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Author's Chapter Notes:

Angsty.  If I didn't add the warning correctly, adult theme ahead.

All publicly recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners.  original characters and plot are the property of the author.  The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise.  No copyright infringement is intended.

Pam's been working on dragonflies lately. Impressionistic water colors, detailed magnifications of veined wings, attempts to capture the play of light on iridescence.

Pam's first best friend loved dragonflies, chose them as her totem, though neither she nor Pam had any idea what that meant. Her first best friend had dragonflies on her walls, covering her notebooks and folders and embroidered on her jeans. And her first best friend's parents chose a dragonfly to personalize the marker for their daughter's grave. Pam's first best friend fell victim to her own insecurities and the words only she heard telling her the world would be a brighter place once she took herself out of it.

On the day that marks the ninth year since Pam's first best friend laid herself to rest, Pam goes to work, sits, draws, doodles, remembers, smiles, cries.

The man Pam is tethered to by history and a gold band knew her first best friend, but doesn't remember the significance of the day and cruises by her desk with a "Babe" and some combination of "guys, out, see, later." Pam looks at him with empty eyes and chooses the phone over confrontation. One "Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam" later, he is gone and she seeks a few moments haven in the ladies' room. Pam presses a cold paper towel to her eyes, wills the redness and swelling away, not out of vanity, but in an attempt to forestall curiosity.

When Pam returns to her desk, a small bag greets her. Two items reside inside: a card reading "Feel like dinner with a friend? - J" and a jade box whose carved lid is an inset dragonfly. Pam looks to him, smiles lightly, mouths "yes."

She told her last best friend about her first best friend just once, to explain her sadness on the sixth anniversary. He remembers.

Pam strokes the box and knows it won't become home to jewelry. It will live on her desk next to a green teapot. It will harbor a yearbook photo; jinx change; the corner of a French Onion Sun Chips bag; a piece of a jello box; a receipt for M&Ms, 69 cups of noodles, a Night Swept gift set; and a post-it commemorating the genius of Spontaneous Dental Hydroplosion.


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