On a day like this back in Scranton, he’d go for a drive; look at the plush green grass, blue sky, and kids running through sprinklers beating the heat. It was simple, but distracting. He’d call Mark and they’d play basketball until their heads spun and they’d need a few beers to set them straight.
July used to be his favorite month. The heat brought back memories of freedom: freedom from school, from the winter and the cold. It brought him back home—where things were nice, and quiet.
But he’s in a new apartment now, one that he could hardly call home. Surrounded by noisy streets, with barely any kids, and none of that kitschy suburban setting he once knew.
Beautiful weather, and he still feels like complete excrement. This is irony at its finest. His twenty-ninth and longest day at Stamford is finally over—diversity training, because of some "trouble at the Scranton branch", according to Josh. The entire time, Jim wondered if it was the Chris Rock impression or the Larry the Cable Guy bit.
He couldn’t help but notice the empty chair beside him - the chair where she should have been.
It’s been exactly one month since he’s seen her, and but her face still haunts him.
This is what his life has been reduced to: sulking on the couch.
A sizeable stack of mail rests in his hands. He manages to walk down the hallway without running into doors. Bill; junk mail; a letter from his mom, telling him all about their trip to Alaska; more bills; an ad. He glances at the ad and reads it out loud to himself in a deep voice that sounds suspiciously like a game show host.
"Here at Lacuna, we specialize in safely removing the painful memories that plague you."
He scans the beige envelope. It’s neat and professional like all clinic brochures are, but he remembers seeing something from this particular clinic before.
"Come on, Katy. We’re going to be late."
She wouldn’t budge. She just waited patiently for him to finish getting ready. By the time he was putting his coat on, she was still completely involved in a commercial.
"Just a second, I want to see this." She replied sweetly, and he was patient enough to wait. He watched it, killing the time. Sullen people, entering a clinic with their mementos of old loved ones. Leaving refreshed, they are no longer plagued by their losses.
"Can you imagine wanting to erase someone from your life?" Katy asks after clicking off the TV I could never do that." He shrugged.
"Come on, it’s a bunch of crap. You couldn’t ever ‘erase’ someone. It’s scientifically impossible." They both shrugged, and he put his hand in hers. "I’d hate to miss this booze cruise." Jim says uncertainly.
He stands up from his second-hand couch, and is heading for his trashcan, when he comes upon the blue stationary.
He recognizes the handwriting, and it knocks the wind out of him.
"Mr. and Mrs. Roy Anderson"
He sets the letter down on the counter—he could really use a beer right about now.
He pops the tab and collapses back onto his couch. The letter rests in his trembling hands, and he spends ten minutes silently debating whether or not opening it is a good idea or not. He can’t do this—open this can of worms. He’s already suppressed his feelings for this long.
But he’s never been one for willpower, and he’s breaking the seal before he can stop himself.
"Dear Jim,
I had to go to corporate to get this address, so just know that I went through a lot of trouble getting in contact with you. We wanted to thank you for your gift. I’ll be sure to carry on the ‘Dwight’s stuff in Jell-o’ torch now that you’re gone. Anyway, thank you for everything."
~Roy and Pam"
His first response is anger—anger that she would even do this to him. Flaunt in his face that she’s oh-so-happily married. He wants nothing more than to call her up, and scream at her, "Leave me alone. You’ve done nothing for me but drive me insane and out of Scranton!"
Then that anger fades to sadness, and he misses her so much it sucks. Then he wants to call her, just to see if anything has changed. See if she’s left Roy, and see if they can finally be happy together.
Despite how impossible that scenario may seem.
He is mid sip when the Lacuna envelope shines on the kitchen counter.
"Can you imagine wanting to erase someone from your life?"
He sifts his fingers through his hair, recounting all the times that he’d like to forget. All the kisses he didn’t get, every argument he witnessed that ended with a public make up scene, every wedding plan, every rejection, every time his heart broke just a little bit more because of her.
He remembers the people from the commercial—that relief on their faces. He desperately wanted that kind of relief.
He picks up the phone and dials the number in the corner. "Hi, I’d like to make an appointment."
"My name is Jim Halpert, and I’m here to erase Pam Beesley." His voice catches as he says her name. "Well, Pam Anderson."
The doctor motions for him to carry on, and Jim looks down at the slip of paper they gave him explaining what they need for his tape.
"I’ve known her for six years, and I’ve pretty much loved her for that long."
"I’m sorry, Mr. Halpert" the doctor interrupts, "but we’re looking for why you want to erase Mrs. Anderson from your memory." Jim nods in approval.
"Okay." Jim says, clearing his throat. "Pam’s too weak, she’s too afraid to fight for what she really wants." The doctor bobs along, looking quite pleased. "Whether it’s going to Hawai’i for her honeymoon, or doing that graphic design thing in New York, or..." Jim pauses, and the doctor leans in.
"Or what?"
"Or not marrying Roy." He says, his eyes glazing over with sadness. "I’ve been hiding my feelings for almost six years now, and I’m just sick of it."
"The first thing you need to do is collect everything in your apartment that reminds you of Pam. Books you read with her, gifts she gave you, anything that might trigger a memory."
He runs through his apartment, a black trash bag in hand. Mix CDs she’d made, emails she had sent and he’d printed, framed pictures of them at various company camaraderie events. Dumping in item after item, as if they meant nothing. And they do mean nothing—she’s made her feelings drastically clear. Painstakingly, inescapably clear.
His mantra becomes "It’s for the best".
And as he throws the last thing—a sketch of his desk she gave him for Christmas—he feels a sudden sense of relief.
And he actually believes it’s for the best.
"Then we use them along with your audio description, to create a map of your memories. We’ll get rid of the mementos afterwards. Tonight you’ll fall asleep, and when you wake up, it will be like waking from a dream."
"I won’t remember any of it?" he asks nervously. The doctor nods his head. "Seems pretty simple. This... won’t hurt, will it?"
"No more than a bad dream." The doctor says consolingly.
The drive from the clinic goes by in a flash. The sun has gone to rest for the night—leaving a trail of pink clouds. He comes out of his reverie when he pulls into the parking lot of his apartment. He pulls the keys out of the ignition, and just sits in silence.
Tomorrow is going to be different. No more longing, no more wanting. He won’t go into work thinking about her, he won’t spontaneously remember her because of the most mundane details of his life. He can move on.
All he wants is to be free. Feel alive again.
