Jim was alone in his room, rummaging for the clothes he needed to pack for his trip to Australia. He should have done this days ago, but he just couldn't find the energy. He hadn't had the energy to do anything but drink and sleep. Every time he started to sober up, the reality he faced led him right back to the bottle. He was in no condition to think.

He stared vacantly at the clothes in his closet. He didn't know what to pack. He didn't care what he packed. His house mate Mark had been openly jealous of this trip, and Jim couldn't muster up enough interest to even pick out clothes for it. He walked away from the closet without removing a thing. He pushed the empty, open suitcase to the floor, and sat down on his bed, his head in his hands.

Australia was never about taking a vacation. It was about running away. It was about getting away from the pain and the fear and the anger and the cowardice that had been shadowing his life for the past couple of years. It was about getting away from her. But now that he had the chance, he just couldn't. He'd already laid it on the line with her, and was turned away. She was still going to marry him – the one that was so, so very wrong for her. She'd made that clear. But he still couldn't do it.

Jim sniffed loudly and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He cursed himself for crying. Again. He needed to pull himself together. She didn't want him. She obviously never had. He had to move on. He stood back up, that one phrase repeating itself over and over again in his head.

Move on. Move on. Move on.

But move on to where? She was the only place he knew. She was the only place he'd ever wanted to be. He walked to his window and stared at the moon full and orange as it began its ascent into the night sky. He pressed his forehead against the window pane and wondered if the moon would look as omniscient there as it did here right now.

Move on. Move on. Move on.

Australia had all been a bluff. One big move to get her to see what she was doing to him. Had he ever expressed an interest in traveling so far away? Did she truly believe it was an accident that he'd booked the trip for the same exact week as her wedding? Couldn't she see it was a cry for attention? She knew him. She really knew him. She should have known he'd never go off like that. Not without her, anyway. Because deep down, he didn't want to go to Australia without her. He was looking for a way to avoid her wedding, but every time he saw the brochures, clicked through the websites, or talked to the travel agent, he didn't see himself alone. He saw himself there with Pam.

Move on. Move on. Move on.

Another hour passed as he mindlessly threw things into his single suitcase. Jeans, t-shirts, deodorant....what did he really need? What he really needed was to not think about what he really needed. He put the packing on hold, as another bottle of Stella Artois called his name from the kitchen.

He drank the first one standing in front of the open refrigerator, its weak bulb emanating the only light in the kitchen. He finished it quickly, tossing the bottle into the trash, and reached in for another one to take back to his room. Mark wandered in from the living room on his way to bed, his hair askew from falling asleep on the couch. He was about to say something, but the look Jim gave him kept it unsaid. Jim took the stairs two at a time and closed his bedroom door a little harder than intended. But the message was clear: leave me alone.

The slam of his door was soon echoed by a loud clap of thunder, a flash of lightening immediately after. Fat, heavy raindrops began to hit his window, and he was drawn to them, watching them slid slowly down the glass. Slipping away, just like he was. He opened the window as wide as it would go, and leaned forward to feel the rain hitting his face and arms. The drops felt colder than one would expect on a June night, but he took no notice. He stood silently as they continued to pelt him, until the front of his t-shirt was completely soaked. The sudden storm was fading away by the time Jim closed the window. Whatever he'd hoped to accomplish doing that didn't seem to materialize. He felt as empty as he had before.

Move on. Move on. Move on.

Now the clock was taunting him. His flight left Philadelphia tomorrow morning at seven. Correction: this morning at seven. It took a bit over two hours to make the drive, and he needed to be there two hours before departure for security. He sighed and finished his beer. He had less than two hours before he had to leave. And still all he could think about was her.

Move on. Move on. Move on.

The drive to Philly was sullen. Mark attempted several times to start a conversation, but Jim wasn't in the mood to talk. He knew he was being a prick, given Mark's generosity in driving him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He feigned sleep for most of the journey, though in fact he couldn't have slept if he'd wanted too. He was still wrestling with the idea of taking this trip. Logically he should, for so many reasons. But part of him stubbornly refused to let go, complete with visions of a Graduate-like scene where he'd stop the wedding and steal her away. But he wasn't Dustin Hoffman, and while there may be a great future in plastics, the future of paper was pretty much over.

By the time he arrived at the airport the sun was rising through a heavily clouded sky and Jim had developed a pounding headache. He thanked his friend sincerely for the ride, then disappeared into the crowd of people rushing towards their morning connections. Jim stood in the ticketing lobby, scanning the desks for his chosen airline. When he found it, the line was already snaking around the ropes.

He went to the restroom, then bought a coffee. He decided to finish the coffee before he got in line, so he found an empty bench to sit down. He drank his coffee in slow sips, as if it was too hot. In fact it was barely lukewarm. He was just stalling for time. When he finished his coffee he walked all the way to the other end of the ticket hallway to throw it away. He finally moved toward the queue he needed to join, when a rumbling of thunder was heard. He first thought it was machinery, or perhaps a plane taking off, but a look up through the long front windows revealed that it was raining.

People bustled past him as he stood there looking up at the rain, and when Jim turned his focus back to his immediate surroundings he felt his anxiety build. He'd never suffered from agoraphobia, but suddenly it felt like everyone was pushing into him, like he was being swallowed up by people and luggage and muffled announcements over speakers that were much too loud. He quickly made his way to the exit doors and walked out into the falling rain.

He had no idea what he was going to do. But he knew going to Australia wasn't an option. He sat down in a bus shelter, his suitcase at his feet, and began to tear the print-out pages of his itinerary and ticket into thin strips. Then he took each strip and ripped them into pieces, until he was left with a handful of tiny paper squares. A few pieces blew out his hand and danced down the concrete. He stood up and watched them fall as he opened his hand over a trash can: a rain of confetti made from his chance to escape.

Move on. Move on. Move on.

“Jim.”

A voice in the darkness roused him from his sleep. He felt disoriented for a moment, and struggled to place the familiar voice.

“Jim,” she said again, this time so close to his ear he could feel her breath on his cheek. She put her hand tentatively on his chest. “Are you okay?”

It was her. It was Pam, and he took a deep breath as he remembered where he was – home, in bed, with her. Much as it had been for so many months now.

“Yeah,” he finally replied, albeit groggily. “Why?”

“You were mumbling in your sleep, and you sounded very agitated. I thought maybe you were having a nightmare.”

“What was I saying?”

“I'm not really sure, but it was something like 'Move on.'”

He was quiet while the memories of his dream flooded back. A dream about the memories of what seemed like a lifetime ago. It had been a nightmare, he realized. A nightmare that unfortunately he'd live through.

“You okay?” She asked again.

He put his hand over the one she still had on his chest. “Yeah. I was just having a bad dream.”

She snuggled closer to him and drew the blanket up. “Do you want to talk about it?”

In the darkness of their bedroom he contemplated telling her. It would be easy now to tell her about that time, of why he went through the motions of going all the way to the airport but then couldn't leave. It would probably be therapeutic. It's not as if he hadn't had that particular dream before.

But then he thought of how soft her skin felt against his, of how concerned her voice sounded, and how tenderly she was holding his hand, and he knew he couldn't. That pain had long been replaced by forgiveness and healing. Nothing good would come of bringing it up again. It was time to look forward.

“Let's go away somewhere together,” he said instead.

“Okay,” she replied. “Where did that come from?”

“I've been thinking about it. Somewhere far from here. Make it a real vacation, just you and me.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Pam said. squeezing his hand. “Where would you want to go?”

“Well, I've been thinking about Australia.”