~The Divine Comedy, Inferno, Canto XVII
The staircase wound in a tight spiral downward into the unknown, and the thick yellow gas was nauseating. Jim treaded carefully down the tiny steps, finally working his way into a short, dimmed hallway. He took two steps toward the facing door, neatly catching the handle before he noticed a shadow slip in behind him followed by the menace of cold steel against his neck.
“Hand over everything you’ve got or your buddy gets it!” a man screamed toward Michael. It was a familiar scratchy growl, well-worn by time and desperation. Jim recognized it instantly.
“Creed., what the hell are you doing?” Michael sneered. “That joke was funny the first fifty times but it’s old now.” He rolled his eyes in disgust. Jim wasn’t so sure it was a joke, but soon he felt the pressure from the blade slacken and took a few quick steps back to make sure he got as far from his crazy coworker as rapidly as possible.
“Matthew, my brother!” Creed exclaimed, holding out his fist. “Bringing in a new recruit, huh? You know we can always use new blood.”
Michael kept his hands in his pockets, rocking backing on his heels. “Actually, this is Jim
Halpert…you used to work with him. He’s getting the full monty…the full tour, today.” Jim shook his head and continued to avoid staring at the freak show going on.
The older man thought for a moment, then turned to Jim. “Were you the gay one?”
Jim, used to the routine, simply said “Umm, nope.”
“Keep the grenade launcher under your desk?
“Wow, no.”
“Did you talk everyone’s ear off?”
“Pretty sure you don’t even have the right sex there.”
“Oh, so you had ‘the change’ then?” He flexed his fingers in mock quotation marks. Then, in a barely audible tone, he added “talk to me when John Paul here leaves…I might have something to help you with your…growing problem.”
Jim’s bulging eyes gave away his shock as he stepped to the side, eager to end the conversation. “C’mon, Michael,” he motioned, wrenching the door open and slamming it shut when they were safely on the other side.
Glancing from one side to the other, Jim could tell that this space was considerably more confined than the others he’d been through. Rocky crags protruded from the floors and ceiling, and the souls gathered in the center chamber of the room were motionless. There was but a single tiny structure on the opposite wall, decorated with a bright, striped awning that underscored the ridiculousness of its presence in such a place.
As he and Michael waded their way through the crowd, Jim took note of the souls they passed. Weary and gaunt, he thought they might even be figments of his imagination…that no one could look so hopeless and desperate. Each person was bound not by chains or ropes, but by a thick layer of ice on each hand. He surmised that this must have been the punishment for thieves…that their eternity would be spent shackled with the inability to do the most menial of tasks as punishment for being a little too adept with their digits on earth. Some seemed resigned to their fate, while others thrashed and beat their hands upon the stones they lay on. Success was fleeting, however…the rime reformed as quickly as it had shattered, each time creeping further and further up the offending limb.
Arriving at the small stand, they stood for a second until a tall, graying man with sunglasses and a pair of gloves appeared from beneath the counter. “What can I do for you two today?” he asked.
“Creed…you just saw us out in the hall…what the hell are you doing in here?” Jim asked incredulously.
“Look man, if you’re cops, I don’t know anything about nothing’. I’m just here tending my glove selling business and-”
Jim was unsure of how to proceed, and Michael was staring silently off into the wall. “No, not a cop. Wait, how did you get away without the ice on your hands?”
“Oh, no I still have it.” He tapped his hand on the counter three times, a wooden clack emanating with each rap. “I just put these gloves on ‘em.”
“Well, how did you get the gloves on, even?” Jim had to admit, even as creepy as Creed was, he was nothing if not resourceful.
“I use my feet.”
“Wow.”
“I spent 13 days chained to some broad’s bedpost…’Frisco, ‘67. You learn to do pretty much everything with your feet.” he shrugged.
“Yeah, that’s messed up,” Jim stammered, but something else caught his eye. On the rear wall of the stand was a mural. It looked like something from the early 20th century that’d be painted on a barn…the paint was chipped and the boards were weathered and splitting from end to end, but he could make out the pattern of a scene on it. It looked like an old west saloon. And it looked so familiar. He turned to Michael. “Who painted that?”
“Oh, I dunno. Creed probably found it somewhere.” Michael drawled, still looking at nothing.
