Reply:

I realize it’s impossible to have this kind of conversation through email.  But to answer your question, yes I’m still with Karen.

It’s strange, but yesterday I could have sworn I’d seen you. Obviously that’s ridiculous and absurd.  But it was like you were right there.

You weren’t were you?

Jim

He shook his head; there was certainly more he wanted to ask.  He wanted desperately to know if she was seeing anyone.   He chalked it up to curiosity; but if she was seeing someone he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know.

Throwing caution to the wind, he positioned his cursor into the middle of his message and typed:

Are you seeing anyone?

Before he lost his nerve, before he had a chance to regret what he’d written, he hit the send button.  Jim was certain he was beginning to lose his mind.  There he was on vacation with Karen and he was writing and reading things that were causing his old feelings to resurface. All along he’d thought they’d just disappeared. Perhaps he’d just hoped they had disappeared.

“There you are!” Karen’s voice startled Jim, causing him to quickly close the explorer screen. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Just grabbed the newspaper and figured I’d check Facebook while you were getting ready,” he said a little more quickly than he’d intended. 

“Oh.  Anything interesting?”

“Nah.  Just the usual,” he replied, hoping she’d drop the subject.

“So listen… I just ran into the people next door to us; they said we should check out the Forum.  You up for it?”

“Definitely,” he said, rising from the chair. “Tell me Filippelli,” he continued with a grin spreading on his face. “If we were back in Ancient Rome don’t you think I’d make a sexy legionary?”  He puffed out his chest, flexing his arm muscles, the tension he’d felt earlier quickly fading.

Karen burst out laughing as she held the front door open for him.  “You’ve got to be kidding, right?”

“No way!  I think I would rock a bronze helmet and chain mail.”

“With your big head?  Keep dreaming!”  Jim pouted in jest at her comment. 

“Seriously,” she continued, her eyes teasing. “Haven’t you even seen ‘Rome’? Marc Antony would beat your ass any day…” 

***

That morning Pam had decided to splurge and take a cab into central Rome.  Despite the fare increasing gradually, she hadn’t regretted her decision. She felt like she was in a film, watching ruins pass her by in the early August haze, the wind blowing her hair across her neck and face. All that could possibly add to her excitement would be “Volare” playing on the radio. 

Surrounded by the busy streets of Rome sat the Coliseum in disrepair, its broken walls reminding all of its history and importance to the Roman Empire.  The impressive travertine stone arches-- having survived centuries of war, earthquakes and pillagers-- were now captivating Pam’s imagination. She could almost see the hundreds upon thousands of Romans, ushering themselves into the amphitheatre while clutching their pottery shards in anticipation of watching a grisly fight.

Now in the glaring sunlight outside the Coliseum, as the taxi raced by, she could see men dressed as legionaries posing with tourists offering photo opportunities.  Car horns blared as they swerved around slower motorists, dodging the occasional pedestrian.

She would have to return to the Coliseum another day; today her focus was elsewhere. Pam had planned out a full day of sketching the Palatino at the Forum, followed by a brief personal detour to the nearby Santa Maria in Cosmedin.  It had been a dream of hers to visit Santa Maria since she’d been a little girl growing up in Scranton watching black and white films with her mother and sister.

“Signorina?”  The cab stopped at the upper level of the Forum, the driver turning halfway to face Pam.

“Quanto?” She asked, using the stilted Italian she’d taught herself from her phrasebook.

“Diciassette… eh… seventeen euro?”

Pam handed him a blue twenty bill and exited the cab, sliding her satchel over her shoulder. 

“Grazie,” she called out as she shut the door.

She pulled her sunglasses over eyes and gazed out at the scene that lay before her.  The Arch of Septimius Severus, with its perfect semicircular vault and decorative spandrels, welcomed all to the Roman Forum.  Pam took out her sketch pad and from her vantage point began to mimic the intricate relief designs.  Each panel detailed preparation, war and attack led by the Roman army on an unsuspecting enemy. 

Page after page of her sketch book was quickly filled with scenes of battle, celebration, and mythology; each spandrel carefully depicted.  Realizing that she needed a more diverse collection of images from the Forum, Pam decided to turn her attention away from the arch.

