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(All recognizable characters are the property of NBC/The Office. No copyright infrigement intended.)


i. Sight

She thinks about him sometimes. Not in the let me correct that error on your paycheck way that she thinks about others in the office. She’ll be alone, sometimes late at night, staring at the perfect white ceiling in her bedroom and she’ll think about moments that were only witnessed by God. His hand grazing her stomach. His breath on her neck.

She always stops herself before things go to far…climbs out of bed to kneel on plush carpet and pray with desperation to a God she’s sure is listening but who doesn’t always feel like answering. She prays for herself and her sins. She prays for assurance and humility. And she prays for him. Her once sharp anger has faded. She still feels it sometimes, strong and throbbing, but mostly it settles at the back of her mind and reminds her how she ended up…here.

She’s not thinking about him at all when everyone pours out of the office building and into the parking lot. She feels betrayed by Michael and betrayed by Phyllis and angry at everyone else for so thoroughly enjoying a party she didn’t plan. She knows they don’t always like the parties she comes up with. But they’re hers and they’re simple and someone used to tell her he liked things like that.

Andy insists that they ride the Ferris wheel. She agrees mostly because she doesn’t feel like listening to him pester her about it for the rest of the party. His smile is huge and open as they drift backwards and she feels so small going up and up and up with nothing to tie her down. The Ferris wheel stops at the top, letting Oscar and Stanley off, and they sit for several long moments high up above the parking lot.

“My parents are coming later,” Andy says, squinting out across the parking lot and rapping his fingers playfully on the safety bar. She clutches the bar firmly, not liking the feel of her feet dangling over so much emptiness. She looks sideways at her boyfriend and he looks so happy and so simple highlighted by the golden fingers of the approaching sunset.

“Why?” she asks simply, quietly. She never understands why he does things. She’s always asking why and always getting answers that confuse her even more than she was to begin with. He’s like a puzzle she just can’t solve but he always pulls her chair out for her and he doesn’t talk during movies.

“So they can meet everyone. They’re spending the weekend. We can go to dinner with them tomorrow night, if you want,” he says. The answer is so normal, so unlike him, that she catches herself in a smile. He looks back at her, smiling with his eyes and his mouth and his whole body, and she lets him see her own quiet grin. She looks away after a moment and down, down, down onto the parking lot.

Darryl’s band is playing soft hits of the ‘70s and she’s surprised to recognize a Carole King song she likes. Her father used to sing it in the car as they drove to church, teasing her mother just to win a rare smile. The food smells dirty and meaty but they’re having cake later so she’ll at least be able to eat that. The fabric on the walls of the bouncy castle ripples slightly and she hears a burst of laughter come from within it.

And then she sees Dwight. He’s sitting alone at a table, eating ribs off of a paper plate. The Ferris wheel finally lurches to life and Andy swings his legs playfully as they pitch over the edge and make their way back down to Earth. But she keeps her eyes trained on Dwight, watching him slurp the ribs, watching him wipe a streak of barbeque sauce off his chin with the cloth of his handkerchief, watching him sit in this sunny moment all by himself.

“Do you want to go in the moon bounce?” Andy asks her, cutting the silence and placing a hand over hers. She jerks her gaze away from Dwight and back onto her boyfriend. She gives him a severe look, not even bothering to answer a question as ridiculous as that. But his eyes are twinkling and she knows he’s teasing her. Trying to win a rare smile.

The Ferris wheel stops again to let them off. She steps gratefully back onto solid ground, feeling wobbly. She frowns in the direction of the band as they launch into a cheesy disco song. Andy places a hand on her back, leading her towards the tables. She lets him, looking everywhere and anywhere but at Dwight.

“Want an ice water, my flower?” Andy asks as she sits down. She hates that stupid pet-name and she’s told him more than once. She looks up at his face, so eager to please, ready to scold him but can’t seem to muster the strength. She nods, needing an Andy-break. He appears genuinely excited to have somehow found the right question to ask and hurries away towards the drinks table. She sighs and, with trepidation, glances to her right and towards Dwight.

He’s looking at her. As soon as she turns to him he snaps his gaze away, blushing up from his collar. She’d forgotten that. His propensity to blush at the silliest moments. It was so unlike him and the face he wore at work. It reminded her of the face he wore in private, his cheek against a pillow, and she had to look down at the tablecloth. She focuses her gaze on a smear of barbeque sauce someone has marred the clean white with. She’s torn between satisfaction that Phyllis will have to explain that to whoever supplied the tablecloths and disappointment at someone’s (probably Kevin’s) sloppiness.

The distraction only lasts an instant and she finds herself looking up at Dwight again. He’s walking away from her, carrying his paper plate and his own silver knife and fork towards the trashcans. She watches as he carefully tosses the plate in the large plastic tub and then heads through the main doors of the building. She knows he’s going to the bathroom to wash his silverware. She remembers making soap in his kitchen, scrubbing hard at bowls and plates with the harsh but effective homemade cleaning solvent. She’d listened to him tell stories of his grandparents doing just this when he was a boy while Mose whittled at the table behind her. It had all felt clean and pure and right—his old-fashioned values complimenting hers perfectly.

But Andy finally returns with a paper cup of water, a single cube of ice floating lazily in the clear liquid, and asks whether he should offer his singing services to the band. She sips the water and listens to him, interjecting several cool admonishments, but notices immediately when Dwight steps back outside, his presence dominant and sure.

She’s already praying silently and the sun hasn’t even set.

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