It starts out small.
Pam’s perched on the uncomfortable chair scooted beside Roy’s kitchen table (used to be theirs, but whatever), a mug of tea stationed between her fingers. Because it’s cold outside (and a little inside) and she doesn’t feel comfortable enough to ask him to warm her up (not yet). The game’s just finishing up in the living room (the yawns and the shuffling tells the tale), because she didn’t mind if he caught just this last one before they went to dinner. Really, she didn’t. She’s watching the abstract patterns in the steam as he walks in, wondering if she could tell the future there (no, that’s the leaves, never mind). He kisses her cheek, scratching his stubble against her skin because once she’d told him she liked it (she was drunk, and that’s the one thing he remembers), and rests his back against the counter, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows in a way that’s just too familiar, so she keeps her gaze on the ghosty shapes.
“So I was thinking we should go to that great Chinese place, down on Cedar. You know the one with those egg rolls?” Her eyebrows knit together in the annoyed way that he constantly mistook for concentration.
But then her face settled, her skin unknotting, and said, “No.” like it was the most revelational thing in the world, “No, I’d rather have Italian.”
Pam doesn’t look, but she can see that startled expression flash like lightning over his face before, “That’s fine. Whatever you want.”
Except when she does look, he glances over at her like he’s hoping she doesn’t make a habit out of it.
The first bit of truth is small.
--------
Pam slides the hair tie off in one smooth motion, letting her hair fall like water onto her shoulder (side ponytails are stupid).
She’s angry at herself, but then gets angrier because she shouldn’t be ashamed. She tried (she really did) to be modern and artsy and self-growth-y, but (like everything else, it seemed, lately) the attempt fell flat. Like a twelfth story suicide jumper (gross, pancake).
Roy was good though (tried to be) and there was a fleeting moment where this could work, zipped through her mind. She had never figured herself the next Georgia O’Keefe. All she wanted was a little recognition, for him to stop making her feel guilty for wanting more than phones and ovens and hi, honey.
She shakes her head (oh, no, not again) and crinkles her finger against the sink, because really, she did in fact want more than a promise of support.
Oscar and Gil are mean, she decides, but completely right. She needs fire. She needs passion, hope.
She needs Jim.
But no. She doesn’t want someone who doesn’t want her. She has to find another spark, something else to make her art glow.
When she steps into her tiny bedroom with the cracked ceilings (she’d sometimes look for patterns and shapes, a sad rendition of watching clouds) and water damage, she’s topped off with conviction and a rainbow sprinkle of optimism. Yet, when she looks over at her lumpy mattress, an unsubstantiated hatred fills her. Her pillow rests against the wall, like it had been for the last ten years, and she growls a little at it.
Stupid pillow.
So she stomps over and fluffs it, dropping it down on the other end with an unsatisfying hmph. It feels important somehow. Or at least more than rearranging bedding would normally feel.
That night she falls asleep, her head hanging slightly off the bed like she had when she was a teenager, so she could stare at the glossy image of whatshisname on her wall in the dark, with the same kind of smile, like everything just might be okay.
--------
In the end, she feels like the truth is kind of forced out of her (like toothpaste, she thinks she smells mint), because really? How could she not tell Roy what happened.
Pam knew that she wanted this to work, but what he didn’t realize, was that this was a conditional thing. This wasn’t forever with little hearts drawn around their names on the back of her chemistry notebook (more like a neon orange construction sign).
Because he’d forced her hand with things like you can’t keep anything from me and I can read you like a book because she knew he believed it (he was never a good liar). She was different (she wouldn’t be a habit anymore), but he hadn’t realized it yet. Pam had to make him see that he was all wrong about her.
Not in a revenge way though (god forbid). In a “if you don’t like the new Pam you better figure it out now and get out” way.
But in order for him to see the new Pam, she’d have to show him the transition (all aboard), what caused the shift between anything you want and I’m leaving you. Because at the time he thought it was just a matter of capturing a fluttering butterfly. Of course (he thought) all those ex-caterpillars were just flitting around by chance, would fly into the net as carelessly as they’d gone out.
