Words. Voice. Speech. They means so much, yet so much can be told without them.

Pam played with the hem of the pale pink skirt her mom had carefully dressed her in for the big day. The quiet rumble of the car made her eyelids grow heavy. “Excited for your first day, honey?” Helene questioned, the three year old giving a nod in response. The question had prompted Pam back into the present. Helene sighed, her gut twisting and turning with anxiety for her daughters first day at preschool. She looked back at the small girl in her car seat, as her tiny leg bounced about. Pam’s younger sister, Penny, was in the baby car seat, keeping Pam’s attention. Pam’s quiet giggles filled the car as Penny grabbed her fingers as Pam reached from her toddler car seat to Penny. 

“Is Penny going to preschool too?” Pam questioned quietly, her voice filed with hope, as her quivering voice mispronounced the “r” in preschool. 

“No, sweetie, Penny is too young.”

“Oh okie.”

Pam stayed quiet, her little brain unsure of the location they were nearing, her brain only processing the aspects of the present. The consistency of the green trees along the road gave her comfort to the worry forming in her tummy. Her red curls were tamed into a (little less) messy braid, and her lavender backpack clutched in her lap. Pam zipped open the bag, triple checking for her plushie. Once reassured for the third time it was there, she zipped it back up. The GPS read three minutes and Helene took in a deep breath. She calmly told herself Pam was just a little shy, and she had nothing to worry about. The oblivious preschooler quietly sitting in the grey car seat looked up to her through the car mirror with big, uneasy eyes. 

Helene unbuckled the girls and walked into the school. Immediately, Pam’s small figure collapsed into her, protecting herself from the commotion. Helene urged her on, but the child was frozen. “Cmon Pammy, you can do it honey,” she said encouragingly. 

••

The room was big, but it felt stuffy and tight to Pam. Her little heart increased and her brain found fear within every simple thing. The people around her made the air feel scarce and it made salty tears come forward. She didn’t say a word, despite the roll call and her mother’s reassurance. The bright alphabet posters were intimidating and the little children crowding her were daunting. She was clinging to her mother, her body feeling overwhelmed. Her chest felt strung closed and her heart felt as if it had run a marathon. Her brain felt as if it was getting a million phone calls, but never gave her the option to pick up the phone and answer it. Eventually, she found herself pulled from her mother. She reached for her mother anxiously, but there was nothing to grab. Her head felt like bottomless pit waiting for her to land in safety. The teacher instructed her to follow each breath in threes. In and out. Pam was too stuck in her mind to hear the gentle voice, her own voice inaccessible. 

“Mrs. Beesly, she’s five.”

“Yes, but it takes a while for children to mature sometimes!” Helene retorted.

Ms. Flax lowered herself into the chair. “Listen, Pam is in kindergarten now. It’s been quite a while and we haven’t heard a single word from her, nor has any of the her previous teachers.” Helene looked at the floor, anxious to meet the teacher’s eye. She knew what was going to happen when she walked into the kindergarten room with scribbled crayon pictures and the alphabet lining the wall. This wasn’t her first rodeo. Nor her last. 

“Mrs. Beesly, I really think you should look into getting her accessed for a speec-“

“She talks at home! You don’t understand, she’s not broken.” Helene frantically cut in.

“I never said she was broken. All I’m saying is Pam is a extremely quiet child, and I’m beginning to worry about her. I think this is more than shyness,” Helene lowered her head, water starting to form in the corner of her eyes as Ms. Flax spoke, “listen, we have a lots of kids who struggle with certain things, it’s what kids do. I say we monitor her for a few more weeks that make an action plan, ok? Maybe she is delayed or has a speech disorder.” 

Helene sniffled and gave a gentle nod, knowing fully well that it wasn’t that her daughter couldn’t talk, she just wouldn’t.

The drive home was filled with concern from the parent-teacher conference. She told herself the teacher was just being over concerned. Pam was shy, she could get over it. Her little voice was always giggling with Penny and asking for chocolate milk. She certainly wasn’t unable to share what was on her racing mind, she just didn’t seem to be able to in any place that wasn’t home. 

••

Pam looked around with big eyes. Her mind was spinning and running way too fast. Her mom had taken to just dropping her off then dashing in hopes to reduce the clingy panic edge that came onto Pam. It was effective, but scary for the anxious, young girl. Where’s mom. Where’s mom. So many people. Mom. Where’s mom. She began to shake. One of the students, Roy, looked over at her and snickered. Oh goodness he thinks I’m an idiot, I’m annoying, everyone’s watching me.  Ms. Flax came over as her shaking intensified, her small hands frantically being rubbed together. “Oh honey, not again,” she said as she reached for the child, “Pam, sweetie, talk to me. What’s happening.” She knew there would be no answer, but she asked anyways. She could only hope someday there would be a reply, even if it was quiet, even if it was just an “ok”. She would know she had accomplished her mission if Pam was able to make a simple sound. In all her years of teaching, she never found herself in this situation, yet she found herself unable to give in. As much as she prompted and edged the child on, she never said a word. She often watched kids talk with her and her body get stiff and breathing get short, but not a peep from Pam. Pam’s sweaty palms wrapped around her torso, and her shoulders tipping in as if to protect herself. She pulled her knees up tight to herself, shying from the touch of Ms. Flax, but eventually melting into it. Throughout the year Ms. Flax had learned what calmed the child and was often able to do so without removing her attention from the other children running around. She usually sat with her until exhaustion over took her from the panic attack or used distraction methods. Pam’s eyes eventually gave in to the heaviness pulling on them. 

She opened her eyes and her breathing hitched, as she realized she wasn’t at home with her mama. Ms. Flax was sitting crisscross apple sauce on the alphabet rug in the middle of the room. The other children formed a circle around her, but many of the poking and prodding one another as she read to them. Ms. Flax had taken Pam to the reading corner of the room, to let her calm down. It had two soft blankets and a soft, blue pillow. The book shelf was tall enough to block the childrens’ view of Pam, but she was able to register what they were doing. Ms. Flax calmly walked over and gave Pam a small book. Pam couldn’t make out the words that filled the book, but she marveled at the illustrations of the beautiful teal teapot. Pam wanted to talk. To say what was scaring her, why she was so afraid. She just couldn’t. Ironically, the words were what made her afraid. The words would come into her head, then just stop. They would sit there and wait. Waiting to be picked up and taken back again, but no one ever came back for them. The minute her mouth came open, knots gnawed at her stomach and her chest tightened. The keeper of her words came and sat on her chest to hold her down, and sewed her lips shut with invisible thread. It spewed the consequences of messing up the words. Eventually she just stopped asking the words to come.

When Helene came for pick up, Pam was sitting at the most isolated desk, playing with the charms on her bracelet she had gotten for her birthday. It was a cute sparkly pink bracelet, and Pam had become quite fond of it. The other children were holding their numbers page firmly, saying each in consecutive order in a cadence song. Pam was quiet, unaware of Helene’s presence. Her curly hair and green eyes seemed unsettled. The frizz hiding her from the commotion and her eyes darting every which way. Helene began coming a few minutes early for pick up on Fridays, via Ms. Flax’s request.

“Keep going, guys. I’ll be a minute,” Ms. Flax announced to the class. The children kept chanting the numbers, their voices excited by the song and tune made to help their memories. She made her way to Helene. 

“Not a word from Pam today,” her voice was deflated, and Helene only sighed, not at all surprised by the answer. The same answer she received regarding her daughter everyday, even as kindergarten neared summer break.

 

••

Helene arrived and placed her purse on the table. Pam rushed up the stairs to play with Penny.

“We need to take her to someone,” Helene said flatly, “she still hasn’t said a word, not a single word.” She could barely contain her worry.

“Give me a break,” her husband muttered, “she’s shy, Helene. Those teachers just want us to waste our money. She’ll figure it out. It ridiculous she had a second year of preschool just we could open her mouth, just for her to not do it.” Pam had been kept another year in preschool, since her birthday was on the boarder of sending her versus keeping her come another year. They had chosen to send her, but ultimately chose to give her another year in preschool, since it wouldn’t affect much. They were hoping another year in a consistent environment would give her enough courage to share. It didn’t. 

“She’s still young,” Helene winced, fully knowing she should be rambunctious and chatty like the other children her age. 

“Well she better get her act together. I’m not sending her to some lady who’s going to tell us nothing then make us pay our life savings.”

“It won’t take our life savings, it will just help her. Don’t you want her to live a better life? A life with a voice?”

Helene walked up the wooden steps to Penny and Pam’s room. The girls were ready to go to bed, in their Minnie Mouse night gowns and their tiny teeth brushed. Penny was already asleep, her eyes shut tight with the sound machine playing a gentle hum. Pam was sitting up in her bed, trying to untangle each curl in the dim of her lamp.

“Hey, Pammy.”

“Hi mommy!” Pam’s little voice squeaked.

“How was school? Ms. Flax said you were still quiet.”

“Good, we read a story about a fishy!”

“That’s great, Pammy!” Mrs. Beesly replied, trying to get back to her original question, “did the your words work today?”

Pam looked up, the simplicity of the sentence allowing her to register what her mother was looking for, “No, words were too scawy.” Pam pushed herself deeper into the covers. She knew her mom would be pleased if her words did work, but they never seemed to want to.

“That’s ok, sweetie,” Helene told her, kissing her forehead, “try again tomorrow?” Pam gave a nod, knowing her mom would appreciate a nod, but both knew they would have the same conversation tomorrow.

Christmas was nearing. Pam still hadn’t said a word, but was chatty with her little sister. Helene would mix the milk into the bowl as Pam recited the amount of each thing to mix into the batter. She would count to twenty, then excitedly squeal “ready or not!” to find Penny hiding in the cupboard. Helene was trying to find “loop holes” to get a word from her. She would bundle them up in mittens and snow jackets and drive them up to the local neighborhood park. She encouraged them to play hide and seek in the park, but Pam just stood there, her legs shaky. Penny would giggle and run, begging for Pam to begin counting. Other children would play on the swings, and Pam would watch each child nervously. 

••

Helene loved her mother. At least that’s what she told herself over and over again. Her mother raised her well, was dependable and caring, but she wasn’t afraid to share her mind and saw everything as black and white. Of course this mindset wasn’t successful when applied to Pam. As Christmas neared, she became apprehensive of being with the high-strung woman. She came every other year because of the length between them and her going to visit her sister who was living in California. The last time she had seen Pam was in preschool. She wasn’t sure she was ready for her to see the progress… or lack there of she had made. 

The door bell range, and Penny ran with happy squeals to open it. Helene followed to see her mother, Meemaw, enter. 

••

Pam’s mom had talked to her in a gentle, soothing voice. Explaining that Meemaw would really appreciate hearing a few words from her. Pam knew Meemaw was coming and it made her so nervous that she had her cereal come up. Pam wanted to please her mom, to see her eyes light up. She had told herself she would. She would go to her Meemaw and say hello. She would hug and talk to her grandma like Penny did. She knew Meemaw was family. It seemed silly that she was so anxious to speak to her grandmother. Every child spoke to their grandmother and had a tight bond with them. She watched Penny sit on Meemaw’s lap, Penny enthusiastically sharing about her friends she made at preschool and showing off her new favorite dress. Pam would want to pitch in, to share, but it seemed so impossible, like she didn’t have a choice. When she heard the door bell, she courageously tipped toed from the stairs in her pink sweater with snowflakes. The kitchen smelled of ginger bread and hot chocolate. She could do this. 

“Oh Pammy, hi sweetie! Come say hi to your Meemaw,” her Meemaw prompted, clearly remembering her previous visits. 

Pam opened her mouth, the words at the ready. She had gone over what she would say over and over again. She had written them down, rehearsed them, spelled them, but suddenly she lost them. The words had vanished and been replaced with anxiety. The sweater felt itchy and tight, the smell of gingerbread overwhelming, the hard wood floor’s coldness felt as if it was stinging. Meemaw firmly looked at her expectingly, then spun around to go into the living room, showing no insight into her emotion. Pam had failed her mama’s wish, all she wanted was for her to speak. 

••

As soon as Meemaw walked into the living room, Helene knew how her encounter with Pam has gone. The old fashioned woman positioned herself into the floral patterned chair and looked to Helene and her husband. 

“Utterly disrespectful, that Pamela of yours is.”

“No mom, she’s just shy,” Helene said, trying to convince her mother, but also herself, “she wants to talk, she’s just scared.”

Bill snickered, “yeah she won’t talk to anyone, don’t feel too special.”

Helene sent him a look.

“Well I find it unacceptable that you cannot get your child to respond to authority figures. You should adjust your parenting and fix her up,” Meemaw snapped, “I would never let this slide as her mother.”

Helene looked to Bill, but he was engrossed in the game on the tv. She was frustrated with his lack of anger towards the way her mother was talking about their daughter. He should care more. Helene shut her eyes, unable to have this conversation with her mother again. 

“If I knew how to help her, I would, Mom,” Helene mumbled. She had used everything: bribes, consequences, reassurance. Nothing seemed to work. 

••

Their Christmas meal was rather quiet, but nothing too strenuous in regards to frustrations between the family members. Penny loudly shared about each aspect of her day, happily boasting about knowing the full ABCs. Pam stayed silent, replying with a quick nod, or looking to Helene when spoken to. Eventually, Bill picked up his napkin and tossed it on the table. 

“Pam, just say something, will you?” he wasn’t mad at her, he was just sorry for her and the walls she had built around herself. His normally chatty child at meal time was silent and it was hard to take in. As a stay at home mom, Helene saw this daily, but Bill never seemed to get used to shock of silence Pam had upon the entrance of anyone other that him, Penny, or Helene. 

“Bill,” Helene said, giving him a not now look. 

He lowered himself into the seat. Meemaw made eye contact with Helene, saying I told you so. Helene looked to Pam, her small body beginning to tense. She looked so vulnerable. She looked ashamed. Her eyes were large. The first grader played with a loose string on her sleeve, her anxious mind trying pacing itself. Pam wasn’t surprised by the outburst, it was rather common, but it still didn’t take away the way she felt responsible for their upset feelings. She didn’t want to be the reason someone was ever upset or spoke in harsh tones. She stayed quiet in hopes of not upsetting anyone, in hopes of people having nothing against her. Yet, that seemed to only make it worse- although Pam wouldn’t know, as she never took the chances of talking to see what would actually happen. Silence was easier, gave her more control when navigating life. Silence was comfortable, familiar. Pam was never one to take a chance.

Her mom had rushed her into the car, clearly overwhelmed by the urgency to get to wherever they were going. She pulled up the small office and promptly parked. Pam just followed, unsure what was happening but knew following would insure no consequences. Helene unbuckled Pam and gently pushed her into the office. 

“Here to see speech therapist, Ms. Levinson,” Helene quietly said. 

Pam looked up at her mom with questioning, scared eyes. It started to make sense, of course her mom wanted her to go somewhere to teach her speech. She didn’t understand though. Pam knew her mama knew she could speak and wanted to speak, but the words ran away, right? 

“Your here thirty minutes early,” the receptionist mumbled. 

Helene gave her some information then went to the waiting room, clearly calmed by the notion that she was early. 

••

The room was filled with children playing with puzzles and games on the floor, their mothers keeping an eye on them. The children all giggled and laughed, chatting with one another. Their little fingers touching the colorful blocks and excitingly showing off toys to their peers and mothers. Pam got shaky quickly, and clung to her mama like glue as they went to find a seat. Pam kept her eyes on her sneakers, afraid to met anyone’s eyes. 

Helene sat in the uncomfortable chair, hoping Pam would go play. She knew she wouldn’t, the child was trying to make herself smaller, her arms over tummy and her shoulders hunched. Helene patted the chair next to her, expecting Pam to take a seat. Sometimes Pam was afraid to sit, her body positioned in fight or flight, ready to run at any moment. Helene felt so sorry for her daughter in those moments, pity overcoming her. Pam stood stiffly for a few seconds, then climbed onto her moms lap. She positioned herself almost into a ball, her knees up to her chin and her hands clasped together. Even as a first grader, Pam was very tiny and could easily fit in Helene’s lap. Penny was already taller than Pam, despite the age difference. Pam’s clammy hands played with Helene’s necklace. Helene stroked her red curls gently, slowly relaxing the small girl. Helene was relieved Pam was sitting, but glanced over the room. She had made a mistake, Pam didn’t need a speech therapist. She wasn’t slurring her “s” or talking with a lisp like the other children in the room. Speech therapy wasn’t going to help and the chance that they would have an answer was slim, but there was “speech” in their title, so she took the chance. She knew this when making the appointment, and was sure Ms. Flax knew as well when she had gone into the first grade classroom after her kindergarten class had gone home to sneak the sticky note in Pam’s bag. She guessed both of them were just desperate for answers. Ms. Flax had been wonderful, checking on Pam constantly even as she moved into first grade. It was comforting knowing Pam always had someone looking out for her.

“Pamela Beesly, Ms. Levinson is ready.”

••

Pam’s eyes followed the hand of the woman with the freshly manicured nails and loud, clanking bracelets. The woman pulled open a filling cabinet, her hand reappearing with a manila folder. Pamela Beesly was scribbled in rushed handwriting at the top. Seeing her name written on the folder made her stomach drop. Whatever was happening, it felt formal and final. The white walls seemed strict and harsh, despite the posters with positive and encouraging quotes. The posters seemed to mock her, to remind her how dumb it was to be in this situation.