“Huh.” He felt his mind drifting, though, as Creed began to talk about different kinds of acid. He was beginning to put the puzzle together…
It had been a stirring 03/03/03 party….Michael had insisted that everyone sync their watches so that they could start promptly at 3:33 pm, but by 3:45 the party had pretty much fizzled out. Since they’d all been instructed to shut down their computers and put away all files and folders in order for them to “fully appreciate the awesomeness of the moment,” they were left with no work to do and sent home. Kevin made the suggestion that they head to Poor Richard’s to kill the last hour before it was time to get home, and despite Angela’s objection, everyone else agreed.
Jim was gathering his jacket off his chair when Pam came walking over. “Hey,” she said brightly. “Can I ask you a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Um, I was just wondering if you could give me a ride to Poor Richard’s. Well, cause, Roy and all-” she motioned over her shoulder. “Well, I called him and he said he’d come by at 5 and pick me up.”
“Oh, yeah…absolutely” he nodded. “Sounds cool. So-”
“Yeah?”
“I, yeah, I was just gonna ask if you were ready to go. I’m still getting settled here after a full year…but generally, I know where everything I need to take home is, so it takes like 3 seconds to get ready and go home. Double that if I’m leaving for good.” he chuckled.
“Well, fingers crossed that you need that 6 seconds soon, Halpert” she mocked as she held up her hand, fingers crossed neatly. She turned and walked back to her desk, scooping up her jacket and purse in one swoop and rounding back to the entryway. “Come on, Mr Six Seconds,” she called out playfully.
“That’s what she said!” came Michael’s voice from inside his office, working diligently on a People magazine crossword as he sulked over the demise of his party. Jim looked toward Pam with an amused grin, then draped his jacket over the his arm and slung his messenger back over his shoulder, catching up to Pam in a few steps.
They arrived at the bar shortly after four, catching it at a down time. Most of the group took up a table at the center of the room, but Pam insisted that she and he take stools at the bar so they could “avoid Kevin’s stinky feet.” Jim saw the glint in her eye and wondered if she got as much a thrill from spending a spare half hour or so with him as he got from sitting next to her on a bar stool, watching the US National Ping Pong championships on one TV screen and the early news report on the other.
One beer turned to two, that progressed to a shot, and before he knew it, Jim felt his world start to tingle. Roy showed up soon after five, skipping to Pam with a glee that almost made him understand how Pam had fallen for him in the first place. He mentioned that he was going to the other room to shoot some pool with Kenny and Darryl, motioning to the bartender to fill up their usual pitcher of Budweiser.
Time ticked by, and the drinks still came…not so fast as to endanger his perch on the stool next to Pam, but slowly he felt himself slipping under the veil of inhibition, longing to glimpse the secrets that lie in her heart and let her into his own. Roy returned for two more vessels of beer, each time passing the excuse that “the game is on in the other room and Kenny doesn’t like these stools” for good measure. Pam gave a rather uninterested response each time, giving him hope that maybe she was enjoying this time…this moment…as much as he was.
It happened during Jeopardy. They both discovered that their meager skills were considerably diminished in their current state…Jim currently had 3 questions answered, Pam 2. It was a commercial break and Pam was leafing absently through a magazine sitting on the bar. Jim, more intent on watching the furrow of her brow as she concentrated on the pages…unsure if she was truly interested in the article or simply trying to stare away the blur in her eyes…was startled when she slapped it down on the counter in front of him and proclaimed “Ooh a quiz! We need to take it!”
“What is it?” he asked, coming to from the sudden shock.
“It says ‘How normal are you? 20 questions about life, love and work.’ You are so going down, Halpert.”
“Huh, I didn’t know it was a competition,” he joked.
He could see the wheels turning in her head, but instead she started reading. “Question one: how many credit cards do you have? None, 1, 2-4, 5-10, more than 10.”
“More than 10? My goodness…” Jim laughed. “Uhh…should I write these down? It wouldn‘t be fair if you heard all my answers before I got to hear yours.”
“Absolutely you should.”
“Nice…remembering what I told you,” he snickered as he grabbed a napkin from beside the peanut bowl and produced a pen from his pocket. “Continue.”
She kept going, passing through questions about his first job (working at his uncle’s gas station in Dunmore), how old he was when he had his first kiss (17), first drink (21-he was too afraid of getting caught), how many cars he’d owned by 30 (3, although he was not yet that old), finally coming to the penultimate question. He sensed a brief hesitation on her part, as though she were unsure she wanted to ask…it piqued his curiosity, even though he didn’t know what she was about to ask. “What?” he said, more curious than inquisitive.
