For so long, she had been waiting for this moment.  But instead of the elation she had expected, she felt nervous.  Her heart threatened to leap from her chest, her throat felt like it was going to close in on her. She bit her lower lip, now dry, and perched her hands over the keyboard. 

Half of her wanted to click the red box in the corner of the screen and forget the moment had even happened.  The other half prompted her to message him, “poke” him, add him as a “friend,” anything-- to do something.

Instead she just stared. She stared at the ridiculously disguised face that smiled at her.  It had been that smile that had haunted her dreams, her thoughts and her very existence on what had seemed like a daily basis.  She had refused dates with men because of that smile, his kindness, gentleness, patience that had gotten her through her days at Dunder-Mifflin.  She was staring at the man whom she had, in part, broken up her engagement to Roy. It felt surreal.

She exhaled and did the only thing she could do: she clicked on the link that allowed her to see his “friends.” She didn’t know what to expect by clicking that link.  She swallowed hard, wanting to cringe; it was as though the next moment could possibly hurt her physically.  The slow internet connection revealed the list of his friends, their pictures gradually appearing. 

Jim couldn’t have been registered at the site for more than a week.  Yet, as she expected, he had almost 15 names listed.  She saw some familiar faces: his old roommate Mark, his brother Jonathan, some others she assumed were relatives because of their shared last name.  But there were a few she didn’t recognize.  There was a slender brunette, her long hair tossed to the side, standing on a beach, a margarita glass clutched in one hand.  There was a leggy blonde, her photo looking like it could be the next cover of InStyle magazine.  As Pam continued to scroll, she saw another, more familiar, darker haired woman. 

Her eyes started to sting, tears beginning to force their way through.  This photo was different from the other two.  In this photo she saw Jim’s profile.  The same profile she had stared at for five years.  The very profile she would sneak glances at when he was deep in thought or on a sales call.  The exact profile that she wished she could kiss, touch, run her hands softly along the afternoon stubble.  But instead, she was looking at the profile that had never been hers. His head was tilted against the side of another woman’s head; with his eyes closed, it was apparent that he was very much in love with Karen Filippelli.

Pam had seen that look before, in another lifetime.  She had seen that look in a darkened office, while she leaned against a solid oak desk, her hands having just clutched the rings of the telephone cord. She had seen that look again on the deck of a boat, far out on Lake Wallenpaupack while her hands were tucked deep into her winter coat.  She had seen that look in the kitchen at Dunder-Mifflin, as she’d prodded him, trying to make him lose a game of jinx.

It was now very apparent, very clear that she was no longer the owner of that look.

Cavalli, Fendi, Chanel, Hermes… their signs littered Via Condotti, pulling fashionista tourists into their immaculate shops.  Karen was generally aloof when discussions of fashion were broached at Dunder-Mifflin; she’d often rebuked Kelly’s suggestions for a shopping day at Steamtown Mall, reasoning that it only succeeded in reinforcing feminine stereotypes. 

Jim could barely restrain his laughter as he watched her with her back to the imposing Spanish Steps, pointing in awe at the perfectly tailored jackets, blouses and pants that were on display in the windows. 

“Did you want to go into the stores?” He asked, knowing her answer before her head bobbed excitedly.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” 

“Not stupid.  I was just curious when my girlfriend turned into Kelly Kapoor.”  It was all he could do to keep his teasing smile under control.

“It is stupid. I’m turning into one those girls that wants an Hermes scarf and a pair of Cavalli boots,” she frowned.  “You’ll be okay by yourself for a while?

“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “Go, have fun. Shop. Be a girl.  I’ll meet you at the Barcaccia fountain at seven?” 

“Perfect,” she raised herself onto the balls of her feet and kissed him lightly on the lips.  “Behave yourself.  I don’t want to find out you’ve convinced the Polizia that Dwight is a threat to national security.”

With a smile, he promised. Satisfied, Karen turned and went into the first store on her left, wasting no time.

Now alone, Jim debated whether to venture to climb the steps that beckoned him from a distance. He squinted in the sunlight as he looked up at the church that sat at the top of the steps.  Its obelisk pointed skyward, sandwiched by two bell towers.  He’d heard that the view from the top of the Spanish Steps was a sight to behold.  The red hues of the buildings nearby-- their thatched roofs and the hundreds of flowers that aligned the steps-- were a tourist’s dream. The myriad teenagers milling about, were not.

Jim sighed, his exhaustion beginning to set in.  Their excursion into the nearby Vatican City left him mentally and physically drained.  The incredible illusions to the eye that the Basilica held still occupied his thoughts; the images of Michelangelo’s paintings, the complexity of the Last Judgment and the images of the souls of mankind ascending and descending to their respective fates, still haunted him.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed an internet café.  Figuring Michael had likely gotten himself either placed on employment probation or fired, he thought it best to check his email while he waited for Karen.

***
Pam stared at the computer screen, her body frozen, rigid as her thoughts cascaded in a thousand directions.  She wanted to close the screen, wanted to make contact, wanted to run, wanted to stay… it was too complicated; it was difficult to even think clearly.

A part of her had long wondered what it would be like to finally see his profile on Facebook, to reconnect with him after so long.  She never would have imagined that it would have left her this frightened, this shaken. 

She pulled at her necklace charm, running it across its chain, thinking back to the day that had given her the resolve to leave Scranton-- and ultimately Jim-- in the first place.

It had been a Friday night; she’d had to stay late faxing a litany of papers to corporate that Michael had decided to sign last minute. At one time staying that late would have annoyed her.  By that point though, her Friday nights had consisted of sitting on the couch, a box of take-out on her table and “The Princess Bride” in the DVD player.  When she’d finished faxing, she had headed to Toby’s desk to leave him copies of one of the documents.  Before she’d even reached the alcove, she’d heard Jim’s laugh, its ebb always as entrancing as its surge. She’d frozen on the spot, clutching the papers so hard that she later had to iron out the creases.

“So I’m parent approved, huh?” Asked Jim, his voice, teasing.

“Mmhm.  Would it totally weird you out if I told you that they said that you were good husband material?” Karen asked, with a hint of flirtation.

“Good husband material?  Wow. I must have made a real impression then.”

“An excellent impression, and not just on them…” she’d added, her voice lowering into a purr. A pause in the conversation caused Pam’s eyes to widen, afraid to move in fear of making a sound that indicated she had been eavesdropping all along, that she’d been a witness to their intimate moment.

