The Ainbow-Ray Onnection-Cay

(Let’s never hang out)

“So Pam, Pam Pam Pam how are you?”

It’s an echo (everyone asks) but it’s hard to pretend when the office is empty and she’s still trying to help him get pepper spray out of his eyes. For the last five minutes he’s been squinting at her in a way that makes her wonder. Fine would be easy (and a lie) but when he looks like he might take her hand she looks down and tries to remember why she’s not at home.

“Not so great huh?”

She doesn’t reply and stares at her hands, because this silence is okay and he’s the only one who didn’t hear Roy shouting or see Jim turn away as he left for the night.

“Yeah me neither”

When she peeks at him (bravery in tiny steps) he looks tired and sympathy is a temporary wave and a rising ache. And it’s twelve flavours of pathetic that she wants to tell him (yeah) just because he’s not pushing the issue. The air is cold in her lungs and talking is harder than it should be but its time to do something.

“Your eyes feeling better?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

There’s a pause and she almost says goodnight but she can’t quite face another weekend curled up on her couch, even if this is the alternative. He swipes at his eyes and it’s almost enough to make her smile (six weeks and this is kind of different).

“Hey Pam, what’s up with Tuna? -Jim, I mean because…”

“I don’t know,” she whispers and maybe this is giving up, but she really doesn’t. Her throat tightens when she realizes the last time Andy was in the office she was smiling and everything was so much clearer.

He doesn’t say a word but the look on his face is enough to make her feel off kilter. She wants to leave but he stands up first and she knows that look (I’m putting on a mask).

She bites her lip and the mood lingers after he picks up his coat, and leaves his cracked sunglasses on Dwight’s desk.

She can’t imagine Monday (doesn’t want to) and thinks of Andy shoved off in the corner and the back of Jim’s neck. Something has to change is a thought (sudden and desperate) because if this stays the same they’ll be facing the same cold glances (forever)

He can’t fix the mess he’s made (ditto, it’s a melancholy game at best).