He sighed in annoyance as the rain came down harder. How had it come to this?
He was driving through the rain on I-79 to Meadville, Pennsylvania. There he would attempt, probably without success, to grovel, cajole, persuade, whatever it took, the head of purchasing for Crawford County Public Schools to turn to Dunder Mifflin for all their paper needs, in spite of the fact that they could get paper cheaper from any one of a handful of other companies.
After either being refused or, if he was really lucky, finally coming to an agreement to deliver paper at a pitiful profit margin, he would drive to the Days Inn Meadville to spend the night.
Alone. Away from her. 300 miles from his pregnant wife, away from his modest town house that she had so thoroughly transformed that it now was the only home he could ever imagine, away from her auburn curls and slowly swelling belly, away from the warmth of her smile and that look in her eye she got when she was game for whatever he might want to do.
He had only himself to blame. It was he and he alone who explained to David Wallace himself that the only way they could compete was to go out in person and start demonstrating their service before they even made a sale. It was he and he alone who suggested that they try to sell more in Western Pennsylvania and volunteered himself to try to personally make it happen, even though he was plenty busy already as Regional Manager and really hated to travel these days..
He knew, though, that this was the only way. If he didn’t make these sales, they wouldn’t get made, and maybe the branch would close and he’d have to either move or scramble for a new job. She would be worried, even if she wouldn’t admit it, and there would be no convincing her that she could quit and focus on design classes and being a mom, no persuading her that she didn’t have to help carry the load.
So, he tried. Day after day he tried. Some of it was easy. He could turn it on like a switch, that part of him that could schmooze and small talk and make people want to buy stuff from him. He’d always had that; that’s why he could coast along without trying much. He had given up coasting, though, when his father-in-law had given him that look, a searching, somewhat skeptical look that said It’s your job to take care of her, you’d better not fuck it up. He had met the look with one of his own, one that he hoped said, I know. She’s in good hands.
So, he had to give up pretending that he wasn’t really a paper salesman and not really caring, had to give up on the whole idea that he wasn’t really part of this world. He had to keep trying when he could tell they wished he leave them alone. He had to come up with new angles and new ideas to sell paper. He had to drive through the pouring rain to Meadville.
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He pulled into the Days Inn, considered whether he should eat at the Neon Cactus Tex-Mex lounge or just order a pizza. He decided to wait on dinner, checked in and showered, and called her.
“So, how does it feel to work for the company that is the exclusive paper supplier for Crawford County Public Schools?”
“Yeah, I closed it.”…
“No, I am happy. Just tired. Driving in the rain…How are you?”…
“I miss you too. You can’t even imagine.”…
“He? I keep telling you, Pam, she’s a girl. You’re going to give her a complex before she’s even born.”…
He told her the boring details of the sale, the long hours spent pretending he liked the tedious purchasing agent. Telling her about it was the only good part of the day, really. He took no real joy in selling paper, but hearing her sounding pleased and proud made it bearable. He knew that every success put their future on more solid ground, and it made him feel like less of a fraud, like there was a legitimate purpose to all this.
He talked to her for an hour-and-a-half and would have talked longer if he hadn’t started to hear the sleepiness in her voice. After listening with absurd enthusiasm to the dry details of his hard won sale, she told him about her day. They talked about the upcoming ultrasound. He could feel the tension in her voice, that fear that crept in that something was going to be wrong or that she wasn’t really going to be able to do this. He did his best to be reassuring, although it was harder when he couldn’t see her, couldn’t tell her with his expression that he believed in her. Finally, hearing her voice get slower and softer, knowing she needed to rest, he reluctantly let her go, telling her he loved her and wishing her goodnight. He reassured himself that they would talk in much the same way tomorrow, only they would be tangled together on the couch or in bed.
Buoyed a little by the shower and a lot by the sound of her voice, he dressed and made his way to the Neon Cactus. He wound up eating enchiladas and sipping beers at the bar, reading the paper and half-heartedly watching the Pirates game, another reminder that he was in the wrong part of Pennsylvania.
He returned to his room and flopped on the bed, Sportscenter on with the volume low, and hoped to fall asleep quickly. When he was home, when she was asleep next to him, he would sometimes think about the past. He would close his eyes and remember their time apart, concentrating on it, trying to feel it. Just when he started to connect with the empty feeling, he would open his eyes and look at her sleeping beside him, and slide close enough to her so he could feel her breath, and feel nothing less than a sort of joy.
On the rare nights like this when they were apart, though, he avoided such thoughts. Even though the warmth of her voice over the phone was still with him, it wasn’t enough. Without her next to him, the imagined world without her was too real. He didn’t want to think about anything, about the sale today or the clients he would be stopping by to see tomorrow, about the fact that the bed was empty, that she was 300 miles away. He knew when he woke up the next morning that he would be okay, that waking up in a Days Inn in rainy Meadville was fine when he would be driving back towards her, coming home to her and the part of his life that he loved that night.
