There’s a “Welcome to Stamford” sign that looks a lot like the one from Las Vegas. Retro, but with more lights, if that’s possible.  The buildings I’ve spent almost a whole day with are distorted and look like something out of Dr. Seuss.  Weird trees and illegible street names plague me with doubt and confusion, because this is not the place I’ve come to know in only a few hours. Suddenly I’m at the dock, the dock where we almost kissed, and she’s standing there in a wedding dress.  And there’s actually guests sitting in chairs that seem to float on the water.  And the guy standing with her is…me.  And yet I feel as sick as though I were looking at Roy.  Like even this guy who looks like me still doesn’t deserve her, for whatever reason. I try to call out to her but it comes out a jumble of noises and sounds.  She turns towards me but starts to slowly walk backwards to the end of the dock.  She mouths something that I can’t make out and I try to run to her.  But my legs betray me and stay still, as if rooted to the wood planks.  She’s still walking backwards, approaching the edge and my panic mounts.  I reach out my hand but she ignores it, still walking steadily back.  She calls out something and I can finally hear her.

“Jim,” she says gently as her foot takes the final step back, with nothing to support her but air.

“Jim?”

I wake from my dream shaken and out of breath.  I look through squinted eyes around me to determine, yes, I am in fact not dreaming anymore .  I’m in my Corolla on the highway.  And the detail clinches it all: Pam.  Not in a wedding dress, but in her pink camisole, her bare shoulders the same color.  

“Huh---wuhuhwe…”

“We’re just outside the Pennsylvania state line.  Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

I shake my head roughly in an attempt to wake up.

“Man, intense dream.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

“Yeah, you were tossing a little while you slept.  What was it?”

Well, damn.

“Uhh…I don’t really remember, the details are all fuzzy…”

“Don’t even lie to me, Jim Halpert,” she says with laughter in her voice.  “You have a freakish ability to remember your dreams.  No one can recount running a zombie marathon quite like you can.”

She’s totally called me out and I sigh in defeat as I face my doom.

“Well, if I remember correctly—“

“And I know you do.”

“You were in it, actually.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Yeah…” I continue, because at least she doesn’t look completely terrified.  “It was that dock, the one where…anyway you were in your wedding dress.  Well, the wedding dress that my subconscious thought up, anyway.”

She scoffs.  “Probably much better than the real one.”

I look over in concern as she visibly struggles with what to say next.

“No, I mean…that came out wrong.  I love my dress, really.  It’s a little, uh, frilly, but what wedding dress isn’t?  I’m convinced that the objective in designing them is to make you completely unable to move.”  She’s smiling and even though we’re talking about her wedding dress of all things, I’m smiling too.

“You know that’s why brides always buy two dresses, right?” she continues.  “One for the wedding and one for the reception.”

“So that if the groom decides to smash the cake into her face…”

“It doesn’t matter because it’s not the actual wedding dress.”

“And do you have a reception dress?”  I ask because apparently I enjoy this kind of torture.

“No, we couldn’t…it’s a waste of money.  Besides I don’t really need to move, right?”  She smiles dejectedly.

“Moving is highly overrated.”  Then the double meaning of the words hits and now neither one of us are smiling.

“Speaking of that, do you need help or…” she trails off.

“No, I think I’m okay.  Mark’s going to help, and I think Sam is going to meet me at the new place to get me situated so…thanks though.”

“Sure,” she says sadly, muted disappointment stretching across her face.   “Just thought I’d offer.  Not like I could do heavy lifting or anything.  But I’m very good at standing around and telling you where to put stuff.”

“Well, that’s where I need the most help. Like the fridge, I’m completely clueless.”

“The bathroom.  Obviously.  So when you’re in the shower, you can make a Mai Tai and pretend you’re in some exotic location, drinking under a waterfall.”

I laugh and it’s this; this is why I love her.  Because only Pam would suggest drinking Mai Tais in the shower.  Because we’re both looking for that escape, every day with everything we do. Except now I’m the one who’s actually escaping, for the most pathetic and cowardly reasons.

A few minutes pass before she speaks again.

“You know, you totally broke our deal.”

This should be good.

“And what deal is that?”

“You’d just started.  And we were in the break room, complaining about our jobs and I said that I was just ready to give up and quit.  And you looked at me and said ‘Beesley, think carefully about that decision.  You jump, I jump.’”

“And then you teased me for quoting ‘Titanic.’”  

“Well, really, Jim, who does that?”  We laugh but then I remember that Dwight does that, and that’s just a terrifying thought.

“What about that time you tried to push me over to Maryland?” I tease because enough time has passed that we can do that now.

“Oh, did I not mention there was an opening in reception there, too?”

“Mmm,” I feign deep thought.  “No, you never mentioned that.”

“Oops.  My mistake.  Anyway, I totally planned on going with you because I would never break such a deal.  You on the other hand…” she clicks her tongue in mock disapproval, which is a bad idea, because now I’m thinking about her tongue and how—that train of thought needs to end immediately.

“It’s too bad you can’t come with me, now,” I say softly, my eyes on my lap since I refuse to look at her while I say it.

“Yeah,” I hear her say in equally hushed tones.  “Too bad.”

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