The shiny objects pass from hand to air to hand, toppling over her head, a blur in the continuous circle. The movement is paced just right, quick so that the crowd is mesmerized but slow enough so as she can distinguish the pieces from one another.
Pam knows her act isn't perfect. There are moments where she can't bring herself to look Roy in the eye or she laughs at Jim's smile too deeply, her cheeks flushing pink. But she quickly sucks in a sobering breath and turns away.
She bites her lip in frustration at the inconsistencies. Why did he have to make this so difficult?
She has to get this perfect. Everyone's life depends on it.
She covers her bad ankle with a flourish, knowing the crowd hasn't noticed by their applause.
She likes the way the dice rolls smooth in her hands from her fingers to the fuzzy table, shooting her arms up in the air when she knows she's done something right. Pam doesn't exactly understand the rules, but she understands the chips being pushed towards her and the look Jim gives her.
Impressed. This will be a good night, she thinks.
Her steps are confident as she climbs the steep ladder, her heels clicking effortlessly on the rungs. She counts them as she ascends. One...
She makes the bet, holding the cards tightly in her hands. They won't mind if they get them back crinkled, will they? She decides she doesn't care. Again, this is a good night.
Five, six, seven...
He thinks she's bluffing and it feels better than it should to prove him wrong.
Ten, eleven...
She finds him in the parking lot, her footsteps hollow on the pavement. That should have been a clue. It's spring and her footsteps shouldn't sound like winter's bitter emptiness.
Twenty...
She doesn't see it coming, like a side impact car crash or a balloon popping. If she'd been prepared it wouldn't have shook her like it did. Right?
The sound echoes inside the tent, off the fabric ceiling and the metal beams. She hopes they don't notice her step falter, and she knows that if she turned around she'd see a guilty kid with a limp string and scraps of brightly colored rubber.
It's no matter. She keeps climbing.
"I'm really sorry if you misinterpreted things."
She reaches the platform at the peak of the ladder. She straightens, waves to the crowd and turns toward the rope.
Pam settles on someone's car, plopping down and going it over in her head, over and over until the words aren't words anymore.
Her toe lands on the string, testing its strength before placing her whole foot there.
Did she lead him on? Was there some signal she'd given out?
She hesitates before going forward.
No, she decides. It was all in his head.
Now both legs steady her on the tightrope, walking straight and narrow toward her destination. She isn't in the habit of looking down, just forward.
The wedding, she remembers, but she still starts to have doubts. There's only one source she can trust now.
Her eyes search out hers in the crowd, making sure she's doing this all right.
"Mom?" Her voice is unsteady, weak.
She can't have that. It leads to doubt, and doubt is unwelcome here.
She knows it's coming, but the optimism is her greatest aid and her greatest fault.
The question fills her ears like poison, tantalizing and bitter. It stings but in the most dangerous way. Pam doesn't want to hear it, yet it makes her heart hammer and makes her say stupid things.
"I think I am."
She can feel herself slipping.
She sees him before she hears him, quietly cursing him. When did he become so sneaky?
"Jim, I..."
She tries desperately to regain her balance.
Pam doesn't have time to fill up the air with apologies or more excuses, pollution that keeps them afloat. Keeps her afloat. Now she's not so sure she was doing him a favor all this time.
Her handler is beginning to look worried.
His lips are firm and sure and everywhere. She can feel herself kissing him back, snaking over his shoulders, fingering the back of his collar, and it's the most terrifying feeling in the world.
The crowd gasps as her stomach drops, the air rushing past her ears. The Amazing Pam is starting to fall and she doesn't know if she'll ever come back from this.
She thinks she pulls away, she isn't quite sure. All she knows is that he catches the monitor's light off her eyes and reads them as if he really can.
Grasping, holding, sinking. It scares her that fear isn't the only thing that she feels.
"You're going to marry him?"
And just like always he knows just enough about her to make things difficult but not enough to actually be helpful.
Then everything is clear. Like a ballerina focusing on a single spot as she spins, round and round, to the point of dizziness if she wasn't immune. Pam can see the end, the finishing point, the platform on the other side. She's starting to feel stable again.
Pam nods, hating herself a little for the motion, the tiniest of lies. She's doing what's best, she thinks. She's spent so long focusing on that one point she can barely see anything else. Like using a laptop in the dark. She doesn't want to let her eyes adjust to the black.
Her steps are confident once more, as the rope is reaching its end.
Jim pulls away, leaving her cold and disappointed, but she can't bring herself to realize the reason why. His back is the last thing she'll see.
Her feet land solid and steady on the platform, the smile on her face from the simple fact that she's accomplished what she'd promised she would. She's made it.
The audience applauds loudly, whistling and congratulating her with volume.
Pam bows.
She bends over, the nauseousness over taking her, crippling her sense of space.
Up is up, and down is down, she reminds herself.
It wasn't a choice, she whispers, so it couldn't have been the wrong one.
It's only as the door swings shut behind him that Pam begins to think that maybe she should have let herself fall.