“Alrighty, let’s get started!” the therapist prompted, “so I’m first going to ask you to repeat a few sentences after me so I can hear where your speech may have issues.” 

Helene froze. What had she done. 

“Can you just tell me what your name is, honey? That’ll give me a few hints on what to look for next.”

Pam sat silently, her eyes big and her body tense. There were a few heavy seconds, then Helene piped in, “Excuse me, Ms. Levinson, but you read her notes from Ms. Flax and I, correct?”

“Oh yes… those,” she answered, clearly not having looked at them. She opened the folder and glanced over them, “ah yes, go ahead and say what your name is, Pam.”

Helene wanted to put her head in her hand. This was terrible. Pam looked ashamed, her thin figure collapsing into itself to bring herself comfort. “She can’t,” Helene sighed, “she won’t talk with anyone not in her family.”

“Oh, all children can talk, she’s just being stubborn. What’s her medical status? She have some brain damage or something?”

“No, she’s just afraid.”

“That’s just her being oppositional.”

“No, she’s really a great kid-,” Helene began, looking to Pam sitting in the seat next to her, tears starting to fall. Helene drew in a large breath, “Listen, I don’t think this is going to work. I understand this probably isn’t something you work with. She has no speech impediments, she speaks perfectly fine at home. I understand why you may come to those conclusions, but I can see how anxious she is, this isn’t something that can be fixed by repeating sentences when she can’t feel comfortable enough even to whisper a word.” Helene grabbed Pam’s hand and two walked out the wooden door. 

••

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Pam whispered once in the calm of the car.

“No, love, that was my fault. I thought maybe she would be able to help you. She just isn’t what we were looking for and wasn’t educated on your situation.”

Helene’s heart broke as Pam whispered another apology. Pam’s head was low and she was rubbing her hands together as if the steady them from the unstoppable shaking. All Helene had done was make the situation worse. She was frustrated with herself, she just wanted someone to understand, to give an answer to help her little girl. 

It was time for the first grade mid year parent -teacher conference. It was soon after winter break, and the ground was covered in frost. It wasn’t snow, not fluffy and soft enough for kids to sled in, but brisk and chilly. The elementary school always had winter break, then a conference for any parents that wanted one or one requested by the teacher. It was always the day before the children come back for the second half of the year. Helene first went to Penny’s, were they complained of her lack of attention, but complimented her communication with her peers. The two girls ranged so much, it made Helene chuckle.

••

Helene was apprehensive to meet Pam’s first grade teacher. Pam had come home each day, excitedly sharing her experience of the day. It was strange to see her totally silent child standing stiffly next to the other children waiting to get into their cars, then as soon as the car door shut she would squeal and giggle about the happenings of the day. Since she was so silent at school, each story was held back in her, then she would erupt with stories. Pam, just like any other seven year old, loved making her family laugh. If she thought they were really good, she would save them for meal time so Penny could hear to. Penny was completely opposite of Pam, outgoing and chill. When Pam felt she had something that would make everyone laugh like Penny, she savored it. Pam couldn’t speak, even if she felt she had something important to say. At home though, she could share the silly, unimportant things. The stories always consisted of her teacher doing absolutely ridiculous things and even more ridiculous words to follow them. It came to a point that Helene thought her sweet girl wasn’t telling the truth, the stories seemed so far fetched.

Mr. Scott wasn’t an ordinary teacher. Pam enjoyed hearing his stories about his Forman grill, how hot Ms. Flax is, or showing off his new movie. Pam never said a word, but she stored each story carefully within to share with her family. The other children barely even noticed Pam since they were so busy trying to understand and watch their teacher. She became anxious whenever attention was on her, so she didn’t mind the situation and kept her head low. It felt like she was on stage 24/7, and he brain told her everyone was watching her as if she was on a stage 24/7 already. 

••

Helene sat next to the classroom door, waiting for her turn.

“Nexxxt,” Mr. Scott said loudly, looking to Helene.

“Mrs. Beesly,” Helene said, putting out her hand to shake his. 

Mr. Scott made a fist and put it under her hand, “Ha! It’s a chicken! Your hot, call me Micheal.”

“I- what?” Clearly Pam had been telling the truth was all Helene could think.

“Nah never mind, you’re probably as old as my grandmother,” he said, snorting at his own words.

“Ok, well I’m here for Pam…”

“Ohhhh. Pamalama ding dong. The one with selective mutism.”

“Yeah- I took her to Ms. Levinson to-,” Helene paused. What had he said? The one with what?

“Ah Ms. Levinson, she’s so hot.”

“Wait what did you say before?” Helene prompted.

“Ms. Levinson is a catch,” he said, clearly unfazed, “but not as much as Ms. Flax. Have you seen her??”

Helene took a deep breath, “No, no before that.”

“Oh, Pam, the kid with selective mutism.”

“Selective mutism?” Helene questioned. 

“Yeah, I thought my parrot had it because he would repeat after me, but when I wanted to show him off to others, he wouldn’t say anything,” Micheal said, annoyed. 

“What-.”

“Yeah, I googled a bunch and found it. I wanted to take him to a bird therapist. Couldn’t find one. He talks now, turns out he was mad because I was buying saltine crackers, not ritz. Now that I switched it he talks. I’ve switched Pam’s crackers, but it didn’t do anything. So it must be selective mutism,” he said plainly. “I know she talks to you, Hol- I mean Ms. Flax, told me in the beginning of the year,” he was looking at the classroom door, as if expecting Holly to walk in.

Helene was bewildered. Was this man joking? The look in his eyes told her no. Was he onto something? She had done some googling of her own, but was too afraid she would get lost in the unknowns of Google. This had certainly been the most bizarre teacher meeting she had yet to experience. This man was eccentric. Yet, maybe he had just found the answer to something so important in Pam’s life. Maybe his oblivious attitude allowed him to see it through a clear lens. Selective mutism. Just the name made sense. Pam was mute. It was something Helene started to accept, but Pam was only mute in select places. Maybe everything would be ok. 

“Uh ok, thank you Mr. Sc- Micheal,” she stammered, clearly unable to conceal her excitement. 

Micheal had picked up on it, but was oblivious to why, “Yeah! Want to get a drink?”

Helene was already out the door. The drive home felt like a huge weight was lifted. Suddenly, the frost looked beautiful and magic, no longer cold and rude. The sun was smiling at her, melting away her concern along with the frost on the tips of the grass and the limbs of the maple trees. She wasn’t sure what the next step was. Now she had hole though, hope ignited via a strange child man of a teacher. Maybe, just maybe they had found something.

Pam sat on the rubber swing, the metal chain chilly against her finger. She extends her legs, then pulls them back in, allowing herself to build up a little more momentum.  Roy was on the swing next to her, throwing himself off the swing. Darrel stood next to him, saying how high he reached before hoping off. Each took turns, high-fiving one another as they got higher. Pam couldn’t seem to build up enough courage to do what they were doing, but enjoyed swinging nonetheless. She loved feeling like she could touch the light blue of the air. 

“Pam, your turn!” Roy said, his voice testy. 

Pam looked at him blankly, as he took her from her thoughts. 

Darrel elbowed Roy and the two turned around and whispered with a few snickers scattered in their conversation. Roy spun back around with a smirk, the mulch displacing itself from the toe of where his sneakers had spun. The sun was bright, and she had to put her hand above her eyes to see his facial expression. The sun mocked her with its own bright words it created with light. The boys, or anyone for that matter, rarely spoke to her, already accepting they wouldn’t get anything in return. When she was spoken to, it mostly consisted of making fun of her silence or awkwardly waiting for a response.

 Roy straightened his back. “Pam. Say nothing if you like me,” he teased. 

Pam stayed silent, stuck in a spinning world. Roy looked to Darrel, who gave him a nod of approval and a smirk. 

“You like Roy!” Darrel taunted. He was laughing mischievously, looking around to verify the teacher was not around. Pam would have been thankful for someone to stand up for her, but she also accepted that Mr. Scott would probably only make the situation worse. 

Pam slowly lowered herself from the swing. Her green eyes searching for an escape. Pam knew she was easy to go after. She wanted to change it, she wanted to be like the other children who argued and chatted. She became a favorite of the boys, her lack of tattling and retorts to their mischief only making it more fun for them. The children never had poor intentions, but as children age they find ways to tease others in ways to suppress their insecurities. At least that’s what mama told Pam. Pam wasn’t even sure what insecurities were- but they didn’t sound good. Sometimes mama told her a boy teased when they had a crush, but that only seemed to make Pam more nervous, so Helene stuck with it being a source of insecurities. 

••

It had been a week now, since Helene had finally found the answer. She called Pam’s pediatrician to find someone in that area of expertise quickly, and got the diagnosis easily. At fist she didn’t even bother asking Bill his opinion on making the appointment. If she found help, she was going to find a way for Pam to have it. Fortunately, when the confirmation email was sent to him instead of her, his reaction seemed the reverse of what she had expected. He had come home from work that day and shuffled straight into the living room. 

“You did it,” he sniffled. 

Helene looked up, then knowingly wrapped her arms around him, “we’re  going to find answers for our little girl, Bill.”

“I never thought an email could mean so much,” he mumbled into her hair. 

Helene knew that this was his way. His way of apologizing for being overwhelmed with work and the constant attention and emails it required of him- he was realizing his daughter was the most important email. Helene was still frustrated, but relieved to see him start to see the situation more clearly. That night he even made Pam’s favorite meal, grilled cheese. His grilled cheese was over buttered and soggy, and she was pretty sure Pam just showered complaints about it one day to make him feel good. She always found a way to get a smile out of someone, but panic would run through her if they seemed even slightly upset. Even if it meant talking with her body language, she found ways to brighten Penny or Helene’s day. Now, of course Bill was convinced Pam loved the cheese sandwich, making it anytime he felt Pam was in need of a pick-me-up or as a reward. He made it when she got three addition flash cards correct in a row or when some kids at school had teased her. Helene knew Pam would never say a word about her distaste towards the greasy grilled cheese after knowing she had built it up for him. Honestly, if he just held back on some of the grease and used the orange cheese, she would probably love it. Her eyes didn’t light up and turn a new shade of green that they usually did when she really enjoyed something, contrasting from her usual pale, anxious eyes. Helene never mentioned this occurrence to Bill, hoping one day Pam would say what she really thought, and the best place to start was in her family. 

••

Pam met all of the criteria for selective mutism easily. Helene felt a wave of relief to find an answer, a path to healing. Although a name to the problem was helpful, it was also intimidating. Pam had sat on the paper on the doctors table, nodding her head in response. She pressed her bitten finger nails into the crinkling paper, her legs swinging. The appointment was mostly made up of Helene explaining the situation throughout their allotted time. Ms. Flax and Mr. Scott had also sent voicemails so that the doctor could properly access the situation via ranging sources. Creating a plan for Pam was relatively straightforward. The goal was to get her to comfortably talk. At this point, shyness and outgrowing her quietness was out of the question. The doctor was quick to agree her source of mutism was in relation to severe social anxiety. Every morning, after Pam brushed her teeth, Helene gave Pam one of her “worry pills”. The doctor prescribed a low dose because of Pam’s small size, but they soon upped it. Pam swallowed it with her apple juice, to reduce the sour taste the meds left on her tongue. If she was lucky, they would find grape juice in the juice aisle. It was Pam’s favorite and she jumped into the car every Sunday, hoping they would find it at the grocery store. Whenever they found it she would reach on her tippy toes to shelf and gingerly place it in the metal shopping cart, as to avoid a loud clank as it touched the silver material. 

Rule number one was something that was slightly unexpected- to just make Pam comfortable. They were planning to slowly expose Pam to locations and people, and encourage her to talk. They would start small- just consisting of getting her to talk with someone other than her mother. The plan was ambitious, and Pam was responding relatively slowly thus far. She still hadn’t taken the leap, the leap of letting someone outside their tiny home her her even smaller voice. Their second step was to get her to talk in a school setting, even if that meant coming in during a weekend to reduce the crowd and commotion. The medication made Pam’s leg bounce a little less and spot on her thigh were she pressed her nail into when she was frozen in panic and trying to bring herself back into the moment was becoming more peach colored. The black and blue on it was beginning to subside and her quick short breaths less frequent. The spot had made Helene overwhelmed with worry, and Pam quickly picked up on this, wearing leggings to cover it. Pam had no intentions of creating this spot, but it became a method of soothing her mind for herself. Despite this, she still was lost for words and her heart rate still raced. She was rather stiff in her ways, too scared to bend. 

“Welcome to the family, Jimmy Halpert,” Mr. Scott announced enthusiastically. Pam had been told before hand that a new kid would be joining the class since she wasn’t very good with change. The boy was tall and lanky, with dirty brown hair. 

“Isn’t this… a classroom?” the boy questioned, his eyes searching for an answer.

“This classroom will become your family, James, Jimson, JimTim,” Mr. Scott answered as if it was obvious. 

“Oh… ok,” Jim shuffled from the top in front of the whiteboard of the classroom when Mr. Scott had made him stand. 

“Where are you going? You have to introduce yourself.”

“Oh. Well. I’m Jim. My family just moved from Philly… and I really like basketball.”

Roy snickered from the back, clearly unimpressed.

“Can I sit now?” Jim asked, obviously uncomfortable. 

“Yes, my son,” Mr. Scott answered as Jim eyed him strangely. None of the other children even phased, having been with Mr. Scott thus far.

Jim’s eyes glazed over the classroom, looking for an open seat. Joining half way in the year meant cliques had formed and seats were solid. Most of the stiff, hard plastic chairs were filled with chatting and giggling students. Eventually, his eyes fell on an empty seat. It was next to a small girl with curly red hair sitting silently in the back. 

••

“Can I sit here?” Jim asked politely. The girl just looked at him, and he could see she was frightened with her body language. She was stiff and her shoulders tipped in with arms held close to her chest. She was looking straight at her hand, and rubbing them, the friction created between the rubbing grounding her from her fleeting thoughts. Her curly frizz blocked the line to her eyes and her ankle was flexing rapidly, making a soft tapping sound on the carpet. It appeared she wasn’t used to being talk to as she didn’t even realize he was talking to her at first. Jim began to repeat himself, to make sure she understood he was talking to her. 

Pam gave a stiff nod, and Jim settled into the seat. Pam felt her stomach become aflame. Her heart raced and her mind raced even faster. “Yay… someone else to realize how strange I am them tease me” she thought to herself anxiously. Her mind was buzzing with thoughts, and her body felt as if electricity was running through it. He looked at her, as if to pull her from her thoughts then pulled out a big notebook, labeled “pranks”. He gently placed the notebook on the table to avoid any load noise it could create. Pam eyes followed his to the notebook and she looked back at him suspiciously. Jim quickly felt her gaze upon him.

“Oh yeah. Y’know that boy Dwight over there? Well we went to the same school before I moved to Philly. My dad- uh- we move a lot. Anyways, once I learned I was coming here and HE would be here, I had to get started on this baby,” Jim said coolly, “Want in?”

A hard lump formed at her chest, freezing her airway. She wanted to convey she was in. Pam felt a smile sneak up onto her mouth and gave a nod. Of course she wanted in. Dwight had joined only this year, but all he had done was be a suck up to the teacher and talk about beets. She looked up to the boy in the front row, wearing overalls with dress shoes. He was certainly one to remember. Her was looking attentively at the teacher and raising his hand at every question. Pranks weren’t mean, right? Jim giggled and opened up the notebook. It was blue and had messy handwriting all over the page. It was still pretty neat for a first grader. Pam felt the lump start to disappear, but body still vibrating with fear. Pam glanced at it then looked back up at Jim. 

“I know, pretty awesome, right?” he smirked. 

••

Micheal began teaching and talking about his plan for movie Mondays. Pam usually just blew over whatever he was ranting about, but Jim looked intrigued, often looking at her questioningly. She knew exactly what he was thinking. She gave him a shrug and a smile and Jim let out a giggle. It was almost as if they could read minds with looks between one another’s eyes. Micheal then continued to talk about how they would start with his very own movie. Jim nearly burst with laughter. Pam only gave a look that said “yeah, it’s real. You don’t want to miss it.” He mouthed “really?” to her and she gave a smile. This was a conversation with a peer who wasn’t Penny- and they didn’t even need words.

••

The two tuned out the teacher and Jim leaned from his chair to Pam.

“How do you feel about jello?” he asked. 

Pam flinched at the closeness then her eyes beamed. Jello sounds perfect. He didn’t seemed bothered by her silence or her lack of response, instead he patiently waited for her to respond with her eyes or her expressions. It was automatic and natural for the two. It made her hand go up to chew on her nails just thinking that someone other than her family was acknowledging her, but she enjoyed the “conversation” with Jim. 

The time until recess increased, and so did Pam’s anxiety. Recess was supposed to be recreational and relaxing for the rambunctious students, but Pam found it distressing. She never even bothered trying to join in with the other students, all of them found speaking necessary and were annoyed to see her lost in her silence. She enjoyed letting her pinned up energy that her body made in excess as her thoughts ran loose being released through each swing. The swings always gave her an escape, a breathe of fresh air. She loved feeling the cold metal on her clammy hands and the wind touching her skin.

