It is a weird out-of-body experience that he feels as he stands with her, alone, on top of the boat. It’s almost like he stepped away from himself, crawling away from his thin layered shell, just to watch her reaction from a different point of view, maybe from someone who didn’t love her like two thousand sunsets over sand dunes or from someone who didn’t get a little pinch in the back of his throat whenever her hazel’s meet his.

The way she looks at him, it feels like his soul has been split into two halves, one for recounting the soon-to-be occurrence when he wants to pity himself later that night, and the other to go through the experience in person, alive and alone with his feelings.

The silence between them hovers heavy like oatmeal’s weight in a tummy, but not as sweetly. Instead, it is bitter, thwarted.

A tear is forming in his left eye. His fingers are cold, numbing as the moon rises above them. He wonders if she can hear his heartbeat because he can hear hers.

A cavalcade of regret sweeps through his eyes as her smile forgets to subside. It’s almost like she forgot to put it away, failing to tuck away her insecurities.

She mutters something about going inside, and that’s when he decides he’s done trying.

Alone is the prominent adjective to describe his being as he leans over the edge, the water beneath thick with the chill of ice on its crests. Naïve and stupid are his second and third choices, but she’s the one who is naïve to the way his eyes pleaded for her to understand and they are both stupid for ignoring it.

His eyes search for the horizon but it is muddled in the blackness of night. Three or four or maybe five stars hang above him, twinkling like little hushed promises that it won’t always be like this. Or maybe they are a figment of his imagination, like the rest of their relationship and what he perceived it to be.

It is a weird out-of-body experience that he feels as he stands alone, her shadow and warmth and the way she didn’t quite know how to respond to the truth in his eyes still lingering next to him.

“So you’re not here today and I’ve decided that something ridiculous is going to happen and you’re going to miss it. I just know it. Anyway, I hope you’re okay and nothing bad happened to you. Maybe you fell overboard when I wasn’t looking? Or maybe a ravenous case of sea-sickness consumed your soul and you’re on your way to Davy Jones’ Locker… I just hope you’re okay…I miss you already. Call me if you want.”

She pushes the down the receiver before putting the phone down. It’s only nine thirty four and she finds herself wondering if she will be able to bear sitting at her desk when he’s not at his.

She finds it obvious that he was upset with what happened last night. And she doesn’t blame him. Maybe he was jealous that he and Katy aren’t engaged yet…or maybe not. That Katy is very sweet, Pam thinks. She wonders if it is a coincidence that she has curly red hair and green eyes.

“I still can’t believe that Jim’s girlfriend when to Fischer,” Roy said that night, snarling the name of Katy’s high school.

“I can’t believe that you remembered her cheering at one of your games,” Pam remarked.

“I remember all the cheerleaders. You give me no credit.” He was not being sarcastic.

“Should I be considering that a good thing?”

“You have nothing to worry about, Pam. I don’t talk to many of them anymore, anyway. Besides, they were all too…” he searched for the proper adjective. “Showy. You are, like, hidden. A little artsy-flower that hasn’t bloomed.”

“Thank you, Roy. Really.” She rolled her eyes when he wasn’t looking.

She asked Jim what it was like dating a cheerleader. She expected a response along the lines of, “oh, it’s so fun, she cheers for me all the time, even when I’m doing little things, like washing dishes.” That’s what she wanted to hear. She wanted to know that he’s content.

But he didn’t say anything, didn’t even try. His eyes scanned the water surrounding them, then met hers. She didn’t know what to do at first. She kept smiling, hoping he would smile too, so they could laugh and go on with the night. But his eyes, they dug. They dug deep and they did not falter from their intentions, their intentions of figuring out everything she is and the truth that runs through her veins like a cord on a violin that rumbles until the conductor’s wand is settled on its stand.

But she does like she has trained herself to do; she tells him she’s cold and goes back inside to the man that loves cheerleaders and not-committing.

As she sits at her desk, fiddling with a pencil with half an eraser, she wonders what he would have said if didn’t go back inside. She wonders what he was thinking when she left him, the icy nighttime air stinging his face. She wonders what he thought of the rest of the night, because they stopped speaking after their rooftop rendezvous.