But that wasn’t it at all (she’s a bit angry now) and it was just like him to make assumptions.
So (really) she had no choice in the end. But as the glass is shattering all around her and the screams are barely puncturing her reverie, she’s more disappointed than anything.
She’s just not sure whether it’s with Roy or herself.
-------
Oh. Dear. God.
Pam hasn’t quite decided whether to be pissed off or embarrassed, because Angela keeps giving her this disapproving glare and Jim’s avoiding her eyes and crap. She could really hurt Roy in that moment (where’s that pepper spray).
Yet there was a second, just before a flurry of motion and ow, stinging, that Jim looked at her. It wasn’t like any other glance in the last few months that was carefully controlled and emotionless (not many of those either), but questioning. Pam thinks he knew. Before Roy cocked his fist and people were screaming, he could read the story in her expression. She’s almost thankful that the hour after was filled with the kind of tears that come with chopping onions and security people “escorting” Roy out, because she’s not sure she could take the accusation or the inquiring stares. She just blinks and pretends it’s still the pepper spray.
She can already feel her feet flying under her and gear shift in her hand when the camera crew approaches her hours later (not quite enough time to prepare her speech). Even though she’d been anticipating it, it took a strong will to stay stationary. But then she decides she isn’t going to let her moment of shining self-growth morph into shame. No one (really only talking about Roy and Jim and Karen and all the eyes on her) could take that from her. So she smoothed out her skirt and made her way into the conference room (six steps, she’s counting). She really, really, really, really (how many times was that?) doesn’t want to talk about it.
At all.
It’s like when you trip on the stairs leading up to a restaurant and suddenly every one is crowding you, asking if you’re okay and you just want to swallow the blush that’s creeping up your neck and get the hell out of there but they’re blocking your way (good intentions tend to be a heavy thing to knock out of your path). She just wants to forget it ever happened.
But then the camera man sighs and rolls his eyes like it’s what he’d expected and she just can’t let that slide because becoming a better person doesn’t mean squat if no one knows about it.
“It sucked.”
She says forcefully, because it’s the truth (her new favorite word) and there’s really no reason she shouldn’t belt it from the rooftops. She can barely contain her smile when the guy looks a tad shocked (she’s a horrible person; Roy’s unemployed and everyone looks like they’ve just come from a funeral). It doesn’t really stop her, though.
--------
She’s really contemplating how to feel about the day that’s just past (moon bounces and losing money only to get it back from, well, Karen mostly) as she steps out of the shower. The heavy steam pours into the small room and sticks to her skin, clouding up her mirror each time she rubs it away (she can’t stop seeing metaphors for her life everywhere).
Pam can just make out the distinctions of her face, of the dark mass that’s her hair when it’s wet and her eyes (droopy, because today has left her unexplainably tired). She’s confused but hopeful, because today she caught moments with Jim like collecting stars in a jar (or maybe her pocket, isn’t there a song about that?), took polaroids with her blinking eyes of his quizzical faces pointed at her for a change (it’s amazing how much she’d missed those eyebrows).
But her mouth still tastes like bittersweets and two stale cherry jelly beans from the flock of thirty-nine (she hadn’t changed them for awhile because no one ate them anymore anyway). She really felt as over inflated as that ridiculous bouncy castle, floating with air but waiting for the pop from too much pressure (she was ready to explode), and that was a sensation she missed, where she could almost hope for a second that everything in her life wasn’t irreparable.
Pam could say that it happened by accident, but would she really want to? Because as soon as she steps out of the hazy bathroom and into her bedroom, she drops her towel.
The cold air hits her full force and she bends to snatch up the moist fabric, but suddenly she’s stopping herself. She’s straightening and moving further into the room.
No one’s going to walk in or catch her, and that thought is oddly invigorating.
When she slips into bed, her hair twisted into a sopping mess on the pillow, Pam wriggles against the covers, finding the touch of cool sheets against skin without a pajama barrier strange.