“I’m gonna have to throw that right back at you Filippelli.” His voice had lowered significantly, causing the colour to drain from Pam’s face. 

“I love you so much.” Karen’s voice came in a gasp. Pam’s head began to pulse.

“Right back at you…”

In one abrupt motion, Pam raced from her concealed location, not caring if she made any noise, not caring if they knew she’d been listening. She’d tossed the papers on her desk, grabbed her purse, keys and coat, and ran from the office.

That night the take-out box sat on her kitchen counter, unopened.  The DVD remained in its case. Instead, her living room carpet was littered with used Kleenex, wet and crumbled. When she’d awoken the next morning, lying on her sofa, her eyes burned, feeling heavy and spent. By Monday she found herself in Toby’s office filling out paperwork.  By Tuesday Jan had called, encouraging her to give it another chance.  By Friday her desk was empty of personal items, having slowly and secretly brought them home throughout the week.

Now, three years later she sat at a computer in an internet café, an ocean away, the same insecurities plaguing her. 

Pam took a deep breath and returned to his profile photo.  She led her cursor to the link that read “Send Message.”  A new page opened, waiting for her to take the chance and reconnect.

To: Jim Halpert
Subject: Shake it

Message:
Hey
Imagine my shock to find you on Facebook. I always thought you were more evolved than that. (Obviously this is my lame attempt at making an awkward opening joke.)

I was just on a plane (I know!  I’m a world traveler now! Maybe I’ve evolved too LOL).  Anyway, there was this crazy old man sitting next to me who was shaking his asthma inhaler so hard that I thought it was going to fly right out of his hand and hit the lady behind us.  I wanted so desperately to say what I was thinking, which was: “stop shaking that like a crazy person.” But I’ll give you one guess what I said instead.
Pam

With hands shaking, she moved the cursor to the blue “Send” square below her message.  She clicked the button and exhaled, not realizing that she had been holding her breath.  Pam leaned back in the plastic chair, staring at the screen. She clasped and unclasped her hands, which were cold to the fingertips.  

She clicked on the link to her Facebook “Home” page where it would remind her that she lacked a proper profile and that she could invite friends via their email accounts.  When the page had finally loaded, a slight change caught her eye.

Inbox (1)

Her heart pounded in her ears. It could only be one person who had sent her a message.  There was a small chance it could be her sister, an even smaller chance it could be Phyllis or her secretary; but the timing was just too coincidental.

She clicked on the “Inbox” link.

Her suspicions had been correct.  There he was: his face masked by oversized glasses, his hair parted. His name alone sent a rush of nerves to her stomach.

With a hesitant hand, she opened the message.

Jim Halpert:
Beesly!
You on a plane? I don’t believe it. You have definitely evolved. :)
It’s been far too long. I’m really happy you messaged me.
My guess is that you told him to shake it like a Polaroid picture.
Jim

Her face broke out in a smile, her throbbing heart now swelled with anticipation. Without missing a beat, she moved her fingers across the keyboard, typing in the reply box.

Reply:
I’m happy you messaged me back. :)  I was afraid you wouldn’t.
I, in fact, told him to shake it like a salt shaker.
Yes. I am a dork.
Pam

She clicked the “Send” box, her message delivered to him instantaneously.  It always amazed her that despite distance, despite time and despite their history, they could always find themselves laughing over the same things.  It was almost like nothing had happened, and they were back to their old selves.

She waited a couple of minutes, busying herself with the sketch pad she’d pulled from her bag.  Her doodles were sloppy, hindered by her excitement over her Facebook exchange with Jim.

She refreshed the page and discovered that he had, as expected, replied.

Jim Halpert:
Shake it like a salt shaker???  The Ying Yang Twins have nothing on you.
I was afraid I wouldn’t reply either. I’m glad I did.
It’s strange; I saw Michelangelo’s Last Judgment today and thought of you.  I wondered what you’d have said about Michelangelo painting himself into the face of St. Bartholomew’s skin.  Pretty gross. Sort of like 28 Days Later, no? ;-)
Jim

Reply:
LOL! Really gross, that’s for sure. 
Michelangelo was the ultimate prankster, lemme tell you.  When one of the Pope’s people said that it was disgusting to have so many nude images on an altar, Michelangelo went and painted the guy being rowed into hell.
Pretty cool, huh?
Pam
P.S. Nothing is as gross as 28 Days Later. Not even flayed skin.

Jim Halpert:
But did Michelangelo put a guy’s stapler in jello?  I think not.

This is probably the wrong time to ask this- but I’m going to anyway.
Why did you leave D-M?
Jim

***
Once he’d typed the message and hit send, he knew that it had been a mistake.  Here he was in an internet café in Rome and had finally heard from Pam after all these years. Now he was sure he was succeeding in alienating her again.  

He looked at his watch and realized that he’d have to meet Karen shortly. A quick mental calculation reminded him that it was roughly 1pm in Buffalo.  Pam was probably sitting at her desk at work, busy being the successful artist that he imagined her to be.

As much as he missed her and their friendship, he was ultimately proud of her for taking a risk. He knew that some of the people at Dunder-Mifflin criticized her lack of courage, but he’d never doubted her.  She would be successful at whatever she did; of that he was certain. 

He refreshed the page one last time, and saw that Pam had replied.

Pamela Beelsy:
Some things just became clearer. Couldn’t stand to watch.
Pam

The time in the corner of the screen reminded him that Karen would be waiting at the fountain for him.  He couldn’t continue this discussion like he wished.  Pam’s message had been too cryptic; he had too many questions to ask her.  What couldn’t she stand to watch? 

Reply:
What became clearer???

It was already well after seven and he didn’t want Karen to be waiting in the piazza for him much longer. Shaking his head, he logged out and closed the internet explorer screen.  He would have to find another opportunity to find out what Pam was referring to.

He left the café and in the shadows of the darkening street, he could see Karen in the distance waiting for him, the Barcaccia fountain just behind her. She smiled and waved with difficulty, her numerous shopping bags weighing her hands down.

“Are we going to be able to pay for the hotel, Filippelli?” Jim tried to sound jovial and teasing, but recognized that he was feeling anything but that.

She laughed, unaware of his changed mood and artificial smile. 

