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DISCLAIMER: All characters - save for a couple of originals - are the creations of others. I am only borrowing them. No harm intended.

He doesn’t go to Australia.

Jim calls Jan the day after Casino Night and accepts the offer. Two weeks later, his car is packed, and he’s already found a place in Norwalk. On his last night in Scranton, he and Mark sit outside the apartment and drink an entire twelve pack. It’s still chilly enough for them to need jackets, but the alcohol keeps him warm.

Part of him hopes she’ll show up. She’ll tell him not to go, or even better, will beg him to take her with him. It isn’t until Mark shakes him awake, tugs him to his feet, that he realizes he fell asleep waiting for her out there on the front stoop.

The next morning, he has a crick in his neck that makes it hard to check his blind spot on his right side. A hangover threatens and sits just behind his eyes, pulsing against the early morning light. It’s half past six when he pulls out the parking lot of his apartment building for the last time. As he merges onto I-81, he slips on his darkest sunglasses and presses the button for the CD player.

Music fills the car, thrumming loudly inside his aching head, but he would rather avoid being alone with his thoughts. When it gets to the line in the song, my love keeps growin' still the same, just like cancer, and you won't give me a straight answer!, he glances briefly in the rear view mirror, the familiar Scranton skyline sinking into the horizon.

-

Jim is on the phone with Ms. Frick, a customer he inherited from his predecessor. She runs a small chain of stationary stores in Hartford. It took him time to get used to her voice, which has the pitch of Fran Drescher but the accent of a well-to-do Connecticut woman who belongs to the DAR. Normally she is quick (she never requires a big sale on his part), but today she is droning on and on about eggshell versus off-white for some wedding invitations she’s designing. The notice on his email pops up and he clicks on the button to open new mail, his mind numb. It’s simple and sweet (so unlike Michael), and Jim thinks he might throw up the tuna fish sandwich he ate for lunch.

WEDDING OFF! Remember what I told you?

Jim wonders how many people at the Scranton branch know about what happened on Casino Night. He knows from personal experience how these things can spread faster than wildfire, and he stands up abruptly, shoving away from that trail of thought. Hannah shoots him a quizzical look, and it is the most pleasant she’s ever been to him since he came. He almost says something, anything, but her phone rings and she never lets it go to voicemail.

Ms. Frick’s voice penetrates, impossibly loud and very annoyed. He apologizes profusely, and after a few more minutes of back and forth, she finally settles on eggshell. He fumbles the receiver as he tries to settle it onto the base, and it lands on his desk with a loud thwack. Hannah covers her mouthpiece and whispers furiously that she is (duh) on the phone.

He glances around but no one besides Hannah has noticed him. He settles back into his chair and picks up his phone again, and after a quick look at his notes, he dials Mr. Babcock’s number.

-

He is in Stamford six months when he manages to usurp Dwight’s position as top salesman in their region. He accepts the award and the congratulations with as much humor as he can muster. This is why he transferred – to be somewhere and someone else.

When he mentions it to Mark in an email, Jim knows he cannot fully appreciate the irony.

-

He hasn’t dated since he moved. It isn’t that he lacks options. There’s a cute girl in his building who laughs at all his jokes. Her name starts with a G (maybe?), but he never remembers until he sees her. Mostly, between their run-ins on the elevator, he remembers her long hair, the way it falls like a sheet down her back. He knows she’s interested and doesn’t discourage her. She likes to invade his space, tapping his shoulder to get his attention, or reaching across him to push the button for her floor, her breasts flush against his arm. He likes the way she smells and the bright flash of white when she laughs. Sometimes he imagines pressing her up against the wall of the elevator and fucking her from behind, with only the fly of his pants undone and her skirt pushed up. He imagines she would be tight, and he would make sure her legs stayed as close together as possible.

Then there is Mrs. Ramírez-Arellano next door. She came by his first night in the building with a pot of some Puerto Rican stew, and after sizing him up behind her thick, blue-tinted lenses, made sure every time she came by thereafter, she had one of her seven single granddaughters in tow.

-

Pam shows up on a Saturday in March.

Jim presses the intercom, expecting Joe from the Domino’s over on Main. Instead, it’s her, her voice, hesitant and familiar, and it fills his small apartment. He can’t speak so he simply buzzes her in and waits.

Her knock is as tentative as her voice. For a moment, he stands there, hand pressed flat against the door. He can’t do this again. He won’t do this again. The wood is cool against his forehead as he crouches low to look through the peephole. She fidgets and glances up and down the hallway, waiting. It’s a good feeling, having the upper hand for once, and for a moment, he entertains the idea of simply leaving her out there.

Then she looks right at him, as if she can feel his gaze. It is the first time in nearly a year since he has seen her. His resolve has always been shaky at best when it came to Pam Beesley and this time is no different. He opens the door.

In person, she looks different. It’s been quite some time, but still, he drinks her in. Tallying up all the new details. Her hair is much shorter, pulled back into a stubby ponytail high up on her head, and when she meets his eyes, he remembers how much he loved the way she used to look at him. He’s missed the Jim she always seemed to see no matter what.

She whispers hey, and it’s as if she’s trying to convey everything she can’t say into that one word. Once again, he falls back on old habits and says a simple hi in return.

He invites her in.

-

She stays.

Over pizza, she tells him that she called the wedding off, that she quit Dunder Mifflin, and he is quiet, simply listening. He tries to hold onto the hurt and the anger. Tries to ball it up tight, nurture it as he’s done the last eleven months, but she smells the same. Her voice and her laughter, they still do that funny twisty thing to his insides. All he wants is to pull her close and hold onto her for dear life.