She cleared her throat. “Oh, nothing. Just something in my throat.” He didn’t know if he bought it, but his features calmed and he could tell that relaxed her. “Uh, have you ever had a crush on a coworker?”
He exaggerated his thoughtfulness, eliciting a giggle from Pam. “I’m telling you Beesly, this is a tough one. I mean, there’ve been so many. Do I just count crushes? Does that one night stand with Phyllis mean anything?”
“Oh God, Halpert. Please…never bring up that joke again. You’ll have her believing it really happened if you don’t shut your mouth.” Pam shot back, smiling.
“Yeah, I know. It sure grossed Michael out though.” he chuckled. “And I don’t think I’ll have to worry about getting the ‘Hottest in the Office’ Dundie again this year.”
“True.”
Jim turned back to his task. He felt his heart bump as his pen touched the ratty paper, writing almost without thinking. He finished up the final question and reached for the magazine. As he grasped the smooth, glossy paper, he felt her hand pass under his and grab the napkin out from under his right hand.
“Aha!” she shouted, perhaps a bit too loudly. Stanley turned from the table behind and leered at them, but the chirp of his cell phone prevented him from making a comment.
“Wait! That’s not fair…you didn’t even answer. You can’t look at mine yet.”
“That’s what she said.” Pam answered with a laugh.
“Oh, nice, Pam.” he mocked. “Here, I bare my soul to you on a bar napkin and all you can do is poke fun. I should just go-” he faked a turn toward the door.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure these are some psychologically revealing answers here, Jim.” Number 6. You’ve eaten 10 or more different flavors of ice cream in the last month. That’s deep, man” she drawled. “Also, kind of disgusting…if I did that, I’d gain 15 pounds.”
“Good genes I guess” he shrugged. He leaned toward her, trying to swipe the napkin from her hand but failing. He caught her eye and it may have been the alcohol whispering sweet nothings in his ear, but he thought he saw a challenge in her eyes…a call to come just a bit closer, to let himself fall into her and see what happens. He wondered if she could see the same light in his gaze.
He spun back to the bar just in time to catch a stumbling drunken Roy slip past a waitress before his foot caught on Stanley’s chair. He came hurtling forward, falling into Jim’s stool and knocking it off balance. He felt his nose crack off the ledge in front of him, spilling blood onto the countertop before he landed on top of the now immobile warehouse worker. He stood up immediately, grabbing the towel the bartender had tossed in his direction.
“Oh my God!” Pam shrieked, snapping to sobriety. “Roy, are you alright?” Roy mumbled something about his ribs hurting, and Pam called for Kenny and Darryl to come help him up.
Jim kept the towel braced against his throbbing nose, knowing he’d need to head for the hospital once the dust cleared. He just couldn’t stand to watch her nurturing HIM, ignoring him when it was so obviously Roy’s own fault. He thought he heard Pam call his name as he walked to the restroom, but he ignored the draw of her voice as he slipped inside the door.
Jim stood there, legs heavy against the counter as he stared hard as his reflection in the grimy little mirror. He wiped at the blood dripping from his nose, careful not to bump it….he looked and felt pitiful. He wondered what he’d done to deserve this fate…which metaphorical mirror he’d shattered to bring about such bad luck. Exiting the bathroom, he walked back to pick his jacket off the stool, looking down to see a note pasted onto his spot on the counter top….
“Jim- I am so sorry about that….you know how Roy gets when he really drinks. We can’t take him to the doctor like this so we’re heading home to let him sober up. You should probably get to the hospital though…don’t want to ruin your prize-winning nose. See you Monday, Pam”
Even though he knew that was a standing joke between them, he felt the ire rise in his throat. How could she even attempt to stick up for him? he thought. He crumpled the note and tossed it onto the counter, landing on top of the napkin he’d so treasured only a few minutes before. He picked it up, glancing at number 19. “Not until I met you.” Like something out of a chick flick. Or a Hallmark card. He stuffed the answer key to his soul mercifully into his pocket. He rolled his eyes at the notion that fate might shine brightly on him just once, then turned and briskly marched into the blackened March evening.Jim shook his head to shake free the memory of that day. He needed to get out of here, and now. Not just here…but all of it. He thought it was all a dream, yet still he wasn’t sure how much more he could take. Reaching for Michael’s arm, he pulled him toward the small door in the corner. It swung open easily and he marched through with a reckless abandon, eager to his pain behind him. One step later, he felt himself tumbling down into a watery pit below.