She walked the exterior circumference of the Forum and took a new position in front of the Temple of Vespasian and Titus.  A perfect shadow, cast by the striking Temple of Saturn, shaded the three Corinthian columns.  In her haste to capture the combination of light and darkness, she initially failed to notice the couple who posed for a photograph along the pathway in front of the Column of Phocas. The man’s dark hair in disarray across his face; the woman’s pulled into a tight ponytail, her bangs perfectly angled across her forehead. 

“Halpert!  You are going down!” The shriek of laughter and familiar name caused a wave of panic to rise in Pam’s chest. Her eyes fervently searched the grounds of the Forum.

There’s no way, she thought to herself. It can’t be…

And yet, it was him.  She’d recognize his distinct features, his long unkempt hair and towering height anywhere. 

“Jim!  I swear if you pull bunny ears on me one more time, I will murder you!”  Karen’s laugh echoed in the air.

“Et tu, Brutus?” Pam could hear him chuckle in return, his joke causing a flood of familiarity to run through her body.  There had been a time when his sarcastic remarks and easy affability had been directed toward her.

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, unable to say anything, forbidding herself to call out to him. Instead she watched as he and Karen walked over the travertine paving toward the Curia Hostilia, disappearing into the darkness of the imposing entrance of the Roman Senate.

***

Their day at the Forum had eased his guilt over having messaged Pam earlier.  They had spent much of it joking, laughing and teasing each other; it was something they hadn’t done in a while.

To improve their mood, when they’d returned to the hotel they were told their room had been upgraded as an apology for the flood the day before. Karen was elated, thankful to finally have a shower where she wouldn’t have to maneuver around a toilet.

Without hesitating, they dragged their luggage from their room by the terrace to the elevator.  As Jim pressed the button to call the lift to their floor, Karen made a sound.

“Shoot. I think I left my contacts case on the bathroom sink.”

“I’ll grab it, you go on up,” Jim passed her the handle to his suitcase.  “It’ll just take a minute.”

“Thanks,” Karen pulled the two cases, one in each hand, into the elevator.  Turning toward Jim she added, “why not pick us up some cappuccinos from the restaurant on your way up?”

“Sure, not a problem.”

The doors to the elevator slid closed. Jim returned to the room and found Karen’s contacts case, exactly where she’d said she left it.  As he headed toward the restaurant to order the cappuccinos, he figured he may as well return their original room key to the front desk.

As he entered the lobby the computer in the corner caught his eye.  After such a good day with Karen it probably wasn’t the best idea to check his Facebook messages. 

Shaking his head at his own weakness, he sat down at the computer and slipped coins into the meter.  He logged into Facebook and saw the now ominous Inbox (1).

Taking a deep breath he watched as the page scrolled to the newest message from Pam.

Pamela Beesly:

Nope, wasn’t in Scranton. Maybe my evil twin?

I told you, I’m a world traveler now. :)

A world traveler who still doesn’t have a boyfriend. Yep, still single.

Pam

He wished he could have stopped the rise of hope that welled up in his chest.  Pam was single and he found himself imagining what it might be like for them to renew their friendship and perhaps allow it to lead further…

Jim chastised himself.  Again he was being stupid and careless and falling back into his old patterns.  Upstairs was a woman who was clever, funny, smart and waiting for him to return.  Rather than honour their relationship, he was imagining a life with Pam instead.  

Quickly he typed, wanting to put an end to the guilt that was beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach.

Reply:

Must be that same evil twin who used to toss jelly beans at my head when I was on sales calls. ;-)  But it wasn’t in Scranton that I saw you- I could have sworn I saw you while on vacation here in Rome.  Now that I think about it, that’s pretty ridiculous isn’t it?  Mind you, you did say that you’re a big world traveler now… 

Jim

The guilt continued to plague him as he collected their cappuccinos, as he rode the elevator and as he slipped the key into the lock. It certainly didn’t disappear when he opened the door and it definitely multiplied tenfold when he found Karen next to his suitcase, the engagement ring in her fingers.

***

Pam’s beautiful morning had quickly turned on its head.  For what had seemed like hours she stared at the entrance of the Senate waiting for them to come back out. She needed to verify that she had seen Jim in Rome of all places. 