It is nearly one in the morning before he shows her around his bedroom. At first, she tries to talk him out of letting her have his bed, but he insists. There is little to no chance he’ll actually sleep tonight anyway, and she might as well be comfortable. Sometime before dawn, he glances up, eyes bleary, and she is standing at the end of the couch in an over-large t-shirt and boxers.

Without a word, she catches his hand and she leads him back to his bedroom.

For the first time in months, he sleeps, deep and dreamless. When he wakes up, she is behind him, her arm thrown across his middle, and he can feel the warm puffs of her breath between his shoulder blades.

-

She starts drawing again. He comes home one day and finds her sketchbook sitting open on the sill of the living room window. It is the only one in the apartment with a good view and decent light. A young boy plays amongst the trees; patches of sunlight illuminate his face as he looks up into the sky. The image reaches out to him from the drawing, beckoning him. For once in his life, he doesn’t completely hate being a paper salesman, but only a little.

One evening he comes home to find her outside the building, sketching Mrs. Ramírez-Arellano from next door. Reluctant to disturb her, he stays back, leaning against the tree, watching. Not for the first time, he notes the glow in her face. It’s not quite a smile, but as close to joy as he ever sees her wear.

When Mrs. Ramírez-Arellano spies him, she whispers something to Pam, a knowing smile on the older woman’s face. Pam glances up, her eyes bright in the waning light, and he wonders what she sees when she looks at him.

Is he an escape for her, or the excuse?

-

She makes asopao de pollo, the very first dish Mrs. Ramírez-Arellano made for him when he moved into the building. After subsisting on take-out for nearly a month straight, he inhales it, even going back for seconds and thirds. She laughs and teases that it isn’t that good, and he thinks he could get used to this.

It has been weeks, but they still haven’t talked about it. Why she’s here, or why she called off the wedding, or even what she wants to do with her life now that she’s no longer a receptionist. Instead, they watch TV, usually old reruns on Nick at Nite. Tonight, she curls up against him, her head on his shoulder, and her hand on his thigh.

Just before midnight, she gets up to go to bed, but he stays where he is, not sure what to do. Minutes pass and he waits, trying desperately to focus on the television screen. He has seen this episode a million times but it never fails to amuse him whenever Jackie pulls back the curtain, stoned out of her head. For a few minutes, he manages to block the sense of expectation crowding the apartment. Then she is calling from the bedroom. Her voice is light as she asks if he is going to stay up much longer.

He doesn’t answer but clicks off the TV, tossing the remote onto the cushion beside him. Rising, Jim ambles down the hall towards his room. He hesitates in the doorway.

She’s still dressed, standing over by the window. It’s warm enough now they leave the windows open at night. This is why he likes being this close to the coast, that sharp tang of ocean air. She glances over her shoulder and the look in her eyes makes his stomach flip.

-

She tells him after, whispers it as she traces little circles on his chest. With him gone, it was easier to pretend that she had made a choice. That Roy was even a choice anymore.

He listens, but he realizes for the first time that it doesn’t really matter what brought her.

All that matters is she’s here.

-

The news hits the office in May. The Stamford branch is merging with Scranton. It’s not a surprise to anyone, least of all Jim, but as soon as his boss pulls him aside to discuss his “options,” he knows. They want him to make the move back to Scranton.

When he first transferred to Stamford, he felt like he had actually accomplished something. He had stepped up and taken on a better role within the company. At last, he was a grown up with a grown up job. It was never what he thought he would be doing with his life, but at least he’d made a decision.

Glancing at his co-workers, he sees the panic on their faces. Hannah has spent most of the afternoon in the ladies’ room crying. Most of them have spent the majority of their working lives with the company and there is a good chance that some will be losing their jobs. He doesn’t want to be that person anymore. He doesn’t want to look back and wonder what would have happened if he had finally taken a chance on something, anything.

He spends the rest of the day googling resignation letters.

-

He tells her the news when he gets home. She is worried. She took a giant leap of faith, and Jim is finally ready to take one himself. When he tells her his plan, she smiles, soft and hopeful. That night, they stay up all night, talking, making love, full of plans.

-

They sell the furniture they won’t need. The apartment they find in Brooklyn makes his place in Norwalk seem roomy by comparison, but it’s what they can afford with the little bit they have saved up.

Mrs. Ramírez-Arellano brings them beef empanadillas and nisperos de batata for the drive. She is sad to see them go, especially Pam. He watches the two women hug goodbye, and Pam blinks back tears as she pulls away. With Pam distracted, Mrs. Ramírez-Arellano corners Jim, her index finger poking him expertly in the chest, and she makes Jim promise to make an honest girl of Pam. Smiling, he hugs her tight and she pats his back affectionately. She is so short her hands hit him at the small of his back. He is really going to miss her.

As soon as they’re on the road, he tells Pam and she lets out a surprised bark of laughter, nearly choking on a mouthful of the sweet potato dessert.

-

At the last stoplight before they enter I-95, he asks her to marry him. She doesn’t hesitate; she blurts out a yes.

The driver behind them has to sit on the horn for a full minute before they stop kissing.

-

End

-

Author’s Note: The title comes from the following quote.

The Past is the textbook of tyrants; the Future the Bible of the Free. Those who are solely governed by the Past stand like Lot's wife, crystallized in the act of looking backward, and forever incapable of looking before.

- Herman Melville, White Jacket

In addition, the lyrics in section one belong to Arcade Fire, from their song “Crown of Love.” Thank you to my friend, Green Eve, for the wonderful beta-job.



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