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam. Yes, hold on while I – close call! Dwight just walked by so I had to pretend I was actually talking to someone or he’d probably write me up. It’s eleven thirty two. We should have pulled off at least one prank on Dwight by now. But it’s okay, because I’m sure whatever you’re doing now is much better than anything here. Unless you’re with Davy Jones. Call me.”

When she hangs up, she begins to question herself. Why is she with someone who does snorkel shots at the age of twenty-eight? Why is she with someone who re-proposes to her on a booze cruise, surrounded by people she a) doesn’t know, b) doesn’t necessarily want to be around or c) loves to the point where she wants to him wish away? Why is she with someone who she has been with for over a decade, just because he’s what she is used to?

Unbeknownst to her, Jim wonders the same things.

And also unbeknownst to her, Jim broke up with Katy last night. Well, she knew they broke up – they spent the latter part of the night on opposite sides of the boat – but she didn’t know why. She could take a good guess…

But she doesn’t because she has learned to ignore that side of her emotions because she’s engaged and she’s happy and she’s told herself too many times that this is the life she is supposed to have.

The clock strikes one. She decides to call him again. His voicemail greets her, again.

“Me again. Sorry if I’m bothering you. I just wanted to tell you that I officially made the longest paperclip chain in the history of Dunder Mifflin – no, in the history of paperclip chain-making. I swear, it can probably stretch to Stanley’s desk and back. I would try it out but everyone would see…not a good idea. Just thought I’d share my surreal levels of productivity. Call me if you want. I’ll be here.”

Katy forced him to make a toast to her and Roy. After a long pause, he said, “Wow…Um…Pam…I’ve know Pam for three years and...You’re the greatest. And my best friend and –” That was all he managed to say before Dwight interrupted, who was then interrupted by Michael, who was then interrupted by the sound of crickets.

What would he have said if he had more time? Would he say that he cherished each day they have shared, like they were his last? Would he say that he thinks of her when he’s not at work? When he’s doing his dishes or watching television or listening to his radio or dozing off to sleep? Would he say that he wishes things were different?

She answers a grand total of four calls within the next handful of hours, draws six and half doodles, wins one game of solitaire (Finally! she thinks) and almost falls asleep.

She wants to leave him a message like something along the lines of, “If you ever decide to tell me how you feel, please let me know. I’ve waited long enough to realize that there will never be anything between us than just being friends. But like I said, don’t forget to let me know,” but tells herself that would be inappropriate.

So she leaves this one instead:

“Okay, so I’ve realized that I’ve called you more times than anyone has called the office today. Isn’t that really sad, or is it just me? So in order to stop that chain, I should stop calling you and you should start calling me. Just kidding. You don’t have to. Really. It’s not necessary, unless you really want to. You’re probably busy with something important and I’m just interrupting the important-ness. If that’s even a word. So this the last call. I promise. Bye.”

But it’s okay, you know? It’s totally okay that he can do this to her, because that’s the way it has been, that is the standard that has been built up for the past three years.

Yet it shouldn’t be this way because they are mature, like flowers that pushed their way up, up, up to the sun in the sky and now they are used to the clouds and the rainfall and the thunderstorms that threaten to shake their worlds. They understand how to handle their lives and the people inside and the quirks of daily doings but they still do not understand how to manage each other and the constant panging inside of them that says maybe you should tell him / her you miss him / her, you miss him / her every day.

So the day finishes, surprisingly, and the sun hangs low enough in the sky so that it shines onto the carpet in Michael’s office and stretches toward Jim’s desk, sans Jim.

She hates herself for doing this, for putting such torment on herself and for bothering him, because the last thing she wants to do is upset him, but she does it anyway. She picks up the phone, again, and dials the number, her fingers familiar to its path.

“I know I promised that I wouldn’t call again, but I just have to. I’m about to leave and I just wanted to tell you that I really missed you today. I never realized how suckish this place is without you. You’re pretty much the only reason I come to work everyday. Well, you and my paycheck. But mostly you. So I’m sorry if I’ve been a nuisance – hopefully not as horrible as Dwight – but I just missed you, that’s all. See you tomorrow? Bye Jim.”

She hangs up, this time, for good. She clicks off her computer, pulls on her coat, and is out the door, without a word. She glances at his desk, purses her lips together, the tightness in her throat bothersome, and wonders if he got any of the messages and if he’s ever felt this alone.