“I’m starved.  If we drop this off at the hotel, we’ll have enough time to change for dinner, eat and still be able to catch the metro back before it closes,” she suggested.

“Sure,” he agreed, following her into the Spagna metro station. “Sounds great.”

Rolled sleeves became long sleeves.

The salesman became the assistant regional manager.

Your desk became Ryan’s desk.

Pam became Karen.

A lot became clearer.

Jim had sat at the computer desk for what had felt like hours. He rubbed his hands against his face, dug his fingers into the corners of his eyes, and ran them through his hair.  He did anything but bring his fingers to the keyboard.  He didn’t know how to respond to Pam’s reply.  It was evasive, yet completely clear. She had left because of him.  The thought of it plagued him, caused his chest to hurt like it had when she’d left initially.  At that moment he foolishly thought that he would give anything to just see her face to face, to apologize- for what he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to make things better for them. He wanted to clear the air, to end any misunderstanding once and for all.

But he was in a serious relationship with Karen now, a relationship that was headed toward marriage. He was an ocean away from Buffalo, from Scranton and any perceived relationship with Pam. Her message though, had conjured up too many memories both good and bad.  Against his better judgment he had put his fingers to the keyboard and had spoken from his heart.

“Are you even listening to me?” Her voice startled him from his thoughts.

“Hey, look!” He pointed, grateful to have a quick diversion.  Karen’s shrill look melted as she saw what he pointed at.

“It’s incredible.”

Their eyes fixated on the scene before them.  The white glean of the sun hitting the sculptures creating a luster that amplified the details.  The curvature of the cloth wrapped around Neptune’s waist, both horses’ manes seemingly billowing in the wind. It was all so precise.  Its power to captivate was not lost on Jim or Karen.  It silenced them both.

Jim’s eyes soaked in the surroundings of Trevi Fountain. The throngs of tourists milled about, tossing coins into the fountain; some having their photos taken as they posed in front of the sculptures. The many tongues- Italian, English, French and some he didn’t even recognize- were all drowned out by the rush of the water thundering over the rocky edges before him. 

At that moment, there was a break in the crowd and he saw her.

It couldn’t be. It can’t be.

Yet, there she was: her hair as he remembered it, the sunlight reflecting off her reddish-blonde curls.  Her feet clad in those familiar white Keds, her bangs drifting into her eyes as she tossed a coin into the fountain. It was her, it had to be her.  But in Rome?  The thought seemed ridiculous, impossible even.

He couldn’t find his voice but wanted desperately to call her name- to grab her attention.  By remaining silent and stunned he risked losing her in the crowds that threatened to swallow her. In an instant, a cluster of fresh tourists blocked his vision, stealing her from him.  Before he could will his feet to move, to push through, the crowd had dissipated again and she was gone.

***

The day had quickly escaped from Pam; her sketch book was now filled with many images: some architectural, some artistic, some created from her own imagination. As she walked into the lobby of Parco Tirreno she felt an excited jump in her chest at the thought of what the next day would hold.  While snacking on a panino at lunch she had begun to circle possible sites on her map.  Her head was filled with the improvements the Lenox would receive upon her return to Buffalo. In her mind she envisioned rooms accented by ionic columns, delicately carved sculptures welcoming guests… the possibilities seemed limitless.

“Scusi? Signorina?”

Pam lifted her eyes from the floor to the clerk at the front desk. “Yes?”

“L’altro ieri… eh… uh, yesterday, you asked for internet.  Is working now.”

“Oh,” she paused, not sure if she wanted to find out what was likely waiting for her. “Thank you… grazie.”

Slowly she made her way to the computer desk, dropping her bag next to the chair.  Taking a deep breath, she pulled several Euro coins from her pocket and slid them into the dispenser.  Within seconds she was granted permission, granted access to discover that which she feared the most.  She hardly dared think of what awaited her at that now very familiar website.

Inbox (1)

It stared at her, daring her to open the link and read what he had to say. She would potentially be confronting the past that she had long escaped from.

Jim Halpert:

Pam,

I don’t even know where to start.  I’ve probably sat here a good 10 minutes just trying to piece together everything that you’ve written.  It hurt; I’m not going to lie.  But I suppose I deserved it.

You have to understand Pam: you left me. You disappeared without saying anything. If you had told me you were going to leave I would have stopped you.  I would have done anything, everything I could to stop you.   Maybe that’s why you didn’t tell me…

I know that I have no right to say all this, much less in a message from halfway across the world.  But here I am sitting at some stupid computer in some stupid lobby, in a place I probably shouldn’t even be in. 

I don’t know what to do next Pam.  Tell me that I’m completely stupid and irrational.   

Jim

It had been so long since she’d last cried over Jim.  She had willed herself these past years to grow up, to forget him, to recognize that she’d been a foolish girl suffering from heartbreak. But now, sitting at the unfamiliar computer, she found herself blinking back tears that were breaking through and threatening to cascade down her cheek.

Jim’s message hadn’t been entirely clear, but it certainly opened up numerous possibilities, possibilities that hopefully awaited her back in America.

Reply:

Where to begin? You’re not alone there.

I have a lot to explain and a lot that I should- in all fairness- probably be held accountable for.

Yes, I left without saying goodbye. But it wasn’t without reason. 

You’re still with Karen, aren’t you?

Pam

P.S. You’ve never been stupid and you’ve definitely never been irrational.

Perhaps it was being in Rome far away from everything that was familiar; but that night she was feeling particularly brave, particularly bold. 

Reply:

I realize it’s impossible to have this kind of conversation through email.  But to answer your question, yes I’m still with Karen.

It’s strange, but yesterday I could have sworn I’d seen you. Obviously that’s ridiculous and absurd.  But it was like you were right there.

You weren’t were you?

Jim

He shook his head; there was certainly more he wanted to ask.  He wanted desperately to know if she was seeing anyone.   He chalked it up to curiosity; but if she was seeing someone he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know.

Throwing caution to the wind, he positioned his cursor into the middle of his message and typed:

Are you seeing anyone?

Before he lost his nerve, before he had a chance to regret what he’d written, he hit the send button.  Jim was certain he was beginning to lose his mind.  There he was on vacation with Karen and he was writing and reading things that were causing his old feelings to resurface. All along he’d thought they’d just disappeared. Perhaps he’d just hoped they had disappeared.