In less than a half hour, from a distance she saw them exit the building holding hands, obviously enjoying each other’s company.  It pained her to see them so familiar after all these years.  She figured that she must have repressed the thoughts and images of them having been together, and here they were right in front of her again.

It stunned her to realize that those recent Facebook messages from Jim had likely come from only a few miles away.  That in fact he could very well be in the same hotel as her.  Her head began to spin at the thought of having unknowingly passed him in the streets.

Her pencil fell from the coil of her sketch pad, its distinctive sound startling her from her thoughts.  She bent down and picked up the pencil only to discover that in the process she’d lost sight of Jim and Karen.

Sighing, she resigned herself to finish her day the way she’d initially intended: with a visit to Santa Maria in Cosmedin.

Santa Maria in Cosmedin was a short walk from the Forum.  Located on the southern side of the Piazza Bocca della Verità, it certainly lived up to its reputation of being one of the finest examples of medieval architecture.  The trinity of arches escalating to the highest point of the bell tower was accentuated with a small white cross. Its portico promised hidden treasures within the church. 

Many of Pam’s art books detailed the pilasters and ancient columns of Santa Maria that lined the aisles within.  The preserved nave, crypt, candelabrum and medieval paintings were all too historically late in design to fit in with the intended theme of the Lenox Hotel. But it had not been its Byzantine architecture that had drawn her to the church; rather it was what lay outside, that had attracted her.

Hidden in the portico, a perceived drain covering enamored thousands of tourists daily. Rudimentarily carved from pavonazzetto, a local marble, the circular face of a man challenged visitors. The open slits for eyes and mouth-- likely once a source of water-- seemed to call all liars, daring them to take a chance.

Pam had first seen the Bocca della Verità or the Mouth of Truth when she was a young girl.  Her mother had been-- and still was-- an Audrey Hepburn fan.  Her genial smile, classical look and large eyes filled much of Pam and her sister Sara’s childhood.  One of their favourite films to watch together was “Roman Holiday.” In the film, Hepburn’s Princess Ann explored Rome with Gregory Peck’s Joe Bradley, a reporter looking to secure the ultimate interview.   

In one quintessential scene, Joe challenged Ann to put her hand in the Mouth of Truth.  According to legend, if one were to tell a lie while one’s hand was in the mouth of the face, it would bite the fingers of the liar. 

Now standing just to the side of the face, the late afternoon tourists having dissipated, Pam wanted to try her hand at challenging the Mouth.

Despite her understanding that the legend of the Mouth of Truth was simply that- a legend- her heart beat quick in nervous anticipation.  Taking a deep breath, she brought her hand toward it, prepared to see what would happen.

Just as her hand was about to reach into the mouth, she withdrew it, her lips quivering in a sudden overwhelming fear. An inexplicable panic seemed to overcome her, causing her hand to tremble; it was as though she believed that the mouth would know.  That it could somehow sense that she was inherently a liar.

For so many years she had wanted to put her hand in the Mouth of Truth.  She wanted to reenact the scene that had played over and over in her head.  In many ways she had already reenacted it.  She, like Hepburn’s character, could not face the possibility of what could potentially happen.  Fear had struck them both.

Just like Hepburn’s Princess Ann, Pam had left her home in search of an adventure.  Both had wanted to get away from what was expected of them.  While Ann’s expectations consisted of royal duties, Pam’s were much different.  She had been expected to accept the fact that Jim had moved on with Karen; that he no longer loved her the same way that she loved him. 

Despite having three years ago confessed her desire to return to what they’d once had, he had continued his relationship with Karen. Pam had, meanwhile, accepted the cards that were dealt her. She denied her own feelings, lied and told herself that it was the right thing to do-- that moving to Buffalo would help her forget him.

Instead, the move had only succeeded in confirming that she had in fact denied her heart-- denied herself-- what she wanted more than anything. If she’d only fought for Jim, he’d likely be hers.  Rather than unknowingly passing each other in the streets of Rome, they would be together staring down the Mouth of Truth, unafraid.  

Pam stepped back from the sculpture, her hand clasping the shoulder strap of her bag. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t bring herself to put her hand into the Mouth.