The children were in a single file line, surprisingly Micheal had some control of his class, and they went to the playground. Pam watched her sneakers as they walked forward, as if the plain white sneakers had suddenly become the most interesting thing in her life. She carefully stepped over any cracks in the pavement as they made their way to the mulch area in front of the brick school. The air was chilly and she zipped up her pink fleece. It was a foggy day, and the sun was hiding.

As soon as they reached the line between the mulch and pavement, each child took off at a sprint to be the first at a slide, the monkey bars, or the swings. Pam stayed back, watching all the kids dash to find their spots. She never wanted to get in the way of someone, she wanted to let them pick so she could meekly climb onto whatever was open. She never wanted to confront another child and take what she saw they had desired. Fortunately, the school had an array of swings, always allowing a few to be open. Her favorite was the swing to the far right. It was a little lower to the ground so she didn’t have to work as hard to get up with her height, and there were no trees to block her view as she swung.

••

Roy excitedly grabbed Jim’s arm, “Cmon man, you gotta come play basketball with us.”
“Mk,” Jim shrugged.
Roy pulled him to the square of pavement in the center of the playground.
“Here, you start, new kid. Show us watcha got!”
Jim took the orange basketball and looked towards the hoop, from the corner of his eye he saw the girl who sat next to him. Her red curls were frizzy around her face, bouncing as she swung. As her arms were cranking her back and forth, she made eye contact with him then quickly looked away.
“What about her? Can we invite her?” Jim questioned. The girl seemed nervous and isolated, but he figured they could fix that over a game of basketball.
“Huh?” Roy snorted, following his line of sight, “the girl on the swings? Seriously?”
“Yeah, with red hair.”
“You mean Pam? She won’t even talk, I’ve known her for years.” Roy giggled.
Jim’s smile dropped. Maybe a game of basketball wasn’t going to fix it, but even silence enjoys company.
“Her name is Pam? I didn’t even know that was her name!” a girl with straight, brown hair chimed in. “Maybe she’s not aware of how to talk.”
Jim looked back over to Pam… she obviously knew what he was saying when he talking to her. She understood all his pranks and was easy to talk to via just looks and shrugs, so maybe she was just shy. Jim’s mom always came home from her work with stories about this type of thing. She had a name for it, but Jim couldn’t remember. Regardless, he felt sorry for Pam. It sucked that she knew how to talk but couldn’t. He suddenly felt himself drawn to the swings like a magnet. His mom always told him to talk to the nervous ones, he guessed that was the effect of having a mom who worked in psych. Jim had never been the quiet type, he was one to ramble and fill the silence. Jim put his fingers through his messy hair, contemplating his next move. His weight shifted from his right foot which was in front, facing towards Pam to his other foot, then back again. He pressed his lips together as his toe pushed into the tip, his favorite blue sneakers were getting small. His fingers were still securely gripping the ball. They only tighten as he weighed his choices.
“Dude, if your not going to do anything can you give us the ball?” Darrel snapped, breaking Jim from his thoughts. Jim turned to face Darrel, his shoes making a screeching noise on the cement.
“Uh ok,” he dropped the inflated ball and it sprung into the air as it touched the cement. The boys all eyed him as he watched the ball bounce and slowly lower in height of bounces.
“Halpert, you gonna play with us or not?” Roy interrupted demandingly.
“How do you even know my last na-.”
“Mr. Scott told us before you came.”
“Oh.”
“So… you playin?”
“Can we invite Pam?”
“Uh she won’t talk.”
“Ok.”
“Ok? Don’t you want to talk well we play??”
“I- I think I’m going to go talk to Pam,” Jim answered. He spun on his heels and walked towards the girl.
“Good luck to talking with someone who won’t talk!” Roy called after him. The other kids giggled at his remark and watched Jim make his way towards the swings. Jim ignored them, making himself stand tall as if he was totally sure of the choice he made.

••

Pam heard the footsteps of someone crunching against the mulch and her eyes looked up to see the boy from earlier. His hair was messy as if it was a clue as to what he was feeling. The swing next to her was occupied with silence.
“I love swings,” Jim said, breaking the silence that once claimed the seat as he pulled himself up onto the swing. He swung his legs back and threw them forward to thrust himself into motion.
“Do you enjoy swings?” he asked.
Pam’s heart and thoughts all came to a racing stop as if someone whipped out a stop sign and placed it in the highway. She looked up at him, her eyes searching for comfort in her moment of uncertainty.
“You don’t have to answer,” Jim reassured, seeing her panic as if there was a glass window into her thoughts. “I think it’s cool that you talk without words! They’re boring!” the kind boy announced convincingly.
Pam couldn’t help but feel a smile pull on the corners of her mouth.

••

The creak of the swings filled the silence along with Jim’s ranting. He filled her in on Dwight’s obsession with beets and his farm. He was barely able to keep straight face, giggles sneaking out in between words. Soon he got quiet, as if he had something personal and secret to share, only to say that he once had a sleepover with Dwight. He claimed it was a mistake of his youth, and explained how “traumatic” the experience for young Jimmy Halpert.

He didn’t mind not receiving an answer. Her keeper of words stood firm, locking her words up with a key and throwing it far into the unknown. Nonetheless, he loved looking into her green eyes and knowing her response. It took patience, but he enjoyed her soft smiles and knowing looks. Patience was something Jim had been an expect at since day one, probably because of being the youngest to two older brothers. The wind created wrinkles in his t-shirt. Although the chilliness nipped at their chubby fingers that were wrapped around the metal swing tightly, the sun was peeking from the clouds. The bright yellow shown through the thick clouds. It was an authentic, vibrant yellow.

Jim gently zipped open his oversized backpack, even for a tall first grader, and pulled out the same blue notebook. He opened it up and swiftly found the page he was on. The page was white, a new, untouched canvas. In messy, almost illegible handwriting he wrote “the best prank ever!!” and smiled to himself, rereading it to make sure he didn’t misspell anything. He tapped his pencil on the paper with a soft rhythm, looking for Pam. 

The other kids were filling into the classroom as they arrived at the school. Each sat in their self assigned spot and nonchalantly chatted with one another. Jim shifted his position and fingered the metal of his spiral notebook. His eyes were searching for a certain girl to walk into the classroom. Each time the door opened, his heart sunk a little as he waited for Pam.

Eventually, the familiar red head opened the door, her sleeve covering her hand. Her long sleeve purple shirt was stretched over her palms, as if she was avoiding the germs and the cold of the metal. She looked still and panicked, looking longingly back at the door as Micheal tried to ease her into the classroom. Immediately he saw her freeze and her spin on her heels, going into flight mode. Jim noted her adrenaline that suddenly appeared as she turned to escape the room filled with discomfort for her. Micheal calmly put a hand on her shoulder, and whispered something to her quietly. Pam stayed silent, but he could see the gears overworking in her head. Jim heard Micheal mumbling numbers and taking deep breaths as Pam meticulously followed. Her shoulders dropped a little and the vulnerable looking girl gave a silent nod, as if someone was holding her back, standing in her way of opening her mouth. He was relieved to see the other students preoccupied with their own games and conversation, knowing her disliking for attention. She was tense and anxious in the spotlight. 

••

As silly and childish as the deep breaths that Micheal had instructed Pam to do, she felt her chest loosen up a bit and head feel a little clearer with its renewed access to oxygen. Her eyes frantically searched for something familiar and stable. Something predictable and comfortable. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Jim give a careful wave towards her, and she looked up at Micheal expectingly, assuming Jim was requesting his attention. 

Instead, Mr. Scott gave a reassuring nod, “He wants you, Pamalama ding dong,” he answered. Her stomach dropped. Her brain opened up every filing cabinet of why her presence may be requested, mostly consisting of situations of worst-case-scenario. She firmly pressed her index finger into her thigh, the thin layer of legging protecting it from the jagged edge of her bitten nails breaking the skin. Micheal carefully pushed her forward, not giving her the choice to stand still in the fear. Once she was in motion, he spun around to greet Darrel to show him his new “Best Teacher Ever” mug he had bought for himself.

••

Pam slowly shuffled to Jim’s seat, as if each step took a mound of courage. To him, it felt like she was the first to walk on the moon as his excitement rose as her closeness increased. The corner of his mouth pulled his lips into a tight frown as she pulled out a seat two away from him. At first he took offense, conceded he had frightened her or upset her. After a few seconds, he pieced the sources and could see the longing look in her eyes as she almost had a staring contest with the cheap, plastic chair. 

“Listen, I don’t want a whole burnt in the chair next to me with the way your eyeing it. I’d feel much safer if you just sat there and maybe eyed one next to Dwight,” he said jokingly to her.

Pam’s figure loosened at the joke and the break from her thoughts. He could see her considering her options through her big eyes. She got up and quietly pulled out the chair next to him and gracefully sat. She kept herself tight, as if someone had drawn a circle around her and told her she couldn’t touch the lines. 

Jim tapped his notebook promptly, “So, I’ve been working… and all I’ve got is jello.”

Pam looked up from wriggling her hands together, harshly creating a soothing friction between them. She smiled. She looked at her neatly arranged pencils then back him.

“Oh your a genius! Let’s put his school supplies in jello,” Jim complimented. 

Pam’s soft smile returned and she gave a quick nod as she looked at him, impressed with his understanding. 

“Now, what exactly do we put in the jello?” Jim questioned, but mostly asking himself. 

Pam’s thoughts stopped. His stapler! Dwight used his stapler religiously and excessively. Mr. Scott had already had to take it from his possession multiple times because of his irresponsible use of the supply. The word stapler circled her head, spinning with excitement of being of value. The word bounced and began to prod at the lock that blocked  her words from escaping her mind and into the open air. It wanted to be blurted out, quick and sharp, without fear or shame. The word continued to fiddle with the lock, until the keeper of her words dashed into action. It quickly lassoed the word and chained it too the ground, despite its resistance. Eventually, it gave in to defeat. Through sheer exhaustion, it sat back and let the keeper take charge, the word losing its excitement. Pam looked up at Jim, her lips pressed together and the electricity of anxiety pumping through her. 

••

Jim’s heart ached as he saw her eyes light up with brilliance. They looked rambunctious and fulfilled. As quick as the spark came, it was dimmed and replaced with the dull, sage green. Her anxiety was radiating off of her, heating his skin. It was as if she was in a jinx, and promised to silence. He almost thought for a moment that maybe she was just waiting to buy him a coke, but he quickly remembered they would have had to talk for there to be something that was jinxed. He looked to the notebook and her perfectly aligned pencils at her boring, grey desk. Each pencil was a shade of pink with something corny written on it, such as,  “be you!” or “you got this!”. His eyes fell on the pencil whose color would fall between the middle of the color scale. 

In yellow letters at the end of the pencil where the eraser sat, “art speaks words” was written on it in typewriting font. A picture speaks a thousand words he thought to himself, remembering the quote from his mom when he gave her a drawing for Christmas. It has been a simple teal teapot, but she had loved it.

He pushed the notebook towards her understandingly.

“Draw it,” he said, smiling. He knew she had something to share… but she just couldn’t find the courage to speak the words. 

Pam picked up the pencil carefully, her fingers anxiously waiting for the graphite tip to touch the paper. She gently drew a straight line, and her eyes sparked with joy, the line communicating what needed to be said. Her words were finding an alternative route to show her thoughts. She began to curve the pencil, her words creeping around the lock, sliding underneath the huge gate with the lost key. Her words sneakily seeped through the thin layer of opening of keeper of her words’ door in the form of a curve formed with the movement of her hand. Her lines were precise and tentative, her hand paralyzed at the sight of imperfections created via the pencil. As her pencil continued to convey her thoughts, the stapler the was itching to form on the paper. The lines curved and straightened, her fingers slowly relaxing with the flow. Her marks were dark and stiff on the paper, her fingers pressing the pencil firmly into the paper, lacking courage to lighten up the deep shade. The gray graphite filled the empty void once present on the paper. The metal chains once pulling on her words were replaced with a thinner yet sturdy, coarse ropes.

Jim looked at her approvingly, trying to make out what she was drawing. His smiler got bigger as the image she was drawing got clearer. The box that once isolated her, the box that was supposed to protect still held up strong. 

“Oh, that’s perfect Pam! I love it, you have real talent,” Jim commented. The glass box that confined her was tapped, making a crack in the glass. Someone finally understood her, took the time to see what she had in store. Someone was able to recognize what she had beyond the silence.

••

Jim wanted to put the plan into action as fast as possible. He grew with excitement as she carefully sketched the image. It created something that totally would have missed him, but was absolutely perfect for his prank. He enjoyed seeing her satisfaction at his understanding and her thoughtfulness put in each stroke of the pencil. 

Jim reviewed his thoughts before voicing them, “Ok, so how do we get it from him?”

Pam looked up with a slightly mischievous smile. Yet, her head seemed to reprimand her for it as it swiftly vanished.

Jim lifted up the notebook and tucked the top page underneath, revealing a new, white page. He scribbled the name of jello flavors, where Pam gently tapped “banana”. She gingerly pressed the crinkly paper and tipped her head towards Dwight, her red curls following. He followed her eyes to see the mustard colored shirt, which would perfectly match the banana jello.

“Good one, Beesly.” 

She smiled, tucking her shoulders up to her cheeks and pink appearing lightly. 

“It’s cool if I call you that, right?” 

She gave him a nod. She liked the nickname, especially since she knew he was the one calling her when she heard it. It was reassuring, to hear her name be called, but the pressure to speak being removed. 

“Alright, I’ll distract while you act,” Jim insisted, clearly feeling accomplished by his rhyming. Jim stood up swiftly and made his way towards the front right of the classroom. Pam sat frozen, her mind buzzing to linger back and remain a spectator. Jim looked to her and tilted his head towards Dwight’s prized stabler.  It was a matte grey staplers with well taken care of silver metal that withheld the staplers and pushed them into the paper. At Jim nudged to Dwight’s desk, Pam’s legs straightened as she lifted herself from the plastic seat in the back corner. 

“So… Dwight. What’s you favorite bear?” Jim asked.

“False,” Dwight answered.

“Wha-,” Jim stammered.

“I don’t have a favorite. So you asking me that question is false in regards to me answering it truthfully.”

“I’m starting to think you just like saying false.”

Pam could barely keep herself together while overhearing the conversation. Quiet was her forte, that wasn’t the hard part. She just didn’t want to be noticed, for Dwight to squeal and cause attention to her. She had managed to blend in her whole life, so she be able to now. Jim sensed her tentative walk to the desk. He immersed Dwight into a deeper discussion.

“Do bears eat beets?”

“That’s ridiculous-.” Dwight snorted.

Pam tuned them out as the sound of her heart beat took over the sounds of their voices. She stretched her hand onto the desk, lifted the stapler, and clasped it into her hands. She held onto it firmly, stretching her tiny hands hoping that is she stretched them enough it would cover the whole stapler, but she wasn’t in luck. She tiptoed to back to her seat, starting with the ball of the front of her foot then rolling onto her heel. After years of practice, her silent walk came into action. She stealthily stuffed the prized item into Jim’s backpack and flood gates of relief opened upon her as she melted into her chair. Jim caught sight of her and promptly concluded his conversation with Dwight. 

“Yes! Beesly, yes! Oh we make such a great team!” Jim’s face was beaming, the sun peaking through the window and adding a glitter to his eyes. Pam’s eyes conveyed a true, enthusiastic feeling. Her body and mind was buzzing, but with excitement instead of fear. Jim watched the anxiety sizzle, with the joy overwhelm it at a boil. She was still tense, but the tight point between her eyebrows was loosened and eyes looked less glazed with a high volume of fleeting thoughts.

Let’s be honest. The pranks were never meant for Jim.

Pick-up wasn’t the same. Helene pulled up in her usual, old car around the circle of the school green. She waited patiently in the everlasting line to get to her girls. The line slowly inched as if it were a worm to the front of the school. Helene just wanted to get her girls home, but the long line had other plans. 

Penny got in first. Her kindergarten class was always out before Pam’s first grade. She was escorted by Ms. Flax who gave Helene a wave and saw Penny off. Penny cheerfully climbed into the car, throwing her limbs this way and that. She tossed her bag to the floor, dumping its contents, which only emphasized her happy-go-lucky nature. She got herself situated in the car seat that Ms. Flax had been sure to buckle her into before attending to the other waiting children in her class. 

Pam was second. Helene was braced, prepared to see the heartbreaking reality of her eldest daughter collapsing into herself in fear, anxious to get into the car and see the heavy weight lifted from her as the car door closed. The click of the door locking was an opening intro to anything she shared, not a word was spoken until the click was heard. She was always quiet enough to hear it and never seemed to miss it. The click was predictable and comforting. 

Helene wasn’t too far off. Pam’s arms were crossed over her stomach and her shoulders were tight. She was gnawing on her bottom lip, but not yet creating the taste of metallic in her mouth. Yet, her hands were a little less clammy and she clutched a piece of paper in her hand protectively. Her eyes weren’t as alert as usual, they were wondering softly at her surroundings. 

Pam crawled into her car seat as Mr. Scott walked her halfway, saw she was in the car, then gave a wink to Helene. Helene gave her best effort to shake off the strange gesture. 