But she falls asleep happy, because this is something she’d always wanted to do with no male provocation (even if she’d never told herself), and the next morning her smile is still set, despite the fact that her hair never dried right and Jim doesn’t glance her way today.
-----
Pam had never been a particularly picky person. She could eat most foods and wear all the sweaters her old aunts knitted her for Christmas, and she rarely complained about things she ordered that the waitress never got quite right (she’d worked a dinner once, she knew how it was so she didn’t push). And for all those years that Roy came home smelling like smoke and stale beer, never the smallest utter of a complaint passed her lips (she thought smoking was disgusting even back in high school when all her friends thought it was the cool thing, but whatever, Roy didn’t know). But Pam sighs (he did know).
She’s already excited when she reaches the restaurant parking lot, the anticipation of her mother’s visit sparking a light in her eyes that had remained dim recently (she’s striking the match now). When she reaches the booth, her mom’s already there and standing to hug her. Pam misses this from being a kid (warm cookies and kisses on foreheads because that’s what worked back then), and it’s easy to fall into a conversation.
They talk about the sleazy watermark and her mom’s job at the museum and the latest Michael catastrophe and sooner than they know it their food has come.
But Pam’s heart sinks as a wave of smoke catches off the low lighting and wafts toward her fork, already tasting like ashes (appetizing, no?). Her mom doesn’t notice (she’s on the other side of the booth) and Pam half twists around, shooting a look at the guy behind her (she could have sworn she’d noticed those red rings and slashes through the cartoon cigarettes on her way in), already biting down on her tongue out of habit. But she catches herself as she stares down at her plate, holding her breath to protect her airways, because this is just ridiculous.
Without talking herself out of it, she turns, taps the man on his shoulder and tries to quiet her rapidly beating heart (she avoided conflict for a reason).
“Excuse me, but I think this is a no smoking area.”
He glances up at her, at the sign, then down at the cigarette (don’t hit, don’t hit me, don’t hit me…).
“So it is,” he sighs, as if he’d hoped no one would notice, and crushes the butt end into his abandoned dinner plate.
Her mother raises her eyebrows, yet knows better than to mention it. But after that, over the phone, she stops telling her to stand up for herself.
---------
Pam hurries into her apartment, a few plastic bags of groceries dangling from her wrists, along with the other, brightly colored one from that stupid lingerie store at the mall. Her phone is already ringing, so she quickly untangles her arms from the numerous loops and lunges for the receiver just before it would have gone to voicemail.
“Hello.”
She knows she already sounds annoyed, but she is too scatter-brained to wash the feeling out of her voice.
“Pamela? It’s Jane Anderson.”
Pam knows enough about how this conversation is going to go to cover her eyes with one hand and massage her temples, preparing herself.
“Oh, hi Mrs. Anderson. How are you doing?”
She tries her best to infuse her words with that special brand of cheeriness that she is pretty sure the other person could tell was fake but it was polite so she did it anyway (pointless customs of society that she didn’t even know the origins of). Pam’s smiling tightly even though the other woman couldn’t see her (didn’t Ms. Manners ever have ex-in-laws?)
“I’m fine.” She responds shortly, and it occurs to Pam that maybe all those years she had been falsifying her way through phone calls as well, the only difference being that Pam is the only one (apparently) still bothering to make nice.
“So what can I do for you?” This is very, very awkward and for once Pam doesn’t know how to fix it.
“Well Pamela” (she gets the feeling Roy’s mom is just calling her that because she knows it annoys her) “I was hoping you could speak to Roy.”
Pam has to bite her tongue and the insides of her cheeks to keep from scoffing and to sand down the edge in her voice.
“Speak to Roy?” she repeats, just for good measure.
“Yes, Pamela,” (she’s sure about her suspicions now) “He’s been very depressed since losing his job and I’m very concerned about his drinking and, you know him, he won’t ever listen to me.” (that’s because you’re an overprotective wino, but Pam won’t ever say it out loud).