“There you are!” Karen’s voice startled Jim, causing him to quickly close the explorer screen. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Just grabbed the newspaper and figured I’d check Facebook while you were getting ready,” he said a little more quickly than he’d intended. 

“Oh.  Anything interesting?”

“Nah.  Just the usual,” he replied, hoping she’d drop the subject.

“So listen… I just ran into the people next door to us; they said we should check out the Forum.  You up for it?”

“Definitely,” he said, rising from the chair. “Tell me Filippelli,” he continued with a grin spreading on his face. “If we were back in Ancient Rome don’t you think I’d make a sexy legionary?”  He puffed out his chest, flexing his arm muscles, the tension he’d felt earlier quickly fading.

Karen burst out laughing as she held the front door open for him.  “You’ve got to be kidding, right?”

“No way!  I think I would rock a bronze helmet and chain mail.”

“With your big head?  Keep dreaming!”  Jim pouted in jest at her comment. 

“Seriously,” she continued, her eyes teasing. “Haven’t you even seen ‘Rome’? Marc Antony would beat your ass any day…” 

***

That morning Pam had decided to splurge and take a cab into central Rome.  Despite the fare increasing gradually, she hadn’t regretted her decision. She felt like she was in a film, watching ruins pass her by in the early August haze, the wind blowing her hair across her neck and face. All that could possibly add to her excitement would be “Volare” playing on the radio. 

Surrounded by the busy streets of Rome sat the Coliseum in disrepair, its broken walls reminding all of its history and importance to the Roman Empire.  The impressive travertine stone arches-- having survived centuries of war, earthquakes and pillagers-- were now captivating Pam’s imagination. She could almost see the hundreds upon thousands of Romans, ushering themselves into the amphitheatre while clutching their pottery shards in anticipation of watching a grisly fight.

Now in the glaring sunlight outside the Coliseum, as the taxi raced by, she could see men dressed as legionaries posing with tourists offering photo opportunities.  Car horns blared as they swerved around slower motorists, dodging the occasional pedestrian.

She would have to return to the Coliseum another day; today her focus was elsewhere. Pam had planned out a full day of sketching the Palatino at the Forum, followed by a brief personal detour to the nearby Santa Maria in Cosmedin.  It had been a dream of hers to visit Santa Maria since she’d been a little girl growing up in Scranton watching black and white films with her mother and sister.

“Signorina?”  The cab stopped at the upper level of the Forum, the driver turning halfway to face Pam.

“Quanto?” She asked, using the stilted Italian she’d taught herself from her phrasebook.

“Diciassette… eh… seventeen euro?”

Pam handed him a blue twenty bill and exited the cab, sliding her satchel over her shoulder. 

“Grazie,” she called out as she shut the door.

She pulled her sunglasses over eyes and gazed out at the scene that lay before her.  The Arch of Septimius Severus, with its perfect semicircular vault and decorative spandrels, welcomed all to the Roman Forum.  Pam took out her sketch pad and from her vantage point began to mimic the intricate relief designs.  Each panel detailed preparation, war and attack led by the Roman army on an unsuspecting enemy. 

Page after page of her sketch book was quickly filled with scenes of battle, celebration, and mythology; each spandrel carefully depicted.  Realizing that she needed a more diverse collection of images from the Forum, Pam decided to turn her attention away from the arch.

She walked the exterior circumference of the Forum and took a new position in front of the Temple of Vespasian and Titus.  A perfect shadow, cast by the striking Temple of Saturn, shaded the three Corinthian columns.  In her haste to capture the combination of light and darkness, she initially failed to notice the couple who posed for a photograph along the pathway in front of the Column of Phocas. The man’s dark hair in disarray across his face; the woman’s pulled into a tight ponytail, her bangs perfectly angled across her forehead. 

“Halpert!  You are going down!” The shriek of laughter and familiar name caused a wave of panic to rise in Pam’s chest. Her eyes fervently searched the grounds of the Forum.

There’s no way, she thought to herself. It can’t be…

And yet, it was him.  She’d recognize his distinct features, his long unkempt hair and towering height anywhere. 

“Jim!  I swear if you pull bunny ears on me one more time, I will murder you!”  Karen’s laugh echoed in the air.

“Et tu, Brutus?” Pam could hear him chuckle in return, his joke causing a flood of familiarity to run through her body.  There had been a time when his sarcastic remarks and easy affability had been directed toward her.

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, unable to say anything, forbidding herself to call out to him. Instead she watched as he and Karen walked over the travertine paving toward the Curia Hostilia, disappearing into the darkness of the imposing entrance of the Roman Senate.

***

Their day at the Forum had eased his guilt over having messaged Pam earlier.  They had spent much of it joking, laughing and teasing each other; it was something they hadn’t done in a while.

To improve their mood, when they’d returned to the hotel they were told their room had been upgraded as an apology for the flood the day before. Karen was elated, thankful to finally have a shower where she wouldn’t have to maneuver around a toilet.

Without hesitating, they dragged their luggage from their room by the terrace to the elevator.  As Jim pressed the button to call the lift to their floor, Karen made a sound.

“Shoot. I think I left my contacts case on the bathroom sink.”

“I’ll grab it, you go on up,” Jim passed her the handle to his suitcase.  “It’ll just take a minute.”

“Thanks,” Karen pulled the two cases, one in each hand, into the elevator.  Turning toward Jim she added, “why not pick us up some cappuccinos from the restaurant on your way up?”

“Sure, not a problem.”

The doors to the elevator slid closed. Jim returned to the room and found Karen’s contacts case, exactly where she’d said she left it.  As he headed toward the restaurant to order the cappuccinos, he figured he may as well return their original room key to the front desk.

As he entered the lobby the computer in the corner caught his eye.  After such a good day with Karen it probably wasn’t the best idea to check his Facebook messages. 

Shaking his head at his own weakness, he sat down at the computer and slipped coins into the meter.  He logged into Facebook and saw the now ominous Inbox (1).

Taking a deep breath he watched as the page scrolled to the newest message from Pam.

Pamela Beesly:

Nope, wasn’t in Scranton. Maybe my evil twin?

I told you, I’m a world traveler now. :)

A world traveler who still doesn’t have a boyfriend. Yep, still single.

Pam

He wished he could have stopped the rise of hope that welled up in his chest.  Pam was single and he found himself imagining what it might be like for them to renew their friendship and perhaps allow it to lead further…

Jim chastised himself.  Again he was being stupid and careless and falling back into his old patterns.  Upstairs was a woman who was clever, funny, smart and waiting for him to return.  Rather than honour their relationship, he was imagining a life with Pam instead.  