Click. The car door was secure.

Pam waited patiently as Penny continued her already-started story that she had begun before Pam’s arrival. Pam sat without interrupting, and listened intently, as listening was one of her strongest qualities. Yet, she held onto the thin notebook paper, her fingers squeezing into the paper securely. Her right leg bounced erratically, and she felt she had something to share. She remained silent until Penny finished her story of Ms. Flax’s impersonation of someone she didn’t know. 

Pam carefully smoothed out the piece of paper, removing the wrinkles. The flimsy paper sat in her lap until Penny’s conversation veered to Pam.

“Pam! What’s that?” Penny demanded.

Pam lifted it up as if it were inestimable porcelain to show Penny. It was a simple, pulled-out piece of lined notebook paper with ragged edges. In the middle was a neatly and flawlessly drawn stapler, with no varying lines and no stray marks. It was stiff and clearly drawn by a perfectionist. Yet, Pam’s little sister thought it was worth the world. 

“Mama! Look what Pam drew!” She snatched the paper from Pam’s hand before Pam could even process what was happening. Penny pushed her tiny hands forward to show her mom, but her short arms couldn’t reach the front seat from her car seat. Penny huffed in frustration.

“I’m driving hun, wait until we get home. Sorry. What’d you draw, Pammy?” Helene prompted.

“A stapler, Mama! And- and- and the boy, Jim, said it was good! I talked, but with the stapler!”

“Wait, what?” Helene questioned, looking for clarification but holding onto the notion that her daughter has spoken.

“The picture talked for me, Mama! And Jimmy said I have talent!” Pam chirped in response. She was bouncing in her car seat, eager to share with her mom.

Helene’s heart lurched at the bitter-sweet realization. She just wanted her to get a wave of courage and surf on it, without the current overtaking her, the sea foam mocking a missed chance. This was a first. The first time her daughter even thought about picking up the surfboard of communicating and walking toward the intimidating wave of the unknown. This was a step in the grainy sand, a step towards her putting the tip of her toe in the water and letting the fear surge like the shock of the cold salt water. Then realizing that after you push through that barrier of fear and discomfort, the water isn’t so cold. Yet, Pam wasn’t ready and didn’t think she was strong enough. She was too scared to let her voice be heard in the open, in the air.  

“Can we get some more pencils,” Pam asked politely. 

Drawing was a flip flop that protected her from the penetrating burn that the hot sun put reflected onto the sand. Jim was someone who ran across the sand with her, just because he cared. 

“Who. Put. My. Stapler. In. Jello.” Dwight whined.

Jim snickered, unable to suppress the urge. Pam perked up, pressing her lips together, but laughter danced in her eyes. 

“Jim! I knew it!” Dwight wailed. He marched to their desk, red with anger. Others were starting to turn towards them. As Dwight neared, Jim stood up to remove their attentive eyes from Pam. She sat quietly, but her bright cheeks and smiling eyes showed her amusement. Once Pam was more of a spectator, Jim pulled out some jello. 

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your eating jello.”

“So?”

Dwight scuffed. Mr. Scott walked in. The children raced to their seats like squirrels to their trees. 

He started to rant and the children peeled their eyes from the extravagant prank and towards Micheal, who was demanding attention, wanting the children to focus on every word. 

“You can’t handle me fully listening, Mr. Scott,” Dwight interrupted matter-of-factly. 

Micheal only sighed and then began sharing about his date with a girl who was already married, begging for each child’s input. 

Pam carefully zipped open her backpack as quietly as possible and pulled out a notebook. It was a deep blue sketchbook that Penny had found her after the night when Pam showed her mom the stapler drawing. It had thin pages of cheap paper, but standard enough quality for being bought at a grocery store. Penny had insisted they go buy Pam a sketchbook, as little sisters do. Penny had always been put in a hard situation, her sister always stunted in communication and growth alike because of her disorder. The younger child always found a way to fill up an empty room and was eager to please, but she lacked an older sister figure to look up to, a role model to lean on. She wanted to fill that role for her nervous sister, but she longed to have someone show her the pre-paved path of life. Although at age five Penny wasn’t fully conscious of this, her behaviors and support of her sister filled the gap that was missing, and she loved when her sister found something to show her. 

Jim watched as Pam sketched on the paper, trying to see what she was drawing. Her lines formed a careful drawing of a simple, cartoonish Micheal next to a dumbfounded woman sitting in a restaurant. The caricature was unmistakably Micheal, and Jim beamed at her fascination in the pencil and paper contact and her expression softening. Jim cover his mouth with his hand to cover and hold in any escaping giggles as he watched the drawing come together. Pam looked at him with her eyebrows up and eyes searching for approval from Jim. The red in his cheeks and his inability to keep that laughter down reassured her as she bite on her upper lip and smiled, her green eyes gleaming. 

“That’s frame-worthy, Beesly,” Jim whispered encouragingly. 

Pam shrugged and flashed a mischievous smile. 

••

The two swings swayed in the wind next to each other on the playground. They were the two to the far right, Pam’s favorite. If looked at from a certain angle, the sun reflected from the metal of the chains and stung your eyes. The comfort of the warmth seeping from the black, rubber seats. The two seats were empty, but patiently waiting. They were no longer occupied with isolating silence but occupied with a mutual understanding that required words to be unspoken. 

Pam had her spot in the cafeteria, a small spot in the right corner. It had exactly four little seats situated, facing the commotion from the cafeteria. Pam enjoyed sitting there, observing and blending. She would sit with her knees in a fold, boosting her up from the seat a little bit. Since the elementary school cafeteria was large, the seats adjacent to her were often empty and untouched. She would place herself into the seat second closest to the corner, allowing her to be able to see the origins of the noise and rambunctious voices. This allowed her to be prepared and braced for anything that may be oncoming, which her mind was hyper aware of.

Jim wasn’t sure what happened to Pam during lunchtime. She would sit next to him, fidgeting yet speechless, then vanish. His first couple of days he spent sitting reluctantly with a girl named Katy. She had big, controlled waves which contrasted Pam’s tightly wound, stiff yet frizzy red curls. The girl was chatty and carefree, always giggling and smiling. Jim enjoyed her company but felt something was missing. She inflated any quiet with rants and remarks, but Jim found the quiet to be more meaningful. Pam’s quiet spoke a thousand words, and he loved reading between her layers and the reward of her smile when she felt understood. 

••

Jim pulled out a ham sandwich and began nibbling on it. Katy was explaining her cheer team's new uniforms, but Jim had long tuned her out. Roy sat next to them, agreeing passionately with every word she shared. Although he wasn’t conscious of it, his eyes were searching across the ocean of first graders. He was searching for the unmistakable green eyes and soft smile. Then, he found what he was looking for.

“I’m going to go sit with Pam,” Jim announced without warning. His lunch group looked up at him, once he caught their attention with his choice.

Roy snickered, showing his amusement at Jim’s passion for Pam. Katy shrugged, “Why do you talk to her? She won’t talk back, so obviously she probably isn’t wanting anyone to talk to her. Just let her be, if she wanted to make a change then she would.”

Jim was taken a step back. He had never thought of it in those terms. He had never considered that maybe she wanted to not be spoken to, and maybe he was just being an annoyance to her little world of silence. His mind gnawed at him, making him uneasy about his next move. 

Pam’s serotonin felt palpable when she saw Jim slowly stand up. He made each move look so casual, so thoughtless. He never seemed to think about who was watching or why he was doing everything he did. Pam admired it. 

Pam had been living in silence, untouched for so long that at first, she was unsure how to respond to Jim’s compassion. She was so afraid of chasing him away, waiting apprehensively for him to realize just how much of a nervous wreck she was and how uneventful she was able to make anything. She felt herself leap each time he came closer as if he was radiating joy like light from the sun. He was there, in the middle of the deepest storms, the sliver of hope that shone through even the thickest clouds. 

As Jim sank back into his seat, Pam’s heart mimicked the action. She could hear the exchanges between the group in front of her. She wanted so truly to convince him that he was wrong, that they were filling his head with false truths. She loved the acceptance and lack of pressure he pressed upon her. She loved the “conversations” they had. Her lips were pressed firmly together, the tips of her teeth pressing into them and sucking them in, only showing the peach of her skin. Her tongue pushed against the gate, the keeper of her words gate, longing for freedom. Her tongue wanted to rebel, to ignore the huge stop signs that lined the inner of her cheek, with warnings and consequences of letting a word slip into the open. The keeper had carefully and strategically lined each octagonal sign in a location in hopes of intimidating her words. It always worked, her anxiety seemed stronger than she was. 

This time, the conversation was about her. The conversation was about her and that she may enjoy being with her keeper. This was far from the truth, her keeper held her captive. She felt an unfamiliar feeling of frustration at her keeper, rather than immediate submission to him. The frustrated feeling was fleeting, then she appeased the squeals of her mind. Her mind was restraining and strict, but comfortable and familiar. Yet, she always had the option of drawing. Turns out her fear of words won’t allow her to express herself via tongue, but that won’t stop her hands. She wasn’t going to let the usual safety of apathy jump in, make itself comfortable, and stay for a while. To grow and take up all the room, leaving no space for choice. Even if a pencil and paper weren’t as loud as words, they allowed her to feel heard. Pam glanced at Jim then pulled out her notebook. 

Jim opened his locker the following week. His backpack was heavy on his shoulders, and he was eager to remove some weight from them. He placed the bag on the floor with a thud and kneeled. He pulled open the lock to drop off his spelling book and subtraction flashcards. He swung the door open, and his eye caught a small, white piece of paper. 

••

Her stomach rolled, squeezed, stretched, and shrieked. Pam’s tummy was never as sensitive as Penny’s, but her tummy was picky. It refused even the sight of food at school. It wasn’t the food that made her mind fill with thick, vacuous fog. It was the eyes. The eyes surrounding her, searching for her next mistake and waiting to humiliate her. Shades of blue, hazel, brown, and green seemed to all be on her, yet her peers’ faces not even facing her. She wanted to remain inconspicuous, to blend in with the walls and get lost in the sea of students. Her mom had meticulously packed her an array of choices and options. Goldfish in a small ziplock bag and blueberries in a plastic container. It only made her tummy twist more to knows she was upsetting her mom who desperately wanted her to eat her lunch. Yet, she felt as if the whole world was watching her, everything seemed to be zoned in on her. The minute she lifts the container or crackled the zip lock bag, it felt as if the noises were overwhelming and squealing from attention. It seemed as if their eyes searched for a mistake and failures. Waiting for her to screw up, then broadcast it to the world. Eating seemed like a straight path to messing up in every corner. As if a nibble could be held to her forever. Her mind set an alarm off, cautioning her every move. The ball of hunger that once sat in her stomach at each mealtime stopped coming for lunchtime, as it learned that it would not be appeased. The worry of chewing wrong or too loud was too great, interrupting any calls and rumbles from her stomach that were desperate for a bite. The truth was, no one was watching her. Except someone was. 

••

Jim carefully straightened out the edges of the paper, revealing the image drawn. It was a sketch of two swings. The swings were drawn in motion, one being held back as the other rushed forwards. Yet, they were in harmony. One holding back words, with another full of anecdotes and thoughts, openly shared without restriction in perfect accordance. The drawing was monotone, yet his eyes filled in eye space with the color of the scene, bringing it to life. The swing pulled back was drawn stiff and with tight lines, the forward one with looser, braver graphite lines. 

Jim knew then, that just because Pam was comfortable in her silence, it didn’t mean she wanted to be next to silence. He noted his mistake, and made a mission to fix it in any tiny way he could.

••

Pam sat down at lunch the next day, keeping her eyes locked on her fingertips which were shakily flattening each wrinkle in her skirt. Jim’s eyes met her for a brief second, the contact shattering as her mind reeled. He averted his eyes quickly as he caught onto her discomfort. Yet, he continued to walk towards her. Fractions of Pam argued about their hopes of the approaching peer. As the sound of his footsteps increased, so did the sound of her heartbeat. 

Jim sat once he saw that she approved of his choice of seating in the cafeteria. He placed the tin lunchbox onto the table gently, avoiding any loud noises. He unclipped the hinges, to reveal his lunch. Set in the center, cushioned by his sandwich and an icepack, was a container of mixed berry yogurt. He had checked for it twice since putting it in the box to reassure himself it was there and to continue with his plan. He lifted the colder-than-room-temperature yogurt with shiny, exaggerated berries on the front and placed it in front of Pam. 

Pam wasn’t sure what to think or do. Not surprisingly, she was at a loss for words. Her eyes glazed over the shiny yogurt lid and looked at the plastic container in front of her. “Mixed Berry” was written on it in fancy writing. Her stomach was shocked out of its summersaults by the kind action. Her small hand wrapped around the yogurt, and she slide her thumb gently across the berries, tracing them with her fingers. She looked back to Jim, searching the iris of his eyes for an answer. 

“It’s yogurt!” Jim explained, seeing the questioning look. 

Pam gently pulled off the metallic lid. The creamy yogurt looked tempting and shiny. The yogurt had small pieces of raspberries, strawberries, and blueberries. It was all in a perfect swirl, creating a light shade of purple.

“I noticed you don’t eat… but if you have yogurt, you don’t have to eat! It’s soft so you don’t swallow. Then you don’t have to be scared,” Jim said softly, looking to make sure no one could overhear him.

Pam pressed her teeth into her tongue and her eyes got round. He had thought it through. He had cared enough to bring it to her. It was for her. She ventured, her surprise and delight triumphant over the anxiety. She lipped thank you. She mouthed it, her front teeth holding her tongue to prevent the escape of noise, but her mouth formed each letter. It was soundless, but conveyed an emotion.No sound came, but her sealed lips opened, allowing her to express her gratitude. The keeper of her words was furious, but calmed by the reassurance of the lack of eyes on her, as she frantically searched for any upon her. The lock on her words was strong, but the keeper was getting worn out, exhausted by the energy the fear was demanding. The keeper stood strong, but if looked at hard enough you could see the keeper’s lip quiver, distressed by the thought of the words one day rebelling. She had never even had the urge to mouth something, never enough desperation to say something. Yet, his gentle eyes and smooth voice calmed the screaming alarms. She hadn’t spoken, but she could see through his eyes that it was enough. 

Jim’s smile spread from ear to ear, his white teeth gleaming. The sun shone on the auburn strands of Pam’s hair. It was light, but noticeable if Jim looked for a few seconds. Her cheeks were a light pinkish, as she return the smile. His heart fizzed with each of her smiles, getting bubbly with excitement. He was stunned to see her mouth open to mouth something, but not surprised to hear it be speechless. He wasn’t disappointed, he was only pleased to see her pleased with herself. He was a kid who enjoyed the little things in life. He was pretty sure this was his favorite little thing. He replayed it over and over again on the walls of his eyes when he closed them. Soundless or not, he was in pure bliss. 

••

The brief moment of speechless courage dissipated swiftly, anxiety coming in as a storm was harsh rain. The storm was impending, reminding her of the reality. The penetrating rain-soaked what once felt accomplished. It poured, weighing her thoughts while soaking them through, like a wet, heavy towel compared to the weight of a dry, fluffy towel. The heavier the worry, the longer it stubbornly stuck. 

The yogurt no longer looked appetizing, and the familiar feeling returned to her stomach. 

“You don’t have to have it,” Jim whispered encouragingly. 

She caught her breath again, as the pressure to please was removed. She had bitten the inside of her cheeks and could taste it. She wanted so much to show Jim that she could do it. She was just too weak, too scared of humiliation.

Although, Jim never stopped bringing the yogurt. He brought it every day.

First days felt hard. No, impossible. To Pam, first days felt like working on a drawing, only for someone to pull it from her halfway through, no matter how comfortable she was or how much she liked it. They made her anxiously fold her arms over her stomach and her throat feel like it was closing. As if someone took a string and tightened the sewn thread on her lips and threw a frog into her throat while they were at it. It made the rains of anxiety bring flash floods.

Yet, Jim was here. He didn’t try to remove the rain, didn’t fight it or get upset when she didn’t use an umbrella. Instead, he helped her dry her off, with her shivering from the soaking anxiety, and reassured that the damage of her quietness was not sufficient enough for him to be upset. He sometimes brought it to a drizzle, panic still rushing through her but no longer torrential. 

Pam was terrified, no appetite for her meals and no sleep. Helene knew her daughter had a hard time as summer came to an end, but that never stopped her from being concerned. Pam was sleepless and hungry, only making her anxiety take advantage of her vulnerability. Yet, this year Pam was was able to take a few deep breaths. Pam was still overly tense and alert, but knowing Jim would be there boosted her tolerance of the uncertainty. If he was there with her, he had enough courage to share. Helene knew Jim leaving more than just an erasable pencil mark on her, he was leaving permanent marker. 

School was never easy for Pam, she associated it with isolation and anxiety. She was invisible to everyone, but Jim must have found a way to see the invisible ink. He found a way to read the invisible ink with the words unspoken. 

••

Pam clutched Helene’s fingers as they walked through the school and Helene could feel her fingers begin to tingle with numbness. The consistency of the school and the familiar place soothed her nerves, but the new teacher and classroom was an overwhelming thought for second grade Pam. Helene had to leave quickly, before Pam become anxious for the separation and Helene still had to take Penny to the first grade classroom.

