Considering all the driving we’ve done today, it’s the ten minutes from Rite Aid to her place that feels the longest.  I mean, I could be driving slowly on purpose. No one could prove it, not even her, and from the way she’s absently staring out the window and tangling her fingers in her necklace, I doubt she even notices.  Would she notice if I turned right instead of left? If we pulled into my driveway and not hers?  If she spent today, and every day, for the rest of her life in my day dreams?

But I figured out a long time ago that no matter my dreams or how badly I want it, deep down I know better. Which is why I turn left, onto her street and pull up next to her house.  The brown one with a lawn that needs to be mowed, and Roy’s truck planted in the driveway.  

“What a day,” her voice croaks from the passenger seat, her eyes still staring out the window.

“No kidding.  I hope you…I mean, I know this was all really crazy, but I’m glad…” I’m past the point of incoherency, but it’s a language that both of us understand in our groggy state.

“Me too,” she says, finally looking at me.  There’s something unreadable in her expression, but that’s been the theme of the past twenty-something hours. One contradiction after another, all contained in the same person that said “how about now?” so many lifetimes ago.

“So…”

She makes no move to leave, instead toying with the frayed edges of the seatbelt.

“Gonna go home and pack?”

“Yeah, I guess I need to do that, huh?” I mutter, though it’s the absolute last thing I feel like doing.     

“Okay, well, if you need anything or, you know, whatever…” she’s unbuckled her seatbelt now, reaching for her duffel bag in the backseat.  My mind briefly wonders how she’s going to explain it to Roy, if he notices, if she’ll tell the truth, whatever the hell that may be.  

“Thanks.”  

She smiles, her fingers on the car handle.  

“Any last words?”

I don’t have to think about it too long, the answer is pretty obvious.

“I am so unbelievably tired.”

She looks at me like she’s about to say something, or like she knows that I don’t just mean physically tired, but the kind of exhaustion that comes with the last game of the season.  You’ve rooted for your team, cheered and screamed and booed when things didn’t go their way, but your support wasn’t enough to bring them to victory.  Except this time, you’ve had enough, and you won’t be back next season.

And though I’d like to be selfish and do so much more, I settle for kissing her softly on the forehead.  I don’t have to have my eyes open to know that hers are closed, maybe even squeezed shut because her body is tense and I know she’s trying not to cry.  I pull away to look at her and the dew on her eyelashes tells me I was right.

She moves out of the car, shutting the door and mouthing “bye” as she walks toward her door.  And even though it’s a coward move, I don’t wait to see her let herself back into the life she’s settled for.  My tires all but squeal as I drive off, supposedly towards home, but I don’t want to go there just yet.  All my body wants to do is collapse into bed, but my brain, specifically the part reserved for Pam and all things pertaining to her, doesn’t want to give up on our day.  The passenger seat is empty, but that hardly seems significant.  With everything that’s happened today, it’s easy to believe that she left a permanent, albeit invisible, mark on this car, Stamford, me.  But I guess that last one has been there for much longer than twenty-four hours.  

So I drive around the city, trying to find places and see things that aren’t familiar, things that are new to me even after living here for twenty-seven years.  A street that I’ve never been on, an auto parts store I’d never seen, anything to reassure me that life still has its surprises embedded into the well worn fabric of suburbia.  

I can’t say I’m not going to miss this place.  And sure, the easy thing would be to stay because there’s safety in routine.  But Stamford isn’t just a promotion anymore; it’s proof that I haven’t completely lost myself in Pam.  All this time I thought I was stuck being in love with her, stuck watching her be with someone else, stuck doing both at a ridiculously mundane job.  Not to use really corny Wizard of Oz analogies, but it’s like I finally woke up and realized I had the power to get unstuck all along.  Taking this job isn’t an option, it’s an absolute necessity.

Referring to classic movies of my childhood is a sure sign I’ve lost it, so I find my way out of the residential neighborhood I’ve driven into and head back home.  I feel like I haven’t seen it in weeks and my heart aches a little bit when I turn the key to let myself in like I’ve done so many times before.  No sign of Mark, and I’m a grateful for the solitude.  Keeping a constant watch on your thoughts to make sure they don’t get out in front of the women you love is exhausting, and it’s nice to let my brain run free without consequences.  

I desperately need to pack, but I’ve earned at least an hour of mindless TV before that horrible process starts.  I’m one beer down and fifteen minutes into Goldfinger when there’s a knock on the door.  I don’t let myself hope that it’s her, for self-preservation’s sake. It’s probably just Mark who forgot his key, yet again, and considering a random summer storm has moved in, I decide to be a good roommate and let him in rather than make him pay for his absent-mindedness.

But it’s not him.

It’s what I wouldn’t let myself hope for.  Granted, it’s drenched and looks petrified, but it’s there.

With a bag and a noticeably bare left hand.

“Pam?”

She lets out a breath she’s been holding for who knows how long.

“I’m unbelievably tired, too.”

 7:59 pm