Quickly he typed, wanting to put an end to the guilt that was beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach.

Reply:

Must be that same evil twin who used to toss jelly beans at my head when I was on sales calls. ;-)  But it wasn’t in Scranton that I saw you- I could have sworn I saw you while on vacation here in Rome.  Now that I think about it, that’s pretty ridiculous isn’t it?  Mind you, you did say that you’re a big world traveler now… 

Jim

The guilt continued to plague him as he collected their cappuccinos, as he rode the elevator and as he slipped the key into the lock. It certainly didn’t disappear when he opened the door and it definitely multiplied tenfold when he found Karen next to his suitcase, the engagement ring in her fingers.

***

Pam’s beautiful morning had quickly turned on its head.  For what had seemed like hours she stared at the entrance of the Senate waiting for them to come back out. She needed to verify that she had seen Jim in Rome of all places. 

In less than a half hour, from a distance she saw them exit the building holding hands, obviously enjoying each other’s company.  It pained her to see them so familiar after all these years.  She figured that she must have repressed the thoughts and images of them having been together, and here they were right in front of her again.

It stunned her to realize that those recent Facebook messages from Jim had likely come from only a few miles away.  That in fact he could very well be in the same hotel as her.  Her head began to spin at the thought of having unknowingly passed him in the streets.

Her pencil fell from the coil of her sketch pad, its distinctive sound startling her from her thoughts.  She bent down and picked up the pencil only to discover that in the process she’d lost sight of Jim and Karen.

Sighing, she resigned herself to finish her day the way she’d initially intended: with a visit to Santa Maria in Cosmedin.

Santa Maria in Cosmedin was a short walk from the Forum.  Located on the southern side of the Piazza Bocca della Verità, it certainly lived up to its reputation of being one of the finest examples of medieval architecture.  The trinity of arches escalating to the highest point of the bell tower was accentuated with a small white cross. Its portico promised hidden treasures within the church. 

Many of Pam’s art books detailed the pilasters and ancient columns of Santa Maria that lined the aisles within.  The preserved nave, crypt, candelabrum and medieval paintings were all too historically late in design to fit in with the intended theme of the Lenox Hotel. But it had not been its Byzantine architecture that had drawn her to the church; rather it was what lay outside, that had attracted her.

Hidden in the portico, a perceived drain covering enamored thousands of tourists daily. Rudimentarily carved from pavonazzetto, a local marble, the circular face of a man challenged visitors. The open slits for eyes and mouth-- likely once a source of water-- seemed to call all liars, daring them to take a chance.

Pam had first seen the Bocca della Verità or the Mouth of Truth when she was a young girl.  Her mother had been-- and still was-- an Audrey Hepburn fan.  Her genial smile, classical look and large eyes filled much of Pam and her sister Sara’s childhood.  One of their favourite films to watch together was “Roman Holiday.” In the film, Hepburn’s Princess Ann explored Rome with Gregory Peck’s Joe Bradley, a reporter looking to secure the ultimate interview.   

In one quintessential scene, Joe challenged Ann to put her hand in the Mouth of Truth.  According to legend, if one were to tell a lie while one’s hand was in the mouth of the face, it would bite the fingers of the liar. 

Now standing just to the side of the face, the late afternoon tourists having dissipated, Pam wanted to try her hand at challenging the Mouth.

Despite her understanding that the legend of the Mouth of Truth was simply that- a legend- her heart beat quick in nervous anticipation.  Taking a deep breath, she brought her hand toward it, prepared to see what would happen.

Just as her hand was about to reach into the mouth, she withdrew it, her lips quivering in a sudden overwhelming fear. An inexplicable panic seemed to overcome her, causing her hand to tremble; it was as though she believed that the mouth would know.  That it could somehow sense that she was inherently a liar.

For so many years she had wanted to put her hand in the Mouth of Truth.  She wanted to reenact the scene that had played over and over in her head.  In many ways she had already reenacted it.  She, like Hepburn’s character, could not face the possibility of what could potentially happen.  Fear had struck them both.

Just like Hepburn’s Princess Ann, Pam had left her home in search of an adventure.  Both had wanted to get away from what was expected of them.  While Ann’s expectations consisted of royal duties, Pam’s were much different.  She had been expected to accept the fact that Jim had moved on with Karen; that he no longer loved her the same way that she loved him. 

Despite having three years ago confessed her desire to return to what they’d once had, he had continued his relationship with Karen. Pam had, meanwhile, accepted the cards that were dealt her. She denied her own feelings, lied and told herself that it was the right thing to do-- that moving to Buffalo would help her forget him.

Instead, the move had only succeeded in confirming that she had in fact denied her heart-- denied herself-- what she wanted more than anything. If she’d only fought for Jim, he’d likely be hers.  Rather than unknowingly passing each other in the streets of Rome, they would be together staring down the Mouth of Truth, unafraid.  

Pam stepped back from the sculpture, her hand clasping the shoulder strap of her bag. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t bring herself to put her hand into the Mouth. 

He pushed away some clothes that were scattered across the bed and sat next to her. 

“Yeah,” he managed to say finally. His response was more of a general reaction to what was about to unfold.  It was as though he inherently knew where the conversation was headed.

“I’m sorry Jim, really… I was putting our stuff away and it fell out,” she explained, her voice not concealing her apparent excitement.

Jim couldn’t find the words in order to respond.  Instead, his eyes focused on the ring that she held between her fingers.

“Jim… seriously.  Are you mad?  Honestly, it was an accident.”

“Not mad… just….” He couldn’t do it.  She was waiting for him to propose; she’d found the ring that he’d carefully hidden for so long. And now-- as he’d started to doubt their relationship-- she’d found it.  There were no words, no explanation for his behaviour; nothing would be able to make this alright for Karen.

“Oh my god,” Karen’s face fell, realizing the truth of the moment. “I just assumed…  Really… it’s fine.  Totally okay….really. My fault for jumping to conclusions.”  Karen held the ring to out him.  Hesitantly, Jim took it from her and replaced it in its box.

After some time she finally said, “three years Jim…”

“I know.”

“Why haven’t… when were you…?” Karen’s words were barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know Karen…there were lots of times when I wanted to.”