They eventually reached room 107, Mr. Flenderson’s room. Pam tightened her grip, making Helene wince. She pulled a tentative Pam through the door frame and allowed the two to take in the room. It was bland, a pale blue color with posters of maps and numbers. It was taunting her thoughts with the simplicity that her complex, nervous thoughts lacked. The desks were neatly lined into rows. 

“Um… hey. I’m Mr. Flenderson, I guess,” an awkward voice said behind them, Pam jumped a little as her already alert mind triggered. Helene look up from Pam to see Mr. Flenderson.

“Hello there! I’m Helene and this is Pam,” Helene answered, “I’m sure you recall the meeting we had to discuss her talking habits.”

“Ah yes, Pam! Nice to meet you. The boy of there, Jim requested that he be seated next to you.”

Pam’s eyes followed his line of sight to see the tall boy with brown, messy hair. His parents already left and he was chatting away. Next to him was a girl with brown, straight hair, with it done perfectly. 

Once Helene saw Jim, relief circulated through her. She placed a hand on Pam’s shaking shoulder and she spun around. 

“Go sit with Jim, ok kiddo? I got to take Penny now,” Helene whispered.

The rain of anxiety came in the form of salty tears at the tip of her eye. Helene’s heart broke a little, but she knew the faster she left the easier it would be. She kissed Pam on forehead and promptly gave a look to Mr. Flenderson to motion she was leaving then tipped her head to Pam to get him to keep his eyes on her. She reassured herself that the office had her number if Pam panicked.

Pam used the end of her sleeve to wipe the tears verging from her green eyes. She wanted to be sure no one could see them, emotions meant attention. She used every ounce of courage stored in her small self to take steps to the two at the desk. She pressed her nails into her sweaty palms. 

“Pam! I missed you!” Jim threw his arms around her. They hadn’t seen one another over the summer since Jim went to his grandparents back in Philly over the summer, and Pam was unable to ask for his number so the two could stay in touch. At first Pam stiffened and stepped back at the touch, then relaxed into it. He pulled himself from her, “this is Karen! She just moved here, cool right?” 

Pam tensed, rubbing strands of her honey gold hair between her index finger and thumb as Karen looked to her. Her mind felt heavy with surging thoughts and she crossed her ankles as if to regain her balance. 

“Nice to meet you,” Karen mumbled, looking Pam up and down. Pam gave a response of silence.

“Hello..?” Karen prompted.

Pam looked at her new sneakers. They were white and simple. She avoided the eye contact, contact only made her eye sight blurry and her lip get chewed up. Pam could feel the judgment, she didn’t need to see it in her eyes. 

Jim let them stand in a few second in silent then spoke up, “ok, we need to plan a new prank. Ya know… to initiate Dwight into the second grade. Maybe a helicopter could come get him…” 

Karen stood stern, her face offering no insight. Pam felt a familiar shiver run through her, but it was interrupted as Jim gave Pam a warming “classics Jim” smile.

Pam held the straps of her backpack, rocking herself soothingly from foot to foot.

On the playground, one of the swings had gotten fuller momentum, leaving the other behind. 

Recess came about fast. Pam watched the clock closely, waiting for it to reach ten. She was finally glad that Micheal had spent three weeks teaching them about clocks. It shouldn’t have taken that long, but he doubled the time it took to teach pretty much anything through his exaggerated analogies and out-of-pocket tangents. 

The second hour of the day was spent getting the correct school supplies and children chatting with the students adjacent to them. Jim seemed occupied talking to Karen, so Pam spent time sketching. Her mind kept flashing a banner of doubt, telling her Karen was more engaging for Jim anyways. Pam was sure she had just as much to say, to share and entertain with, but her only method was a paper and pencil. Karen had words that seemed to be a lot stronger. Her method was eye-catching, keeping your attention for a little, but Karen’s approach didn’t just catch your eyes, it called for them. Her natural way and indistinguishable voice and tone made it easier to know it was she who was speaking with passion and purpose. Karen was a magician with words, twisting and changing them to fit each situation easily without hesitation. Pam’s mind grew green with jealousy of the ease Karen had with speaking her mind. Her mind was covered with sage green vines, growing via the rains of anxiety. Jealously was new and frightening, yet a relief from her persistent usual feelings. Words came so effortlessly to Karen, they raced to the tip of her tongue and then pranced out smoothly and calmly. Pam’s words were held back by ropes, desperate to escape with her tongue rough and speechless. 

Jim hadn’t forgotten her, despite how much Pam’s catastrophic thoughts wanted to convince her that he had. The raised eyebrows and looks were consistent and unfailing. He would shrug at any of their teacher's strange remarks or look to Pam anytime Dwight raised his hand. Which was often. 

Yet, Karen and Jim had something in common that Pam lacked. 

••

Eventually, recess came and the apprehensive children lined up in record time, primarily because of Mr. Flendreson’s approach compared to Micheals. Once in a line, Pam was able to take a breath and a moment to take into account who was in her class this year. Her eyes shifted to Dwight, who seemed to always be in her class. He coughed but covered it up quickly which only made Pam smirk, remembering his claims about Shrute’s being immune to everything. He glazed over his peers to reassure himself that no one had taken notice and Pam only averted her eyes to her usual location to allow him to be saved from humiliation. Her eyes found their way back to their most comfortable spot, on her white shoes. Her eyes seemed drawn there and felt relaxed enough to blink once she was staring at her shoes. She was happy to prevent Dwight from embarrassment, knowing her aversion to the feeling. 

The children found their way to their usual spots in the park. Dwight made a beeline to the fire pole, Roy to the basketball court, and the majority of the other kids to monkey bars or slides. Throughout first grade, Jim and Pam would dash to their self-assigned swings, smiling the whole way over. The sun would make the black rubber burn their thighs and the metal chains warm their fingers. 

Pam’s eyes frantically searched for Jim, she was tentative to take off on her own. She enjoyed the routine of it and was resistant to the thought of change. 

Pam stood still, searching for Jim. Eventually, her eyes fell on Jim, but Karen was right next to him. The two walked, laughing and exchanging jokes and sarcastic comments. Their stride seemed to be in sync as the two took each step, making their way toward the playground. Pam held herself back, observing meekly as they walked by her. 

Jim sat on his usual swing, and Karen sat on Pam’s. 

The buzz was back. The bee stung her, injecting unwelcome emotion. The buzz of her fears was coming to life. It stung her heart, and a single salty tear stung her eye. 

She wasn’t upset, just scared. As if her safety net had been pulled off of her without warning then she was thrown into the sea of uncertainty. She knew she couldn’t tolerate the oncoming waves. The spray of the ocean escaped through her green eyes. She turned, facing away from the two on the swings. She bite her tongue to ground herself, then sat behind the large oak tree and pulled her knees up to her chin. She wanted to make herself smaller, less noticeable in her moment of vulnerability. She shook with each breath as her mind screeched with alarm of her not being good enough yet yelling at her for being dramatic. 

••

The tree protected her, but not well enough. Her peer always kept a steady eye on her, watching out for her. He watched her small figure begin to collapse into itself. He watched her eyes frantically search and her lips stay sealed. He could see her auburn curls peek from the bark of the tree. They were vibrant in comparison to the blank of the rough bark. 

Her peer hadn’t talked to Pam and didn’t know her much at all. Yet, the two seemed to have an unspoken agreement, each of them looking out for the other even when it was just looking away.  Shrute’s never blinked. They don’t need to rest their eyes. Their eyes are made of steel. He didn’t miss her look at her shoes or the fingers she held up for him when he raised his hand even though he did not know the answer to the addition problem. 

••

Pam heard boots crunching against the mulch. She spun around the see Dwight coming her way. She wanted to compose herself, but her breathing only seemed to increase with each footstep. The rains were coming sheets, pressing her with anxious fears. She was taken aback, unaware of his reasoning for approaching her. She knew Dwight but had never considered him someone to come to her. 

He slowly lowered himself to her level, folding his legs at his knees and sitting on the heel of his boots. Pam tensed. 

“It’s ok. I’m here. You don’t have to say anything,’ Dwight reassured.

She relaxed, breathing in a deep breath through the gaps in her clenched jaw. He had taken an umbrella and held it over her, slowing the oncoming panicked rain. His presence was comforting and reassuring and she felt calmer with his acceptance of her lack of voice. They sat in silence for a few seconds until Dwight looked up at her. 

“Did you get cooties?” Dwight asked sincerely, “I don’t have cooties, Shute’s don’t get them. Tell… no wait… draw who gave them to you and I’ll find them.”

Pam only pressed her teeth into her lip and gently put her face into her palms as another tear formed in the corner of her eyes. 

“Hey, Beesly… I’ve been planning our next prank,” Jim whispered, interrupting Pam’s thoughts. Her eyes softened and released a few wrinkles of tension. She perked at the sound of his voice, relieved by the invoking of her name. He pronounced each letter gently, holding the “y”. She loved the tone, the ring that was indistinguishable from him. It was soft and a nudge that he hadn’t totally forgotten her.

 He still held the LED light that allowed him to see the writing via the invisible pen’s ink of Pam’s speechless expression, he just sometimes forgot to flick it on. She felt as though he was realizing sometimes it was a lot of work to squint and decipher the invisible ink when he could simply read a bold, assertive sharpie. Karen was easy to read and effortless to talk to.

Pam got excited at the mention of a prank, her veins flowing with a new emotion. Jim pulled out the notebook and labeled it with sloppy block letters. Jim began to spew out prank plans, getting more amplified as the list went on. Pam gave quick, fleeting nods, meekly agreeing with them all. Jim’s eyes flash a look of worry once he noted her agreement and simply pushed the notebook towards her, jostling her perfectly lined-up pens.

Pam picked up the pencil, opening every excess filing cabinet her mind had saved. She wondered through, searching for one to impress and excite Jim, yet she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Her mind could only take her back to the oak tree. Where Dwight gave her swing a push of reassurance and comfort. He took the chains of isolation on the swing of courage and pushed her forward. She wouldn’t let herself mess this one up. She drew a few boxes, then scribbled the words “Dear Future Dwight '' into them. This would be perfect. Sending him letters on sticky notes from his future self was simple yet thrilling. 

Jim’s eyes watched her draw. She drew meticulously, perfecting each line and corner, forming symmetrical boxes and neat letters. Once he could make out the words that she had written into the boxes, his face lit up. She was a genius.

“Can I join the party?” Karen whispered.

Pam’s eyes spun to see the source of the familiar voice to assure her suspicions. Jim shifted uncomfortably in his hard seat. He looked to Pam for approval, but he could only see sparks of doubt and worry in her eyes, giving no insight into her opinion on the matter. 

“Sure!” Jim answered.

“Can I see the notebook?” Karen mumbled, glancing at the notebook under Pam’s right forearm. Pam’s eyes were glazed over as her mind spun. Jim could see her thoughts frantically searching. 

“Pam… the notebook,” Jim said gently. 

Pam gingerly pushed the notebook across Jim’s desk to reach Karen’s. She felt as if she had just given a piece of herself to someone else. 

Karen’s looked over it, then began erasing.

••

Helene was familiar with Pam’s habits and tics that notified her when she was in distress. Pam was never huge on school. It was never a place of socializing or fun for her, it was merely a place that hijacked her nervous system and clouds her thoughts. 

When Pam was younger, her protests and resistance made it clear on her opinion on attending school. The comforts of repetition and routine created a safer environment for her to progress in as the years advanced. She began to come home less overcome with exhaustion, her mind rolling to a stop sign after speeding way too fast on the highway of her mind, her thought police which challenged the irrational never seemed to succeed. Helene first wrote it off as the change in meds her daughter was receiving but began to gather pieces that pointed towards the introduction of Jim into her class. Her psychologist who was assisting in her treatment even noticed a gradual change in her demeanor. 

The second half of first grade was filled with fewer sniffles from the back seat of the car and nails that finally had been allowed growth with the lowering in chewing on them. The white tops of her nails were visible, they were still short but the curved white line along the edge of the nail not under the nail bed was making an appearance. 

The key was the hair clip. Since Pam had inherited the frizzy, goofy hair she had used it as a method of blending and covering. One day, she came home with a soft purple barrette. She was radiating excitement as she showed it off to her family members as if it was her most prized possession. She said Jim had given it to her. 

The hair clip became a look into Pam’s confidence in herself. When she felt brave enough to pull back the frizzy hair and reveal her big green eyes, she would pull it out from the second drawer in her nightstand where she always kept it safe, and have Helene pull the front sections of her hair into a half-up half-down look. Her auburn hair would be golden as the sun gently reflected it and the curls lay flatly on her back. The clip was a step for Pam. Although her hair was still frizzy and mundane, it was courage that let her take on the world without the security of the red curls in front of her eyes, allowing her to see the world in smaller increments. 

Yet, now she was wearing the clip less often. 

Pam woke up at three in the morning. Not because of the loud beeps of the alarm clock or the gentle rising of the sun, but because of her apprehension. The type of excitement mixed with nerves for the upcoming day that ignited the built-in alarm in her mind. She woke up, put on her favorite pink jacket to avoid the crisp Autumn air approaching them, and pulled on her white sneakers. She gently pulled open the drawer on her nightstand and shook her mom until she groaned sleepily. 

“Hun, why are you up so early?” Helene mumbled groggily. 

“It’s field trip day!” Pam cheered loudly but quietly enough to not disturb her sleeping father. 

It took a moment for it to register in Helene’s mind which was still off in dreamland. Pam had a class trip today. Usually, trips gave Pam intense anxiety, to the point of feeling unwell. She would feel a shiver at the visual image of a yellow bus with the children smashed in and the notion that she should talk when in the presence of adult figures who may not be aware of her condition. Most of the time, she stayed at home and kept herself busy with small chores and aligning her plushies to avoid any fear of missing out. 

Helene was tentative to send Pam, but Ms. Flax was going to be a chaperone. 

Although, it was only a trip to the art gallery of Scranton. 

••

When Mr. Flenderson announced that there would be a field trip, Pam was already frantically planning excuses to have her mom tell her teacher so she could avoid the event in its entirety. 

“We are going to um… a… oh! An art gallery!” Toby announced. 

Jim and Pam simultaneously looked at one another, their green eyes in accordance with satisfaction with the location. After seeing him so preoccupied with Karen, she hadn’t gotten to look into those eyes and see an open door into the thoughts of Jim Halpert. Her door was guarded, yet somehow Jim had fumbled enough with the lock and began to find a golden key, it was now only a matter of twisting and turning it for it to work. 

Jim shook with excitement, his mouth moving with speed and his hands making motions to go with every word. Pam had her notebook in from of her, gently sketching her visions of the art galleries. 

The way Jim was so thrilled to see something so close to Pam be brought to life made her stomach flutter. It wasn’t the usual moths in her tummy that flew around, agitating her tummy and making her wince at the discomfort it gave her. It wasn’t the moths that flew in an erratic and panicked pattern, but rather it was gentle butterflies. They were winged with fragile, pastel-colored wings and flew in a soothing, flown pattern. It made her tummy feel funny, but it was the good kind. 

••

The children gathered onto the bus, one by one. Karen was attached to Jim at the hip, ensuring her seat next to him. Pam wanted to sit with him and the thought of sitting with someone else who didn’t know her made her fingers go numb. To her, everyone in her class felt as if they were a stranger. Submissively, she watched as the two made their way to the bus, giggling the way there. She situated herself in the back corner. That was the only time having a number of children that was not even came in use for the young girl. 

As the bus rumbled along to the destination, Pam kept her eyes on all the trees through the windows, her mind processing it all in terms of sketches and drawings. 

••

Once off the bus, the children got into groups of four with their chaperones. 

“I need Pam, Karen, Jim, and Dwight,” she heard Ms. Flax's voice request. 

Pam made her way to the blond, her rain coming back to a drizzle at the sound of a familiar voice. 

••

All Pam knew was that if she wasn’t already speechless, the art would have left her speechless. The expressions and emotions created by the simple strokes of paints using warm and cool colors piqued her interest. Her mind invested itself in each of the marks of color on the canvases, analyzing what the artist was trying to convey. 

Her eyes swelled in awe at the techniques used for each of the pieces. 

Jim loved watching her eyes trace over each line created by the artist, her tongue showing a tiny bit between her lips, revealing her focus. She was so quiet, yet her actions conveyed her admiration for the pieces on the white walls. 

Pam stopped at a watercolor of a small office building. 

Pam absolutely loved the painting. The strokes of paint seemed flowing and free as if they weren’t concerned with the course the water may take them in. They never resisted the uncertainty and instead chose to blend with the other colors, leaning on them for security. She loved the messy and imperfect lines that only enhanced the beauty rather than take away from it. The gentle blends of color were soothing, no abrupt stops or changes. The watercolor painting spoke more words than a voice could. 

Dwight had seen the way Karen snuck in her moves. He watched her erase on the paper, and he turned red with frustration. He wasn’t mad at Karen, he actually really enjoyed talking with her and being around her, but the way she took advantage of the weak made him angry.

Dwight would never consider Pam a friend, yet she was a girl and girls were in need of protection. He knew it was his assumed duty to be a male figure of protection for her. Mose had taken years to talk, but it was because of some malfunction, not fear. Regardless, Dwight found himself feeling something for Pam. Absolutely not sympathy. Shrute’s don’t “do sympathy”. Obviously, Pam wasn’t weak, it was brave of her just to go to school in her position. Dwight honestly just wanted to make it easier for her, but he would never admit that… or that he had sympathy.

