In my groggy state, crossing the Scranton city limits feels kind of like dreaming. Except it’s a nightmare, because we’re back and everything’s changing. No more pretending or fooling ourselves into thinking that what happened is anything resembling permanent. I keep wrestling with regret, desperate to determine if this road trip was a good idea. I don’t think I ever meant for it to go this far; we started at a coffee shop, somehow wound up in Stamford of all places, and now we’re back. Right where we started. Except now it’s worse. Now I know all the little details about her that working at Dunder Mifflin never afforded me. Like how long it takes for her to get sunburned. Or what she looks like fresh from a shower. Or what it’s like to kiss her. Multiple times.
“Home sweet home,” Pam says, turning onto familiar roads. “We’ve still got four hours until you turn into a garnet.”
“A what?”
“Garnet. It’s the state mineral of Connecticut.”
“So garnet is equivocal to a pumpkin in this case?”
“Shut up, they don’t have a state fruit.”
“How do you know all of this?” I rub my hands over my face, my drowsiness replaced by laughter.
“Honestly, I have no idea. Jeopardy, maybe.”
This day has been broken up into moments of our old banter and silence, and now, after talking about state minerals, we’re back to silence. It’s funny how we can feel so lost even though we’re back home.
“Hey,” she says finally. “We’ve still got that camera. Should we get it developed?”
“Didn’t we only take, like, three pictures?”
“Yeah, but, I don’t have much use for a disposable camera. Do you?”
“Nah. I mean, I already tried to convince Dwight that he was the inspiration behind ‘One Hour Photo.’ What else is there left to do?”
She giggles as she pulls the car in front of Rite Aid that’s already stamped with the late afternoon sun.
We drop off the cheap Kodak at the picture center and wander down the aisles, looking at ceramic cat figurines (“Buy it! Something to remember Angela by”) and cheap DVDs in an attempt to make the estimated hour go by quickly. Or maybe just to savor it. After almost no sleep in the last twenty-one hours, things aren’t as clear as they used to be.
“Still going to Australia?” she asks, leaning lazily on the cart as we stroll, appropriately, through the office supplies aisle.
“Yeah, I don’t see why not. Don’t really want to be out hundreds of dollars. Why?”
She shrugs, running her fingers along highlighters and Sharpies.
“I thought maybe it was one of those impulse buys, you know? Like the time you thought you’d look cool in a bomber jacket.”
“Hey, I did look cool in a bomber jacket.” I nudge her arm playfully before shaking my head.
“And to be honest, it was an impulse. I don’t know, it was like I just needed to be…not here for a while. Plus, the only place I’ve been out of the country is Canada and that hardly counts.”
She tries to laugh but I can tell she’s still troubled by it all.
“I don’t know. I just…if you’re looking to escape, don’t you think Stamford is far enough?”
“Pam…” I warn, the strain of fatigue wearing on my nerves.
“Jim, I’m not stupid, okay? You obviously booked that trip to miss the wedding so…I mean, you’re moving. Isn’t that punishment enough?”
I stop, utterly confused. “Who exactly is being punished here?”
“Me. When you told me you weren’t going to be there, I felt so…”
My contacts are beginning to dry, and now is really not the time for it to look like I’m crying.
“Lost,” she finishes after a moment. She looks at me, breathless, her face loaded with fear and expectation.
I throw my hands up in exasperation.
“Pam, I don’t know what to tell you. I know it’s a big day and everyone’s going to be there but it’s not my job to keep you feeling…not lost. I can’t drop my whole life just to hold your hand on your wedding day. And frankly, if you even need hand holding on your wedding day then—“
I’ve said too much, and judging by the look on her face, she knows exactly how that sentence is going to end. She starts to get angry but then something else comes over her. Something softer and understanding and before I know it, she’s got her arms wrapped around me with her head on my chest.
“I know,” is all she says. All the guilt I was prepared to feel dissipates and I’m content with holding her in front of the toilet paper display.
“You wanna…” I jerk my head towards the exit as we pull away. She nods and we silently agree to forget about the camera, forget about all the hurt, and forget that there’s still technically three hours left of our day together.
It’s time to go home.
6:59 PM