“The Poconos?” She asked.  Jim nodded. “Cooper’s?”

“…the mini putt, the Spanish Steps, dinner at that restaurant our first night here, the Sistine Chapel…” he finished for her, staring across the room, not daring to meet her eyes.

“All of them?”  His defeated expression answered her question.  “Why… why couldn’t you?  I don’t get it.”

Jim took a deep breath.  “I couldn’t… I don’t know if I can give you an answer.  I wish I could…”

“Jim look at me.” He turned his head slowly to face her. “Do you want to marry me?” She asked.

For several months Jim had pictured the first time that Karen saw the ring to be momentous.  He would be on bended knee slipping it onto her finger.  What he didn’t count on was her impending realization as to why he couldn’t propose- why fear gripped him.

He couldn’t answer her question; it was too difficult to verbalize the truth.  Being in Rome and messaging with Pam after all these years dredged up too many old feelings he’d long figured were gone.

Instead, he slowly shook his head. 

“Oh.”  It was all she could say in return.  Part of her, he was sure, wanted to scream at him, remind him that she’d spent three years with him under the impression that there would be a time when they would become husband and wife. They’d talked about their future together before-- about the possibility of marriage.  They were already friends, confidants and lovers; marriage seemed like the next logical step.  They practically already lived at each other’s houses.

“Why the ring then?” It was the question Jim knew was coming and one he didn’t particularly want to answer. In answering it he would be admitting that he was again pre-occupied with thoughts of Pam, that he was still in love with her. Even after three years of separation the smallest things-- paintings in the Sistine Chapel, a message through Facebook, a vision at Trevi Fountain-- they caused his heart to beat a little quicker and he was instantly reminded of her.  Pam may have left his life physically those three years ago, but it was very apparent that she’d never truly left him.   

“I wanted to Karen, God knows I wanted to,” the words were now tumbling out, wanting to end the disaster that he’d created. “I wouldn’t have bought it in the first place if I’d known…”

“Known?” 

He slowly nodded in reply. His voice breaking, the words more difficult than ever, he continued: “…I don’t know… it’s so damn complicated.”

“What do you mean complicated?  You either want to marry me or you don’t.”

His face was one of regret. With shoulders hunched, he contemplated just explaining his irrational attachment to Pam- that he was still fixated on the past.

“Jim. There has to be some logical reason- people don’t generally buy rings and do nothing with them.”  She paused, waiting for his response.  When none came, she continued: “Is there someone else?” Her voice indicated a sudden panic and a fear of betrayal.

“No…” Jim sighed and paused. “Well…”

Perhaps it was his look-- Karen had seen it before.  Or maybe it was his avoidance of giving a straight answer. Regardless, she seemed to inherently know.  “It’s not Pam, is it?” She asked. 

Without saying a word, Jim simply nodded.

“What?” She asked, dumbstruck by his confession.  Deep down she’d known the truth, was afraid of it.  But to have him admit it was an entirely different matter altogether.

Jim couldn’t verbalize his answer; she’d understood what he’d just admitted. To actually say it out loud would only succeed in hurting her more.

“Jim? What the hell?” Karen’s voice was beginning to rise, its tone one of indignation. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Karen-”

“No, Jim. I don’t get it, I don’t get you! Pam?  Fucking Pam, again?”

Jim sat in silence, unable to formulate an explanation.  He wasn’t quite sure he understood it himself.  He knew there was very little chance that he and Pam would be anything more than friends, but to stay with Karen when he was still fixated on her and what happened more than three years ago was unfair.  

Karen ran her palm across her mouth, bringing her chin to rest on it.  “I just don’t know what to say anymore.”

“I know,” he agreed meekly. “I never meant for this to happen.  Not this way.”

For many minutes they sat in silence, Jim recognizing that he couldn’t undo the damage he’d caused, Karen realizing she’d loved a man who couldn’t love her with the same intensity.  Both were heartbroken for very different reasons. 

That night their human weaknesses were on display; it was the most raw and honest they’d ever been with each other.  By dawn, both knew it was over. By morning, Jim had checked himself out of Hotel Aurelius.

***

Pam sat at the computer in the lobby of Parco Tirreno and chewed her bottom lip as she stared at Jim’s last message.  It was obvious that he had no idea that she too was in Rome. She had to make a choice in her reply: explain to Jim that she was in Italy as well or pretend that she was simply in Buffalo and that he’d mistakenly seen someone else.

She was stunned to discover that he had, in all likelihood, been only a few feet away from her.  Where, she was unsure, but it hardly mattered at this point.

Reply:

Not ridiculous at all.  In fact, I’m in Rome doing some art work for a project back in Buffalo. The city is beautiful, don’t you think? Hope you’re having a fantastic time with Karen.

Pam

Pam hit the send link and swallowed the lump that had quickly grown in her throat.  It pained her to be so abrupt in her email, so distant. And somehow writing Karen’s name into the message reminded her that he was with her.  She’d seen it with her own eyes at the Forum the day before.

As she gathered her bag, preparing to head to her room for the night, an attendant at the front desk stopped her.

“Signorina?” He asked.

“Yes?”

“You know Santa Maria Maggiore?”  Santa Maria Maggiore or the Basilica of Saint Mary Major was a beautifully ornate church that held artwork dating as early as the fifth century.

“Yes,” she answered, excited.  She had hoped at some point during her stay in Rome to sketch its wooden coffered ceiling.

“Well, today is… eh… five August.”  Pam nodded, patiently allowing him to continue. It was apparent that his English wasn’t as strong as the others’ had been.  “Tonight they have the Festa della Madonna della Neve… you know… eh… Madonna of the Snows, a festival.”

Pam shook her head, unfamiliar with the local custom.

“Santa Maria Maggiore, there will be big party.  Celebration…eh…snow, si?”

“Snow?” She asked, a smile on her face.  Snow in Rome, in August no less, seemed virtually impossible.

“Si, snow.” The clerk nodded his head in excitement.  “Tonight, party, eh… dancing…You go?”  He handed her a flyer that detailed in Italian what she figured was the start time and musical talent.

“Why not?” She said, beaming. The clerk didn’t seem to understand and gave her a quizzical look.  “Si,” she reiterated in Italian.

“Ah, si!” He gave her a thumbs up, signifying his comprehension.