Dwight strongly made his way towards Pam.

“A long time ago, art was used to assert dominance,” Dwight whispered. 

Pam looked up, clearly confused. She stood still, the only movement was her lip quivering. Dwight walked away as if he were some mysterious creature, but then clumsily tripped on his own feet. It almost made her giggle thinking about his poetic ways being spoiled by his inability to walk. She knew he had good intentions, and it took a few seconds for her thoughts to slow down, pay attention to the yield sign and listen to what he said. 

She watched him make his way to Jim who was looking at another painting, but watching Dwight coming towards him. Through the shape of his eyebrows and the way they furrowed with false concern made it clear he was messing with him as he explained his problems with his recent beet garden.

••

The children piled onto the bus. Pam stood right next to Jim, straightening her knee caps to steady her shaking legs. They got on, with Dwight chatting away to Karen about his beets, stalling her. Pam got in after Jim, her eyes keeping track of each step she made as she neared the seat. She sat on the school bus’s worn down chair. Jim’s smiled spread across his face, his eyes glistening from the sun rays permeating the window. The two sat next to one another. 

Jim was thrilled to be sitting next to her. He knew he was lacking in being a part of their friendship, but Karen seemed to fill his mind with “if she wanted to be with you, she would talk to you” and “she never makes an initiative to be with you, why are you wasting your time?”. After a while he started to get nervous, he was an eight year old after all. It was too much for his inattentive brain. 

Today, her action she showed him she wanted to be with him, that the feeling of connection between them was mutual. That was all he was in need of to prove to himself that she really did enjoy his presence and wasn’t annoyed. It was the reassurance he was unaware he was looking for. She was always so shaky, it only made him more nervous that he made her anxious. Eventually, he realized she was shaky for excitement and finally stepping out of the glass box her mind put her in, taunting his ability to reach her. They understood one another, and the bus ride home was the best of his life. 

Every so often, he glanced back at Karen to check on her. She was clearly annoyed that passive Pam had pushed herself enough to take the seat on the bus. It wasn’t that Pam pushed and forced her way on, it was the way she silently slipped in, unnoticed until Karen found herself next to Dwight. Jim’s acceptance and lack of resistance made her mouth taste bitter with disappointment. Karen wasn’t really sure what to think. 

On the other hand, Dwight beamed with joy at Pam’s courage. Jim mimicked the feeling. Karen just sighed as Dwight shared about his brother new chicken named “Fear”.

Jim could tell Karen was sour, as if he could taste Granny Smith just looking into her brown eyes. He had already accepted that Karen would give him a long talk about it. His mom always told him Karen wasn’t a good friend. Jim had written it off as his mother being over protective. She always seemed over protective with Larissa and her friends. His mom was keen on convincing him that Karen was green with envy, and that her frequent mentions of “Jim, if you are my friend you can’t talk to her or else we aren’t friends,” was actually rather unkind. 

In this moment, Jim started to see it. Karen tuned out Dwight staring intently at the back of Pam’s gentle curls, pinned back with a shiny clip. He compulsively twisted his head around to make sure Karen wasn’t going to do anything irrational. He wasn’t sure why Karen had such a problem with Pam, but he assumed it was just her way of coping with any jealousies. Karen had moved schools plenty of times, always up and around. Having inconsistent friendships and surroundings was bound to cause her to try to latch onto something, even if it was a friend. Jim was glad to be a source of consistent routine for her, but he wanted more liberty in his friendships. Pam was clearly nervous, her lips in a tight line and her leg bouncing uncontrollably. Ms. Flax came over and kneeled to her level and whisper something quietly into Pam’s ear. Pam gave a nod, the sun making a sparkle on her gold stud earring as she let the sun get level with her earring. Ms. Flax stood up and promptly walked to the back of the bus. 

••

Pam’s keeper of words was loosing it. He was racing in circles frantically, pacing a fine line. He was trying to shove her courage back into the glass box he had previously built around it. Beads of cold sweat were forming and her eyes were glazed over in panic. Ms. Flax made a gentle eye contact with her and swiftly made her way. Watching her approach made Pam’s leg bounce faster. 

“You ok, Pam? What wrong, hun?,” she voiced her concern. “If it gets too much I’m at the back of the bus, ok?” Ms. Flax gave a soft pat on Pam’s thigh, then left. 

Pam gave nod, she could feel Karen burning a whole into her back, but she refused to give in. Or maybe she would give in. The twenty minutes back to the small school seemed to be tinned out for forever. Finally the view of middle school was in view, and her lungs remembered how to breath.

Helene was gracious to see her daughter in one piece when she came to pick her up. Penny was in the back seat, eagerly waiting to hear about her big sister’s day. Bill had gotten off of work early today, so he sat in the car in the passenger seat, analyzing the array of children in front of the school.

Pam was waiting until her name was called, then raced to her mom’s car. The adrenaline was flowing through her like the wind flew through her untamable curls when she swung on the freeing swing. She was eager to share, to brag about her courage and ability to cope. 

She was relieved to see the impact of her actions had very little consequence, but anxious at the thought of Karen’s look in her eyes which played repeat in her brain. Her brain had a habit of finding something that shook her and made her panicky then putting it on a DVD set on replay. The DVD was carefully made to remind her of what not to do and how to avoid any unwanted feelings. If Jim was around, sometimes the DVD would receive a scratch in it, giving her a break from the horrid film.

Her mind was set, she had reviewed each sentence of her story carefully, thinking of every vowel and sound she must make in order to share. She pulled open the door handle and gingerly placed her bag on the car floor. Helene loved how careful Pam was with everything, as if each thing was made or porcelain or glass. Pam never made big movements that caught attention or loud sounds that demanded eyes to look. Quietness followed her, a cloud of silence encircling her. The more she thought about it, the less Helene loved how careful Pam was.

••

Pam was settled in on her car seat, then scanned the car, triple checking the door was closed shut. She then noticed the out of place item: her father was in the car. She wasn’t sure what it was that made her feel dizzy around him, as if she couldn’t step wrong and her ears making a consistent ringing noise. She loved her father and his big, affectionate hugs. Yet, he made her feel tight. Her lips were pressed in a line, suddenly forgetting her prepared story. It was as if she got stage freight, her words floating away from her mind. They were still there and legible which only taunted her of what she could have had. 

Bill wasn’t harsh or quick-tempered. He was a traditional man and preferred minimal problems. His solution was to find a solution, push Pam to knock at the glass, refuse to give in to the comfort of the quiet. He wanted to skip over the easing her into it and rush to the finish line. Helene knew this was the way her husband viewed the situation, but wished she could show him that she wasn’t choosing not to talk. It was never a choice for her. 

She was physically capable, but mentally unable. It wasn’t a physical hurdle, but a mental one. Which is sometimes worse.

Pam still answered questions when prompted, her voice stunned back into her. She still calmly chatted, but not in the smooth way Helene got when she jumped in the car, squealing with a story that she had kept pinned up all day. 

Eventually Penny chimed in. Penny was an open book, a chatty kid with a lot to share. She loved Pam and kept her from the discomfort of the silence moment when Pam’s words were empty. She would rush in to take on the load for Pam, giving in to the compulsivity of Pam’s silence. Penny always knew Pam as quiet and Penny easily took the role of filling in the pieces meant for Pam. When the silence was too dense and heavy, pressing on their shoulders, she was quick to relieve it. In public, Pam was seen hiding in Penny’s shadow.

Pam took the time with the chatter of her family providing a white noise as she envisioned a brilliant white canvas, waiting to tell a story.

••••

He saw it at the dollar store on a small street in Scranton. It wasn’t that the object called Jim’s name, but that it called his name in how he would imagine Pam’s small voice to call him. There was an array of colors, mixtures of pastels, and deeper colors with ranging tints and shades. There were 24 spots, his favorite color being the gentle green that matched her eyes. At the bottom of the plastic dish was a small placeholder encasing a skinny, wooden paintbrush. The brush hairs were frayed from poor quality and the paints looked fake and cheap, but the sum of the purchase took a toll on the hard-earned money he has gotten working in the garden for his mother. After watching her relax, her tense muscles soften as she took in the watercolor, the image of her standing there was ingrained into him, but the image was of her- in watercolor. He held onto his new prized possession tightly the whole way home, marveling at each perfectly circle color on the plate.

The wind was not favoring one swing over the other, pressing a stronger gust to assist in the effort required to put the playground’s swing into motion. Pam’s swing was lower to the ground, where her tippy toes could reach the mulch if she stretched her calves far enough. It was in her comfort, not willing to chance that required a big leap. Her shorter legs meant more thought into each swing in hopes of catching up with the swing adjacent to her. Not much came easy to Pam. Jim’s swing was higher up, the number of links on the metal chain attaching it to the bar being lesser than Pam’s swing. He leaped on without a thought of what if and thrust himself into motion, his long legs giving him an extra push into the unknown of the air. The carefree smooth swinging of Jim seemed to only make Pam want to push harder.

••

Observing was always a strong suit of Pam. She noticed the meticulous details and the wordless words that float in the thin air between two people. It wasn’t long before she noticed the way Dwight smirked at Angela from across the classroom, Angela in her cat t-shirts and perfect skirts. It was easy to see the nerves that appeared in him when she approached, his words jumbling up as Pam’s words do in her mind but never making it out.

Angela was intense in nature with a stern face and emotionless face that seemed to warn off anyone who may want to mess with her. Pam had learned to avoid eye contact with her, her eyes always felt as if they were piercing into her if she looked at them too long. Yet, Dwight deserved to have a companion who may understand him… similar to a certain someone who understood her.

Angela was judgmental and standoffish, both traits that kept Pam loyally keep a far distance from her. She knew that rumors spread within the blink of an eye, but rumors require whispers that spread like wildfire and Pam couldn’t even muster the courage to mumble a word. She wanted to get it to Angela that Dwight talked highly of her, but Pam couldn’t.

Jim saw her ponderous look. He loved the way her eyes scrunched when she was focused, and the way her tongue peeked a small sliver of pink from the corner of her tongue. He pulled out the blue notebook, the source of communication. He cherished the light bulb that flashed on when her eyes were drawn to the notebook.

••

It was freeing. She sketched simple, predictable lines to form quick figures to resemble the connection between their two classmates with arrows between the two. A sloppy cat was sketched in graphite on top of the drawing of the girl, distinguishing her as Angela.

Jim loved the way her muscles relaxed with each line and she shoved her auburn curls with soft gold highlights behind her ears to prevent them from falling onto the paper. The way her eyes followed the lines, telling her wrist to relax to create any curves and gentle motions. Her drawing started the firm and dark grey, refusing to lighten up the pressure and embrace the chance of slipping up with a lighter, less predictable hold. She sometimes erased, trying to take back what she had communicated, but with Jim watching, she found ways to work around them and find ways to improve them without overthinking them. He could see the thoughts slow through the irises in her green eyes no longer frantically looking for something to launch her into motion, prepared for something to run from. Her shoulders were still tense, but not yanked up to her chin line. When she was unsure of what next line to sketch, she looked to Jim. He would nod reassuringly and that was all she was in need of. She always wore long sleeves as if to protect herself, but as she became immersed she rolled up her sleeves.

••

Jim formulated a plan quickly. He was a little taken aback at the thought of putting Dwight into a second-grade relationship… but it would set him up for fantastic pranks and Pam seemed invested in getting this for Dwight. He also bought something as a prank that would make a fantastic gift.

••

The bobblehead looked ridiculous. It had a dress shirt with overalls. A stern, Dwight face was plastered onto it. It bounced erratically upon a slight shake of the toy.

The wind was getting nippy, turning the children’s fingers blue and their cheeks pink from the cold. The streets were lined with strings of colorful lights and festive decorations creating apprehension for the upcoming holiday. Soon the over-the-top trees would be smashed into their living rooms with ornaments handmade in preschool and mickey mouse ornaments from Disney. The extravagant nature of the holiday seemed to creep upon them, taking any sense of routine and replacing it with preparation for family and old connections. The holiday brought pure joy to some and anxiety to others.

••

“So… I bought a little something that would be a perfect gift for Angela to give to Dwight. Though I must say, it is hard to part with this beauty…” Jim began.

The sparkle of the red and green string lights thrown onto the tree seemed to mock Pam. They lit up at the chance to spend time with relatives and join gatherings. It was as if they ridiculed Pam for her lack of festivity and excitement for the season, which was replaced with apprehension. The thought of disappointing relatives and the guilt of her lack of participation in the festivities made her stomach twist with tinsel wrapped around it, her mind jingle at a feverish pace, and feel confined as if she was wrapped in an overload of layers to protect her from the cold. 

They still had a few weeks of school before the upcoming holiday, and their class present exchange was coming up. 

Pam was never able to ask for certain gifts, so only special gifts were given to her by her mom. Often times her voice seemed to betray her in times of need, even when she had to use the bathroom in class or when she got a staple stuck in her pointer finger. She had stubbornly pushed back the tears and said nothing, resisting the waves of stinging from her finger. She remained silent despite the raging discomfort with the sliver of silver metal.

••

Jim had given Angela the bobble head, and her response was a scuff but if looked carefully a suppressed smile was seen. He looked over to Pam and made a gentle eye contact, keeping it gentle to prevent intimidating Pam. She lifted her hand and Jim gave back an air high five, loosening any tight air between the two. Her cheeks pinked and her shoulders came up in a shrug. 

••

Pam had worked on what felt like years on Jim’s gift. She handcrafted a comic book of Jim and his search for a teal teapot. She wasn’t exactly sure what inspired the plot, but she enjoyed putting her thoughts onto the paper. Usually, gift exchange day at school was spent in the back corner, color or reading by herself. This year, she was apprehensive to see Jim’s reaction to her gift. It was made of printer paper, with hole punched holes held together by a light blue, frizzy yarn. Her mother was thrilled to have her daughter eager to participate and was keen on helping her out and bring her plan into reality to the best of her ability, thus getting her supplies and helping her put the book together. 

••

Pam was wearing a pink sweater with light brown and pale pink Christmas trees on it and black leggings. Her hair was held back with her hair clip with a red, sparkly present bow her mom had put on it. Her gift was clutched protectively to her chest, wrapped neatly by her mother. The wrapping paper crinkled with the snowmen scattered on it as she held it close. 

Jim couldn’t wait to see Pam and give her his gift to her. He had bought the watercolor set a while ago, but had checked on it daily to ensure it was still in one and hidden from his older brothers. It was wrapped in a stripped red and green wrapping paper with sparkly gold lines separating each color. 

••

Mr. Flenderson was clearly trying to make the day festive and holiday filled, but it was only bland and monotonous. It wasn’t until recess, when he finished reading a Christmas book, that the children were able to talk and exchange gifts. There was a gentle frost on the grass and one of the coldest days of the year, so they refrained from having recess outdoors. The sky was grey and ominous with impending snow. 

Jim carefully placed the gift onto her desk, with the sun that was courageously peeking from the streaky clouds, making the gold stripes glitter from the rays, creating a radiant yellow. The gold reflected on the green and white of her twinkling eyes. Her fingers wrapped around the cold wrapping paper, stinging her clammy hands. He couldn’t help but noticed her hands shook from the joint of her wrist, itching to uncover the gift rather than from the overload of stimulation. 

••

Her fingers lined each circle of watercolor paint. She bite her lips together as if to keep herself in control and refrain for saying something. Her warmed eyes met his and the two children hugged one another, her tense body relaxing into the touch. 

There was a sub today. Mr. Flenderson had taken random, sporadic trip to Costa Rica. There had been an ironic lack of communication between the new teacher and Toby that made the situation becoming a labyrinth. 

Jim was flipping through the pages of his comic Pam had created, licking his pointer finger in between each page as if it was a thick textbook. He reread it on multiple occasions, convincing Pam he had some sort of separation anxiety from the sheets of paper. The papers were becoming crinkled from use and the string weak and frayed from from frequent turning. She loved watching his expression as his read it, his eyes tracing each picture she had drawn. He rarely actually read the words neatly printed onto the paper, explaining each situation. Every once in a while, he would push himself and read it aloud to Pam, pausing in between each word and analyzing each letter before allowing it into the open air. She loved having him read to her, it made her feel cared for.

It wasn’t until the beginning of second grade when Jim whisper what he held to be his biggest secret. He had dyslexia. It made a lot click for Pam, reasoned why he too was so attached to drawing to express his thoughts and why he preferred to draw in his notebooks with Pam rather than write the words. Words written or spoken seemed to hold so much value, but were so unnecessary. So much could be shared without them, something much deeper and more meaningful. Often times people take the words for granted, using them freely without a concern of their power. Words held power, but communication without them held truth. 

When Jim read or they were assigned something in class, Pam found herself reaching through the glass box of fear that surrounds her, liquefying a small hole to allow her to assist. She would sketch small images on his notebook or her notebook. His eyes lit up with the images as the gears in him processed it. The stretch of courage was worth to see light bulb flicker in his mind. Her keeper of words was firm, strapping her words in a straight jacket and tightening in the lock, but the other parts of her leaped at the opportunity to see how little words seemed to mean to Jim and how much could be shared without them. The two saw words in their own ways and both seemed to understand the limits words put on connection. 