“Uh-huh.” Pam nods, wondering what this woman is thinking. Pam cared about Roy (she’d been his girlfriend for ten years, that doesn’t just go away) but throughout that time she’d listened to his whining and nursed him through every hangover, and he had to learn to take care of himself sometime, right?
“And I figured that since you were the one that canceled the wedding last minute and then broke his heart, you might be looking for a way to make it up to him. After he was so good to you for all those years.”
And this time Pam can’t help but laugh because, really? Who says things like that? She’s just barely too shocked to be offended.
“Mrs. Anderson…”
“No, don’t worry, I know you’re sorry about not going through with the wedding.”
And Pam just wants to scream. The thought that at this moment she could be looking at the same life she had had with Roy until the end of her days? No, she regretted it had taken too long to figure things out, not that it happened at all.
“No, that’s not what I was going to say. I’m not sorry. I apologize for all the effort you and Roy’s sisters put into it, but I’m not sorry that I’m not with Roy. I wasn’t happy for a long time and, frankly, I don’t think he was either.” Pam takes a deep breath because she’d said it all in one string of air, afraid the outside influence of new oxygen would bring in hesitation as well.
“Well…” Roy’s mother sounds outraged, and Pam is pretty sure she wouldn’t be getting a Christmas present from the Anderson’s this year. “I never thought you were good enough for Roy anyway.”
The dial tone washes into Pam’s ears and all she can feel is relief.
Wind crushes against the siding of her apartment, warm air whistling through a crack or a hole someplace she can never locate.
Pam crosses the threshold to the outside in a trance, the cement of her front stoop landing rough and cool under her bare feet and the wind upsetting her untied hair in irregular intervals. The sky grows ever grayer, the crispness of blue sky disappearing in the west as slate clouds roll in, the sun long ago passed over. A wind chime conducts its watery melody somewhere on a neighbor’s front porch as she closes her eyes and lets the sweet humidity close in around her and the tangy warning of rain to fill her nostrils.
She feels like she’s on the brink of something new, something she can’t quite place in her liquid mind, but the sense is palpable in her bones and the space just below her throat that’s opening up (she thinks it maybe to allow her shouts to finally fill the silent air).
Pam’s eyes open slowly, the calm before the storm settling the grass and the trees’ branches, yet their intuition of fear causing their minute shiver. Yet she isn’t scared, as she looks toward the east, a dark head of promise creeping her way. She knows this is the beginning of something real (doesn’t know what yet, but it’s coming).
-------
Pam has decided that this is completely unfair. Jim had to watch her pretend to be someone else, a mousier version of herself, with the wrong person, for years, so her punishment was to do the same?
She watches him, making plans to vie for a job he doesn’t want, laughing at things that really aren’t that funny, and imagines herself in his place a year ago (not too much of a stretch). She’d been posing as someone content with simple dreams and faint smiles (he knew, though, all along).
But she won’t let him pretend. If anything she owes him for the blunt confessions that knocked her out of her trance. Pam resolves that sometime soon she’ll return the favor, not before it’s too late.
-------
Sometimes Pam thinks she’d needed both of them, both Jim’s silence and Roy’s over eagerness. She guesses that without the isolation from the one person she needed and acceptance from the one person who could show her what she didn’t want, she couldn’t have evolved herself like she has. And she’s grateful to both of them for the opportunity.
Especially every time she plans an insanely crazy but-just-might-work prank on Dwandy (the term they’d invented for combination Dwight and Andy missions) or says something particularly gutsy and Jim looks at her like she’s constantly amazing him (in that completely fluffy, heart-stopping-ly lovely way, of course).
Yet it’s really as she glances in the mirror at the lips that don’t hold anything back, at the eyebrows that will raise at something she doesn’t like with no hesitation, at the eyes that will go stormy if necessary and the face that doesn’t need to double as a mask anymore, that she’s truly grateful.
Because she’d done everything for herself, and for once she’s okay with that.