Pam turned and headed toward the elevator.  A quick shower and a change of clothes later, she’d hastily pulled her hair into a ponytail and headed out the front doors toward Cornelia metro station.

***

La Griffe hotel was convenient; it was centrally located, and he’d previously noticed its crisp, modern exterior while visiting the Spanish Steps.  In consideration of the fact that he had less than three days remaining in Italy and they had an available bed, Jim wasn’t about to become picky.

After he checked into his room he couldn’t figure out what to do next.  It didn’t feel right to go on tours and visit the sites -- it seemed unfair in some way. 

So rather than spend the rest of the afternoon and evening watching dubbed episodes of “Friends” he found himself wandering the city, aimless. He felt almost lost, yet he had a map.  Each passing street seemed exactly like the last.  All the beautiful architecture blended together; the people around him a blur of laughter, friendship and love.

As he neared Piazza Esquilino, the faint sound of folk music began to fill the air.  Locals all around him seemed to be headed in the same direction.

Caught up in the crowd, Jim soon found himself in the midst of what appeared to be a celebration. There, at the bottom of the stairs of the Basilica to Santa Maria Maggiore was the source of the sound.  A five member band, each dressed in traditional costume, led the crowd in its lively dancing.  The accordionist’s fingers ran the course of the keyboard, allowing his instrument to fall open and then returning it to its closed position.  The tambourine with its metal circles added a sound similar to clapping, its player using his free hand to beat against its one-sided drum frame.  Two guitarists and a keyboardist completed harmony.

People all around him were dancing to the upbeat music, their bodies swirling and bouncing, waving their arms to the rhythm.  Their feet kicking forward and back, some were beating their own tambourines as they turned and called out with laughter.  Friends and partners hooked arms with each other, spinning and clapping.

Suddenly, white rose petals showered from above.  From the top of the basilica, just below its two domes, Jim could see several men overturning baskets of petals, allowing them to be carried by the wind.  The petals fell over the crowd as they danced, creating the illusion of snow. 

There, amidst the swirling petals, he saw her.  Her unmistakable smile, a smile he hadn’t seen in so many years.  The curls of her hair bounced as she took the hand of a young boy, spinning him, laughing.  Her shoulders rose and fell with the tempo; her feet moving backward, then forward as she danced, completely oblivious to any set pattern. Raising her arms above her head, she- along with the others in the crowd- spun, the shyness he’d remembered completely abandoned.

“Pam?” He called out, wondering if his eyes had been deceiving him. They hadn’t.  While people danced around her she stopped and turned toward the direction in which she’d heard her name being called.

All sound was drowned out by the sudden and unexpected thumping of Pam’s heart in her ears.  The cheering and laughing became faded; it was as though she had tunnel vision.  It was Jim. His hair disheveled, golf shirt loose from his khaki shorts. 

At that moment all inhibitions vanished from Pam’s mind.  The crowd around her seemed to disappear and within seconds she found her arms wrapping around Jim’s neck.  His immediately found their way around her waist, as he soaked in the faint smell of her perfume mingled with sweat from her having danced in the August heat.  

“Hey you!” She said with laughter in her voice.

“Hi,” he replied, pulling back from the hug, still completely in shock.  “What’re you doing here?”

“Didn’t you get my message?”

“No… um… haven’t been able to- God! It’s so great to see you.”  He was already beginning to lose his focus; she was so stunning in the darkly lit street as the petals continued to fall around them. 

Pam smiled; it was really great to see him too.  She’d forgotten how familiar his eyes were, how warm his smile was and how comfortable his voice made her feel.

“Where’s Karen?”  She asked, reality beginning to seep in.

“It’s a long story,” Jim began.  “Really... It’s so great to see you, Pam.  Unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” she laughed, unsure of what to say or how to respond.

“What’s going on here?” Jim asked at last, pulling a petal from her hair.

“Oh!  It’s some kind of festival,” she explained.  “I’m not exactly sure, something about snow.  But they’re dancing…” She shrugged, her face unable to hide her excitement.

“And you’re so very good at that…” he teased.

“I know!  I think they’re planning on making me a dance instructor here.”  His eyes didn’t leave hers.  It was as though the crowds, the music, the dancing- it all meant nothing at that moment.  She noticed it, could see it on his face.

“Did you want me to show you?” Pam asked, her voice breaking slightly, recognizing the sudden nervous tension that had quickly come between them.

“Absolutely!” He grinned.

Taking his hand, she pulled him into the crowd.  “It’s called the Tarantella,” she said loudly over the noise.   “I’ve no idea what the actual steps are, but there’s a lot of kicking and swinging.”

“Okay…” he laughed, following her lead by beginning to clap in time to the beat.

“Now you kick out your heels,” she explained.  Jim followed her instructions, his smile extending the width of his face.

“And spin!” She declared, hooking one arm into his, a skip in her step as they turned in a circle. 

After several spins, Pam stopped, leading them into the next step by grabbing his hands.  “Kick out your foot and make a circle with it…”

Practically bowled over in hysterical laughter, Jim followed suit. Both he and Pam were notorious for their two left feet and never in his wildest dreams would he have pictured sharing a moment like this with her, in Rome no less.

An older Italian woman dancing nearby lightly touched Pam’s arm. “Tuo ragazzo?” She asked, pointing toward Jim.

Pam smiled, understanding her question and its implication. 

Your boyfriend? 

Shaking her head, she replied, “È solo un amico.”

He’s just a friend.  She remembered seeing the sentence in her phrasebook; it had stuck with her, as it had been her mantra- a way to remind her of the truth as she replied to Jim’s messages in Facebook.

“Fancy New Beesly speaks Italian too?” Jim asked, pulling her aside, away from the crowd, a look of surprise written across his face.

“I told you,” she explained, a hint of playfulness to her voice. “I’ve evolved into a world traveler.”

“No kidding.”  After a beat, Jim added, “Lonely Planet phrasebook?”

Pam burst into laughter.  “Busted!”  She pulled it from her purse and held it up with a smile.  “Have you ever looked at these things before?  There’s some seriously bizarre sentences translated in here.”

“Like…?”

Pam flipped the book open, now dog-eared from use. “Il tuo ego è fuori controllo.”

“Which is…?”

“Your ego is out of control,” she grinned. 

“Awesome!  Let me have a look,” he took the book from her and began to turn the pages, looking for something to use.  “Here we go: Scusa.  Non so ballare.”