••

Mr. Flenderson had left without warning, leaving Ms. Bennett as the substitute. It was around two weeks into school after Christmas break when Ms. Bennett was introduced to the class. She was strict, older woman with a serious demeanor and grey hair that matched her intense personality that was tainted by her southern verbiage. 

She was passionate about the children’s education and was determined to show what school was really meant to be to the young students. Her eyes were able to pick out the children who were going to need more work and pushing effectively. She wanted her class to have paramount statistics and prepare each child for their future, regardless of their age. 

Ms. Bennett told the class to open up their books to a certain page in the thick English textbook, her voice unwavering and firm. Her voice shook Pam, her eyes begging to avoid any contact with her. Pam was biting her lips and her shoulders fell in, her red hair creating a blanket over shoulders and her chest collapsed into her. The children were never fond of Mr. Flenderson, but were not thrilled with the feverish pace Ms. Bennett sought after. Pam found the frantic switch up unsettling and the change throwing off her sense of comfort and routine. 

“Uh, let’s see. Who should I pick? Pam, please read aloud page 9,” Ms. Bennett announced.

All the children in the class, whether they were new to the school or had been there since preschool, spun their heads to Pam in shock. Each knew that Pam was almost off limits and was never called on by the teacher. An unspoken rule that no child ever questioned. 

The eyes burned into Pam’s skin, stinging it sourly and igniting every nerve. It started in her chest, the drum of her heart picking a faster-than-normal beat. It spread to her lungs, they tightened and her breaths got shorter, then to her arms surging with adrenaline and the tips of her fingers tingling. It got to her legs, pumping with preparation to take off at a sprint if need be. The world felt hazy. The muscles in her calves were creating an excessive amount of energy, itching to take off as if she was about the race and was at the starting line waiting for the ‘go ahead’. It felt as though her skin was confining her, too tight and rubbing a friction with the desire to escape. Waves of panic flowed over her, a threatening tsunami oncoming. Sprays of the sea escaped through the corner of her eyes. Her lips were sucked in and pressed into by her teeth until they felt numb. The inside of her felt as if it was running of a marathon and the outside of her seemed to hold her back, making her claustrophobic.

••

Jim nearly lost it when Pam was called. He was stunned into surprise and glanced back and for between the teacher who was becoming impatient and Pam who looked ready to faint. For a few minutes, he thought she would. He could see the panic escalating and her breathing uncontrollably fluctuating. He wanted to run up and slap the teacher in the face, but he resisted his impulsive urges sternly.

Jim was a talker. He was extroverted and happy-go-lucky. Speaking wasn’t something that confined him and he enjoyed adding his opinions and thoughts into conversations. He loved explaining his views and interjecting himself into a conversation. He was a hand raiser with frequent participation in class, but reading aloud was something that was prevented to rescue himself from the embarrassment of his stumbling over each vowel and word. For the longest time he thought he was just too dumb to learn how to read without the words blurring together and letters swimming in waves of an uncertain ocean. The same ocean that crashed onto Pam violently was the same one his letters he was reading cannonballed into and went for a swim in, floating every way as he stared into the paper.

Yet, this time he threw every part of him that was unsure of his abilities he hurled onto the sand and pulled out a lifeline. He took the lifeboat with certainty and came to help.

“I’ll read it!” Jim announced, surprising himself more than he surprised Ms. Bennet. 

Pam was stunned. The burden and pressure of speaking was lifted, and her eyes were able to open after the weight that was forced upon them. She sat in her chair, shaking like an autumn leaf with her red hair covering her tensed shoulders. She felt air fill her lungs again, as she gasped with each breath. Her mind slowly pieced back her surroundings as her heart rate became consistent and her thought highway slowed to the speed limit. Jim had found a speed limit sign and stuck it into the ground, preventing an impending collision with the speed her thoughts were racing at.

That’s when she realized that he was reading. Her ears which were once filled with excruciating buzzes and echoes began to notice and take the comfort of Jim’s effortless tone. He was shifting his weight on his feet in between each vowel, his sneakers pressing into the floor. His eyes were glued to the paper but he had a calm that she couldn’t seem to finger. She felt selfish and guilty as she listened to him stumble over a few letters, her stomach clenched with apologies. His eyes flickered to her. His serene eyes had no anger, disgust, or disappointment. Instead, they were reassuring and cheerful. He seemed blissful at the opportunity to remove her from the situation, to give her a lifeboat.

His reaction to the situation puzzled her, the way he took the challenge with open arms and didn’t look back. He wasn’t scared, only content to help Pam and willing to take a chance.

Chances seemed to waver and be fleeting. They were unpredictable and unforgiving. Pam never found herself willing to jump into the ocean and see where the tide took her. She found herself fighting against the stubborn tide, too anxious to allow the chance to take its flow.

••

Jim really didn’t mind. Her mind taking refuge in the removal of words being expected of her was all that he was in need of to continue reading through the maze. The chance that he would slip up was high, but the chance that he would relieve Pam was even higher. Jim viewed chances as challenges to tackle and adventures to enjoy. He took them with open arms and jumped into them without touching the water to feel the temperature. He only checked that he brought his goggles which allowed him to see the situation clearly and refused to let anxiety and emotion cloud his views.

Pam noted his actions and let them replay in her mind, letting the memory play on speaker phone at the reception of her busy mind.

••
Helene was surprised at the way Pam took the sudden switch in stride, getting in the car at carpool, not in tears and shaky fingers that are unable to open the car door. Helene was prepared for a flight response to the situation especially considering all the changes and Pam’s infamous reaction to any change. She was quiet on the drive home until Helene let her curiosity prompt her.
“Pammy, how is the new teacher in your class? Are you getting along? Is she nice?”
“She’s scary, but it’s ok because Jim isn’t scared. Jim is super brave, so he said he has enough bravery to share it with me,” Pam answered innocently, putting emphasis on “super”.
Helene’s tight lips relaxed into a soft smile. She was really beginning to like this boy, Jim. She loved how much passion and excitement Pam had in her voice when she talked about him, which was usually soft and passive or not there at all.

••

School was still something that made her heart race increase with each mile they got closer and something that made her voice fail her. It was something that made her begin to sway back and forth to soothe the energy made in excess supply. Yet, I was also a place she felt less alone. It had the one person who understood and accepted. He never pushed her, but she encouraged her. He jumped on the swings with her, swinging as high as his tall legs could stretch him up to without any fear of falling. She mimicked his motion, trailing behind with tentative pumps of her legs allowing her to only reach half the height. Jim never became frustrated as she lagged behind, he never went behind her and pushed onto her back with his palms to force her into a faster-paced motion. He only grinned from ear to ear as he swung next to her, his eyes lighting up with the sun whenever she reached a little higher, even if it was a fourth of a centimeter.

She opened up the watercolors. She shuffled to the sink in the kitchen and pulled herself up onto the marble counter. Once her knees were pressed onto the counter, white from the pressure, she opened the cupboard and grabbed a plastic cup. It was a Kona Ice cup from Penny’s soccer game. It was a bright pink, and Pam filled it up with water to the brim the gently walked it over to the kitchen table, avoiding any escaping water drops. 

Pam gingerly picked up the paintbrush, dipping it into the water and then the powdery paint. Once the tip of the brush touched the circle of paint, the color morphed into a darker tone and a stickier paste consistency. The water overtook the once pastel, pale color and overcame the bland facade. 

Water. Paint. Paper.

Water. Paint. Paper.

The strokes slowly formed what was painted in her mind for safekeeping. 

She painted each brick shades of maroon and red. Little bushes formed with pressing of the brush on the paper came to life with each mark. As time went on, the bushes grew in confidence with the amount of space they were willing to fill in the empty, quiet space. 

Her hands seemed to flow with each stroke, creating shapes and colors as they touched the white paper. The paper once with no identity grew with personality and self-esteem. The colors swirled and softened as they mixed with and relied on one another.

••

The school was tiny for a school that held students from preschool to eighth grade. It had a hard time finding teachers to teach in the school and rarely had events to entertain the students because of a lack of funds. So when Jim saw the poster, he had to hold himself back from jumping up and down from the grey carpet with bubbling excitement. 

 

It was a white poster, but in block letters “art show” was written across it with a date below it. There was a paintbrush drawn next to the words to enhance the visual appeal of the poster. The bright colors caught any wondering eyes with the vibrant shades. 

As his enthusiasm grew, he imagined how thrilled Pam would be to hear this- he couldn’t wait to see her eyes get big with the pleasant surprise, allowing the sun to catch onto them and make the green of her eyes as vibrant as the poster. The sun always stayed in her bright eyes, dancing with passion when she was truly happy. He could see her shy, timid smile painted on the back of his eyelids when he let them close. He loved how she wrung her hands, firmly pressing into her palms when she was feeling anything positive but trying to suppress the emotion to keep her thoughts closed off with a dark tinted window that is sometimes seen on minivans or sunglasses. Yet, he managed to find a way to let her see the sun authentically through a clear glass, allowing her to express herself. He seemed to be able to see into her emotions, making a clear spot in her tinted glass box her fear had created to keep her confined from judgment and uncertainty. Her found a way to replace a part of tinted glass with clear, prescription glass that allowed twenty-twenty vision into her restless mind. He didn’t need her to speak a word to hear her thoughts.

••

The brown began to blend with the auburn paint as the water allowed movement. The colors went against water cohesion and spread through the bumps of the rough paper. The two lines formed parallel to one another were topped off with a joining line. Four grey curving zigzag lines fell softly from the top beam but stopped halfway, untouchable from the little lines of painted lush grass below them. A black semicircle with a grey ombre effect created by the paint to enhance the glare of the sun joined the first two grey lines to one another and the third and forth to one another. 

Pam knew it wasn’t perfect, but neither was she. She finally allowed herself to step back and take in the landscape she had painted. She allowed more mistakes and chances in this watercolor and she felt relief as she acknowledged wasn’t full of regret. Watercolor was unforgiving with mistakes, but she found herself able to create with the mistakes and enhance it even more than it looked initially. Taking a chance sometimes worked out and if it didn’t, she could find a way to paint the mistake into her life. Sometimes a little courage is all that is needed to take a chance. Jim had given her a lot more than a plastic container of watercolors. 

It didn’t take long to see the conflict Pam’s emotions were having. She worked hard to cover it, but it was like covering a table with a wash cloth rather than a table cloth. Her emotions often felt too unbridled to contain. 

When Jim came to her radiating excitement, her first thought was he thought of a new, enticing prank for Dwight. Instead, he calmed his frantic movements and matched it to his tone. He was an animated and witty talker, but subdued his tone when talking to her.

He could hardly contain the words as they spilled out without warning, yet smooth and even, “Pamtheresanartshow.” 

Pam raised an eyebrow, clearly bewildered by the incoherent sentence.

“Pam, there’s an art show. I think you should do it. Will you do it? It’ll be so cool! You’ll do it right?” Jim rambled.

She processed his words, remembering the poster Mr. Flenderson had shown them. The art show for the elementary school. It was small, but it meant she would have to show her art. That’s when her mind began to spin. Sharing her art meant people could judge it, and the what ifs seemed to bubble to the brim, like fizz when you first open a coca-cola. Showing her art meant showing a part of her vulnerability. Her tentative nod didn’t phase Jim one bit. He watched her chew on her lower lip, her nails subconsciously scratching at her cuticles. Yet, the green in her eyes danced. 

“I’ll come, so you won’t be alone. I’ll make sure nothing happens! Pinky promise!” Jim cheered, sticky his pinky finger in front of her.

Pam stood for a second, looking at Jim’s yellow sneakers, they were soft yet charismatic. When the sun hit them, she was pretty sure a car could see him at night. She fidgeted with a loose string on her sleeve, then looked back up. His smile was hopeful and bright, making the jump worth it.

She took his pinky, their small hands effortlessly gripping one another, making a sealed promise. She would do this. She looked up at Jim, her ginger hair glittering from the sun. Her eyes met his for a few seconds and she didn’t feel the shiver that usually came upon her and forced her to break the contact. 

••

Her paintbrush seemed to paint itself that night. She sat on her kitchen counter, indulging in the freeing strokes of the watercolor she was previously working on. It was finished, but missing something. She sat patiently waiting for it to jump out at her as she analyzed ever detail. It spoke so much more than her words could. She signed “Pam Beesly” on it, and put it next to her backpack in the mud room. 

Words aren’t really all that great. The sounds formed by the shape of a tongue and the movements of a mouth aren’t necessary. The only thing necessary is communication, and you don’t always need words to accomplish that. 

••

Everyone looks at a painting and sees just that- a piece of paper with colorful lines and shapes on it. Her painting was simple and bland, it was ridged and lacked courage and the ability to stand out. It was walked by and ignored, the silent painting never demanding attention. Even when someone looked at it, nobody actually cared to understand the meaning and the feeling of it. 

It was hard to understand something that never spoke or was expressive, but Jim never let that stop him. Everything was expressive if you looked hard enough. 

Her painting conveyed the freedom of the slowly thinning chains that forced her silence. The empty white canvas was no filled with companionship. The two swings were painted careful with the school building behind them. The swings swayed at an even height, never sharing words yet somehow knowing exactly how to match the other. The sun reflected off the metal chains, burning into the chairs the limited the swings. Jim slowly melted the chains that Pam’s mind had wrapped around her words.

••

Pam felt brave as she showcased her artwork, encouraged with the reassurance of her best friend. Very few took the time to examine it or see it properly, but all it took was one person to look for Pam to feel heard. 

••

As the afternoon progressed, the two shared looks and soft giggles. Helene watched from a far, her restless heart taking a break from the fretting for her mute daughter.

Mrs. Flax watched also, shifting her attention to Pam’s mother upon her arrival. “Someone’s finally found the key to her, Mrs. Beesly.”

“He’s  just gotta twist it and push to unlock it,” Mrs. Beesly answered.

The two shared warm grins and watched the tense girl’s nails that shown red at the tips placed loosely at her sides, not fidgeting and tight at her chest. Her eyes focused on the motions of her peer, unusually still and focused. Her chains almost broken, her bravery almost peeking. 

••

Jim was enchanted by the art surrounding him, and it made his heart beat faster as he looked at Pam’s. The two swings were unmistakably their swings. He loved her neatly written signature.

He was startled by a voice behind them, “Can I buy it?” Micheal questioned.

Pam spun around, shocked. Jim had to bite his tongue to hold back from giggling. Her eyes scrunched up in confusion. 

“How much?” He reiterated, “Can I put it in my classroom?” 

Pam gave a nod then glanced at Jim with excitement in her green eyes. He hoped it would last. 

That night, when his mom told him, he didn’t go back downstairs. Jim was frustrated and heartbroken. He felt as if he was abandoning her. 

His mom had made him his favorite meal- grilled cheese. Something was undoubtedly off. She smiled her smile she gave him when she felt she was walking on egg shells. She let him eat as he kept a steady eye on her. He could see her working up to say something. 

“Kiddo, we are moving. I know we just moved, but your father and I figured now is the time. Your father got a promotion in Philly, and we will be closer to family. I’m sorry to spring this on you.”

For the first time, Jim found himself speechless. He knew this was coming, Staples was talking about giving his father a promotion and his eldest brother was going to college. Since Scranton lacked any sort of reasoning education options, he would have to go out of state. 

••

Jim couldn’t get himself to tell her. Instead, he went to class and made jokes and played pranks. He watched Pam’s thigh where she scratched when she felt waves of panic turn into a pink shade rather that a mess of red. He talked and drew with her. Her voice was stolen but her warmness around him only increased. 

Every time he went to tell her, he felt his mouth go dry. Pam would look at him empathetically, which made his heart get tugged at more aggressively. She never spoke, yet he got her messages. He had the courage, but was afraid to ruin her courage he had worked so hard to help her earn for herself. 

He was going to tell her at lunch. The two sat at their self-assigned seats in the cafeteria. Pam was in her own anxious world when they sat, her brain shielding her from the noise and commotion. Her eyes were glazed as her worries stole valuable moments. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and she snapped back to reality. 

In his lunchtime ritual, he slid the mixed berry yogurt across the sticky table over to Pam. She never touched it, but he felt a role in supplying it for her. Every morning he took the same yogurt then put it in his lunch box with an ice pack, put it on the table for her, let it remain untouched, and put it back in his lunchbox to take home and put away. And repeat. At least he checked the expiration date.

Yet, she carefully opened the tin yogurt lid and dipped the plastic spoon into the smooth substance. The sound of the crumpling of aluminum made his whole world brighter. He watched her take a small, slow bite off the spoon then meet his eyes. He knew he was smiling like a silly idiot, but he didn’t care. Any plan to tell her quickly vanished, and he would never spoil this moment. 

••

After the second bite, Pam felt as if she was on television, as of every eye was on her. Once she saw Jim’s response, she smiled then licked the spoon one more time before throwing the almost completely full container out. She was frustrated not to get through it, but with Jim’s help she knew she could get further.

••

The month crept to the last day of the month. Boxes were piled to the ceiling and moving vans were parked at the curb of his house. The only remaining item in his room was a sleeping bag on the hardwood floors and a box of crayons. 