“Which is…?”

“Sorry. I can’t dance.  Might be something you should learn, eh Beesly?” Jim gave her a quick wink, his teasing smile leading her to land a swift hit on his arm.

“You’re bad!” She chastised.  “It’s not like you’re Fred Astaire either.”

“Okay, okay!  Let me try another one.”  Jim turned the pages, scanning his eyes over the various expressions.  Pam noticed his face grow suddenly serious.

“What did you find?”

“Cosa fate domani mattina?” He said after some time, his voice lowered, nervous.

Afraid to ask for its translation, Pam simply shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

“What’re you doing tomorrow morning?” He translated.

Pam’s heart did a quick leap in her chest.  “Are you asking me or telling me?”  She said quietly, unsure. 

“Asking.”

Swallowing hard, she replied: “Nothing…”

Hesitantly, he continued before he lost his nerve. “We need to talk…”

“I know.”  It astonished her to see his face after so many years look at her in that familiar way again. 

Taking a deep breath, she gathered what courage she could muster and offered: “Why don’t we meet tomorrow around noon?  There’s a portico at Santa Maria in Cosmedin that would be a good place to talk.”

“Do I know what a portico is?”  He asked, the tension beginning to break.

“You’ll find it,” she said with a nervous smile.

“Great.” 

“It’s getting late,” Pam said motioning toward the dissipating crowd around the basilica. 

“Yeah,” he replied simply.

“I should get back,” she continued, slowly.  He stared at her, almost seeming to ignore her, soaking in every feature of her face.

“Yeah, probably.”

“The… uh… phrasebook,” she said pointing to the book still open in his hands.

“Oh! Right,” he looked down at it.  With a suspicious smile, he began to flip through the pages again.  After a moment, he stopped and said, “sono innamorata di te.”

“What’s that mean?”

Closing the phrasebook, he handed it back to her.  “That’s for you to figure out.” 

She looked at him confused.  “What?”

“Let’s see you do it,” he motioned toward the Mouth. His eyes narrowed, daring her.

“No way! You first,” she laughed.  “My fingers are too cute to get bitten off.”

“Oh and I suppose mine are expendable?”

“Absolutely.”

“What do you suppose my basketball team’s going to say when I go back to Scranton with nubs for fingers?”

“That maybe you should take up soccer instead?” She teased.

“Fair enough,” he said with a chuckle.

“Quit stalling, Halpert.  Let’s see you man up,” she challenged.

“Fighting words there Pam.”

Grinning, she shrugged her shoulders.  Jim lifted his arm, bending it at the elbow.  Wiggling his fingers and shaking his wrist, he did a quick jog on the spot and bounced his head from shoulder to shoulder.

“Hurry up already, Rocky.  These ruins aren’t getting any younger.”

“Ooh. Those cute fingers are attached to one bossy woman.” How he missed their banter.  It was the one thing that used to get him through the monotonous days at Dunder-Mifflin. 

“Ready?”  He asked. 

She nodded in reply. Jim slowly brought his hand to the Mouth, fingers moving dramatically, inching their way into the abyss.  Before she knew it, his hand was fully inside.

“Now tell a lie,” she ordered.

Jim thought for a second.  Finally, he narrowed his eyes toward Pam and said slowly: “Dwight is my hero.  I just love hearing about his Lord of the Rings role playing games.”

Pam’s eyes widened.  Her lips pursed in an attempt to curb her laughter, waiting for the Mouth to come crashing down on Jim’s fingers.  When nothing happened, Jim burst out laughing. 

“My basketball team will be happy to know I’ll still be able to spin a ball.”

“You’re not out of the woods yet, Jim.”

“Oh?”

Pausing, Pam realized that this was the moment she had to gather her courage, had to confront him about their past.  “Tell me the truth Jim…”

“That I really do like Lord of the Rings role playing games…?” he asked, teasing.

“I’m serious Jim.” Her face had grown still.  Her familiar smile was now replaced with a nervous quiver on her lips. “Why Karen?” She whispered.

Stunned, Jim hardly knew how to reply.

“Why?”  She repeated, her voice barely audible.

He took a deep breath and lowered his eyes.  “I needed… I wanted to just forget,” he tried to explain, his voice catching on his words.  “I needed to escape…”

“Escape?”

“I don’t know, Pam.  I needed to escape everything: you, Scranton… Karen was a way to forget it all.”

“And now?   Why are you here with me and not with Karen?” She asked, hesitantly, motioning at the portico.

“We broke up Pam… ever since I got your first message from Facebook, I just couldn’t…”  He stopped, realizing his hand was still ridiculously in the Mouth of Truth.  He pulled it out and looked at her.

“Your turn.”

Pam was surprised at the abrupt interruption in his explanation.  “But-”

“Your turn,” he repeated.

She bit her bottom lip anxiously.  It was the moment she’d promised herself days earlier.  This was her opportunity to tell him-- to explain everything-- every mistake she’d made, every lie she’d told herself.

Moving toward the Mouth, she stared at it, daring herself to take a chance.  She needed to take a chance with Jim and ultimately on what would happen if she confessed the truth.  Sucking in a breath, she shoved her hand into the Mouth. Raising her eyebrows, she looked up at Jim.

“Why did you leave me Pam?” He asked, pausing.  His eyes coloured with sadness. “If you’d… if you’d just told me, I would have stopped you…”

“I know,” she said matter-of-factly. “I couldn’t be there anymore.  I couldn’t watch you with Karen…” Her voiced dipped into a whisper, fearful of his reaction. “I’d fallen in love with you, and I didn’t know what to do…”

At that moment she realized for the first time that they had even more in common then she’d initially thought.

“Why didn’t you say something Pam?  An email, a phone call, anything…?”  She shrugged her shoulders, not knowing how to answer. It was obvious to her what she should have done, what she could have done-- what she didn’t do.

“Sometimes you have to run away to see if someone will follow,” she said quietly.

At her words, Jim’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.  He didn’t know how to respond.  He couldn’t find the words that would make everything better, that would make all the misunderstandings disappear.

With a sigh, Pam pulled her hand from the Mouth. 

“Yeah,” she said finally, her eyes falling to her feet, her fingers playing with the strap of her bag.  “Listen, I’d better-”

Before she could continue, before she could make an excuse to leave, his hands cupped her jaw line, his lips moved toward her own.