He felt responsible for leaving her. Each day her eyes got brighter and her breathing less quick. Sometimes she would mouth something. It felt as though someone has given him an Dundee- as Micheal calls them- every time. 

Jim spread out on the cold floor and found a blank piece of paper in his backpack. He would speak in Pam’s way this time. 

••

Pam could see the concern in his eyes. He wanted to share something… but just couldn’t. He was a professional of changing the subject and veering from any sort of relation to the summer. When she drew pictures of beaches and shores, his eyes looked startled. She felt as if they were surfing on that wave of uncertainty, but he gave her a push, allowing himself to swim and watch. He was no longer by her on the board. 

••

He wanted her to be understood, he pulled Dwight into their conversation, reassuring himself she would still have someone. Every once in a while, a teacher such as Ms. Flax would glance at them through the doorway while taking their class to recess and give him a knowing look. 

He was balancing a fine line, he wanted to help Pam. He knew telling her here would cause a probable panic attack. He could imagine her shaking as he carefully announced where he was moving. A school building with all the eyes was no place for her to experience that. He somehow always knew how to think ahead for her sake. 

••

Pam was getting apprehensive as Jim’s inattentive nature increased. He seemed to look at her backpack every minute. She knew her backpack wasn’t very exciting, it was a muted, pale pink. 

••

Recess couldn’t have come any slower. Finally, as Pam silently put away her pencils in a meticulous color order, he slipped his paper in the top pocket of her backpack. He had never been as talented as Pam with art, and he wasn’t sure how she always used it to express herself. The words he had to shared seemed too big for her to hear though, and he wasn’t prepared to put her in a situation that would cause her such distress. She loved art, so what better way to share his own words?

••

Jim was the first called out to carpool. They would be leaving that night. His car was packed full with cardboard boxes and road-trip snacks. His siblings were packed in the back, giggling and flailing their arms at one another. 

He hugged Pam, then dashed into the car. He glanced back at her one more time, her hair neatly pinned back half up- half down. Pam stood confused in the busy classroom with the untouched paper weighing down her backpack.

Pam’s mind flashed each second of the day thoroughly, pin pointing every moment that seemed off. The slideshow shuffled through each happening, until she remembered the white sliver she had seen as she quickly zipped her bag close as the freeing school bell had rung. She was suspicious of the paper, but anxious to enter the safety of her car so she had simply brushed it off.

Her backpack was swung from her shoulders and fell onto the speckled carpet with a thud. She yanked the stubborn zipper, apprehensive to feel relief and prove her doubts wrong. Inside her backpack in front of her communication notebook was a neatly folded piece of white paper, with the word “Jim” scribbled on in a rushed fashion. It was written in crayon but had been retraced multiple times to fill the inconsistencies of the waxy crayon. Her gut twisted with a wanting for reassurance as her shaking fingers took a corner of the paper and began to unfold it gently. She gingerly pressed the paper to flatten it then allowed her eyes to process it for only half a second. 

A messy sketch of a Philly cheesesteak. At first, she almost giggled. He hated those with a passion, he constantly complained about the existence of it. The comedic image flowed into a drawing of a square with slanted lines and poorly formed right angles. Above it, a sloppy triangle and door smack in the middle of the square. Undoubtedly it was his interpretation of a house. A red arrow was carefully drawn emerging from the doorway. Suddenly it clicked. She could feel the trepidation rising in her chest.

Pam compulsively turned the paper onto the back, where a careful note was written, gudbye Pam, always hav curage.

A rebellious tear slipped from the corner of her eye and fell onto her right sneaker. She couldn’t cry here. Too many people, she had to find Jim, he would help her. She wanted to shut off the panic like a light switch, the way she turned off her voice to keep herself safe. Suddenly it all came crashing onto her.

Her feet screamed to escape. It felt as if she was floating, reality escaping her grasp. A tornado chased away the sun, spinning and tightening around her lungs, stealing any breaths of air. Her eyes refused to focus, only able to concentrate on the images inside her mind, as if they were able to roll back and see the inside of her mind. Hands clung to her auburn hair, nails digging into her scalp. A cold liquid stung her fingertips, the red blending in with her hair. Her thoughts were intangible and her body shook uncontrollably in a seizure like way. Surges of adrenaline pumped through each vein, tingling with a need for motion. 

Her chest felt like someone was firmly exerting pressure onto it. It had sharp, surging pains. Her heart was wild yet caged by her rib cage, aimlessly running into the walls that contained it.

I can’t. 

How can I cope without him?

I can’t.

Was this a heart attack?

I can’t. 

I’m alone.

I can’t.

Can’t.

Can’t.

Can’t.

I can’t do it.

A faint voice bounced and vibrated in her throbbing brain, wracking her frantic, windy mind. It interrupted the spiraling thoughts.

“Pam.”

The timid yet stern voice repeated, “Pam.”

••

Angela wasn’t sure what to do. She was placing her cat water bottle into her bag when she heard sharp, spastic breathing. She pulled her planted feet from her spot, forcing herself to approach the other girl. Pam’s face was soaked with tears, her body failing her and collapsing as if it lost all scaffolding. Angela whispered her name to ground her, but Pam’s panic overran any sense of reality. Pam looked so small. 

“Calm down!” Angela begged, but her interruption was fruitless.

Angela urgently scanned the empty classroom for teachers and peers. Only Dwight remained as most of the kids had been picked up in the carpool or took advantage of the bus option. 

In a last resort, she stretch her hand into the erratic traffic jam of anxiety and touched Pam’s stiff shoulder, yet was given a violent flinch in response. Mr. Flenderson was no where to be seen, he was probably taking a student to their car. His presence was merely an expressionless one too, he would be at a lost then try to find a manual of some sort. There’s no manual on panic attacks.

Dwight stood near, watching emotionlessly, clearly unaware of how to act in the situation, despite his constant paranoia. Suddenly, his voice which was usually monotone and unwavering squeaked into the chaos, “She’s gonna faint.”

Angela looked at the hyperventilating girl and saw Micheal from the sliver of clear window in the wooden school door. “Get Mr. Scott, Dwight!”

Dwight sprung into action. This was something he could do to help, even if his pepper spray had to remain untouched.

••

Pam could hear the commotion around her but her body seemed to be separate from any logic, searching for a solution to the void of uncertainty her friend once filled. She was now on the floor, knees rug burnt and arms wrapped around her stomach as if to keep them from bursting from her skin. She was dizzy and the tornado was making her go spin until she was nauseous. She couldn’t think, her thoughts were red. Now they were black.

I can’t. 

Everything was black.

Alone.

Her world was quiet. As if she turned off the sound. Yet, she understood without the sound. 

Her eyes opened, and the school nurse was bent next to her. 

Holly and Micheal were across the room, speaking in robot voices, trying to convince Angela to leave. Angela was stiff, her stubborn mind refusing to move. Her father honked the horn, impatiently waiting as Holly went out to inform him it would be a minute.

Every nerve in her screamed to fling herself into motion as she sat up quickly. The nurse frantically pressed on her shoulder, but she resisted the pressure that wanted her to take it slow.

Angela was refusing to budge, claiming as a safety officer she should be present. Once Pam had sprung up, she released a breath she would never tell she was holding. Angela’s eyes met Pam’s, but Pam didn’t let her eyes break it like usual. Pam felt as if she was watching a movie, not truly in her own self. The seconds of connection withheld a pithy conversation. 

For a minute, Pam missed the silence. It was just her. She was living her life in silence. The silence was comfortable but lonely. The connection between two people can strengthen without a spoken word, but it is only tangible when there is a voice. Pam was unsure which was favorable.

Once Angela had the chance, she was at Pam’s right side. Her thin smile showed a sliver of sympathy she worked so hard to constantly cover. The school nurse stood up to walk to Helene who had just entered the classroom. She had whispered something to Angela which was incoherent to Pam. Pam’s mind which was usually constantly spinning seemed to have shut off in the shock of panic. Her thoughts taunted her from a far with the feeling of control. Her frustration built up as her mind oriented itself. 

Angela slowly wrapped her arms around Pam. Angela let her walls fall as she held the sniffling girl, a soft whimper emerging every so often. 

“You’re ok, Pam. You’re going to be ok.” Angela hushed.

Pam wanted to say so much. The tip of her tongue was pressed to the roof of her mouth, but was losing tension. Her whole being was exhausted. She itched to speak.

“You may not realize it, but he’s helped you find those ordinary words and friendships that you deserve.” Angela whispered encouragingly. She felt this was something God would be pleased to see.

Angela was a traditional, conformist girl who threw herself into schoolwork. Though she would never speak it aloud, she could see the constant pressure Pam forced upon herself. 

The freeze response that usually gripped her throat that was carefully thawed by Jim was pierced as if an ice skate had finally broken the ice and sent a plunge of courage in the stinging, tingling water. 

Her mouth was dry and her mind felt numb from the ice. She carefully pulled away from Angela. Angela gave her a frustrated, disappointed look but Pam could see the flicker of sympathy.

Dwight clumsily sat next to Angela.

“I don’t know, Pam. He was pretty ordinary,” Dwight said, lightening the mood of the others while taking himself completely seriously, “He can’t even plant beets.”

Apparently Angela was taking him seriously as well, “Yeah, he’s right all he did was blabber about boring things. God should remind him to only speak of the gospel.”

Pam could almost imagine Jim impersonating this situation now. Although he did ordinary things such as speak, they were beautiful to Pam. They could move mountains. 

“There’s a lot of beauty in ordinary things,” Pam whispered. It wasn’t just shapes made with her mouth absent of voice. If a pen had dropped in the moment, her voice would have been missed. It was thin and fragile, like a flower petal that would melt in fleeting rain, but flourish and strengthen in the sun’s rays. Her voice was soft and smooth. 

Her eyes were glued to the ground, and a tear hit the carpet in front of her as she leaned over it, her arms supporting her.

••

Helene was in the back corner. Holly had left to attend Micheals class that still had a few students present. Micheal was standing awkwardly close, and Helene slowly inched away to create more space between the two.

Concern was written all over Helene’s face. When she had rush into the room, Micheal had simply put his arm in front of her to stop her in her tracks.

“What?” Helene questioned, frustrated.

“Wait,” he answered, watching intently.

Helene thought she was dreaming as she heard waves of sound coming from her timid daughter. A warm smile filled her face, and Micheal gave a nod to her as if she had completed world’s hardest feat.

“I’ve been waiting all my life to see this moment,” Helene began.

Micheal took the moment, spoiling it as fast as possible. “That’s what she said!” He couldn’t hold back from giggling. Helene wasn’t even sure if that made sense in the current situation, but she was too immersed to care.

••

Micheal leaned against the door frame, watching everything play out. As conspicuous as Micheal can be, he slipped out the room to fetch the carefully made painting.

The emotional, living strokes created by Pam filled the canvas.

He kneeled next to her and could hear Helene’s footsteps behind him.

“Jim made me promise to give this to him before he left, but I didn’t realize it would be today,” he said thoughtfully. “I thought today was national diversity day… and I thought for sure those events couldn’t happen to fall on the same day…” he said parenthetically, ruining the sentimental value he had began with. 

He gave it to her small, shaky hands.

“You should keep it.”

Pam promised herself it would go where ever she would go. She had words, but sometimes pictures spoke a million words where your words just couldn’t fit.

• many years later. *

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam,” a feathery voice rippled through the ironic sea of silence only accompanied by clicking of pens and clanking of keyboards. 

She pulled out a notepad, scribbling information she received from the caller. The ink was smooth and rich.

“Mhm…” she answered to them politely, gently laying the pan onto the paper.

Her fingers played with the black cord that connected her computer to the wall, lacing it in her hands. Her eyes wondered to the clock. One hour to go. She gingerly placed the phone back onto its holder and shuffled through the faxes she had gotten throughout the day.

Doodles of random images that characterized the boring office job were neatly aligned on her desk. Her pencil felt light in her hand, but ambitious with possibilities. The familiar strokes calmed any stray nerves. She finished off her latest stapler sketch and placed the pencil into the mug that sat on the reception desk alongside the jellybeans that she compulsively kept in stock. 

Being a receptionist wasn’t a dream she has chased. She never found herself striving for the goal of sitting in a monotone office. When she walked by the poster that advertised the job, she didn’t think she would note the number on the board. Never would she have thought to see herself in a place where she would be in a office answering phones. No longer the ring of anxiety that racked her brain that screamed to be answered, but the ring of the phone that bridged a connection with someone.

Somewhere along the line, it all changed. She missed her opportunity. Somehow in the moment of desperation in the old classroom, she finally broke through the box that held her.

Now she was answering phones. 

It wasn’t much to others, but it meant the world to her. After finally getting herself together, she chose this job. Though she would never speak it, she feared that the burning, nagging anxiety that stopped her voice would return. After Jim had unlocked the gate that blocked her growth, she was set on not allowing the gate to weld back together in the hot pressure she felt. Speaking on a phone allowed exposure and for her to feel in control of her life. 

Her ankles were crossed with her usual, spotless sneakers. If she ever felt a sporadic urge for a break, she could get lost in the bleakness of the immaculate white. Her red curls were pulled back into her trademark hairstyle, a half up- half down. Her fingers felt icy as she typed up the first name of the new employee, reminiscent of the positive connotation she had in relation to it. Yet, she shrugged it off after allowing herself to bask in the comfort of her memories before she forced herself back into the moment. She straightened out the pale pink sweater. 

Her fingers reached to the clip that secured her untamed auburn curls and allowed them a limited liberty. The sun highlighted golden streaks and she straightened her posture. 

Something in her gut held onto the chance that the name wasn’t a coincidence. A mistake.

It was a risk to believe that there was even a possibility, the probability of her hopes being shattered like glass higher than that of it being him.

It was a risk she was willing to take.

••

It was almost one, and Jim wasn’t keen on being late to his first day. He pressed onto the gas a little harder, pushing the car into a faster pace. The car bounced on the uneven and unkempt road. He grabbed the water while still holding his eyes to the road that stretched in front of him. He took a sip, grounding himself.

He was apprehensive for a change in his stagnant life. The move from the Philly branch to Scranton branch would do him good. 

The windows were a path on memory lane. Each landmark with vibrant memories of his childhood and home. The trees turned a slightly lighter shade of brown bark and the grass a bit greener. The spring was bringing up small buds from the soil and a new journey. The “Welcome to Scranton” came in view with the large block letters. 

Eventually, his navigation pulled him into the parking lot. He shuffled through the cluttered backseat to grab onto his work bag. His bag was plain and sophisticated, and filled with nothing but wrinkled papers and dull pencils, but he felt bolder when he had it with him. 

The glass doors were heavy as he entered the office building, looking onto the sign adjacent to the evaluators to localize his place. “Dunder Mifflin” was in white against the black background. He spun on his heels and turned towards the elevator. 

••

Pam was getting antsy. She wasn’t against new people by any means, but she still found her stomach churning at the thought of it. Her leg bounced elastically, the fall of heel promoting the pushing of her toes up to bounce her knee the top of the desk. The corner of her paper was floppy and crinkled from her hyperactive fingers folding it back and forth and becoming clammy. She straightened out the desk and went towards the back shelf to restock a few paper clips. The other employees were mindlessly playing solitaire or doing the impossible- work. Any inch of productivity was a feat in this building, and it hadn’t taken long to see. The clicking of the keyboard was ringing in her ears. Although the job was simple, the boringness gave her mind too much time to frantically run, so she moved when she felt that itch run through her. She did small things to remain unnoticeable and to stay quiet. 

••

Jim made his way into the office, walking through the hall. Then he saw it, next to the first door before you reach the door into the office. An expressive watercolor painting, framed in a thin silver frame. 

There were two swings next to each other. They combined companionship and courage as they swayed, the brush strokes brining his eyes to paint a picture of the memories in his mind. 

It was…

hers?

No. It couldn’t be. Micheal had it.

That couldn’t mean she was here… could it?

••

 Jim opened the door.

••

It was him.

••

It was her.

••

She ran into towards him, an invisible force pulling them together with a tight strength. She forgot her constant focus of remaining unnoticeable. She jumped into his arms, her entire being melting into the touch, the warmth of his skin making the world seem whole. She pressed her face into his suit as her eyes left darker spots on his coat. His hand laced into her curly hair and his arm lifted her slightly above the ground, securely around her waist. He gently lowered her, and the two stood in the hall in front of reception. She felt safe and comfortable, but happy at the same time. Her mind buzzed with memories of yogurt, blue notebooks, and jello pranks. His secure, unwavering motions stabilized her running mind, tethering and protecting her. 

••

She felt so small as he held her. He held her close, watching as she relaxed into him and his firm hold. He wondered if she could feel his ecstatic heart rate that increase with each touch. Her trust and reassurance was visible, he placed her onto the cheap carpet and watched her white sneakers flatten as her gaze met his. The wrinkles in the shoes smoothed.

She felt safe. You never know how much courage you have or who the true people are until you are faced with hardship.

“Cool beans, new guy. Can I set you up with my daughter?” Creed interrupted.

“Uh. He’s not real,” Pam answered gently.

“Ah, darn.”

Jim snorted… was that really the first word to come from her?

••

Words aren’t the only communication we were given. Unless if your Creed… then maybe words shouldn’t even be spoken by you…