Pam loved the Summer Olympics as much as he did. Jim had known that once, but they’d completed their own version of the torch relay in the meantime and he’d somehow forgotten. So, when she confessed her excitement about the upcoming Games, he could do little more than smile in awe at this, the millionth whisper from the universe telling him to never let her go.
They watched the opening ceremonies at her new place, the sounds of the big city alive outside the open window. He watched her as much as he watched the television as her eyes sparkled with the color and artistry on the screen. Embarrassed, she tried to hide her tears behind her half-empty carton of lo mien. Jim laughed and called her “cute,” because it would sound silly to call her “enchanting,” or “effulgent,” or “vitally necessary for every breath I take.”
She insisted that the parade of nations is always the best part. Wrinkling her brow in earnestness, Pam talked about how much she loved seeing the small, obscure countries sending one or two delegates. As she talked about their passion, how they knew they’d never win medals but they were striving and proud anyway, she gestured around her in a way that made Jim think she knew what she was talking about.
Over the next two weeks, Pam called, e-mailed, and texted more than she had since her first week of classes. She sent updates of scores, bits of trivia, and a running tally of the medal count. She loved the swimming (“You love the swimmers,” Jim had corrected, and Pam had blushed) and the gymnastics, of course, but she also enjoyed sports that surprised him. She was enthralled by boxing and badminton, and became an arm-chair expert on synchronized platform diving. He preferred track and field and basketball, and she surprised him by knowing almost as much about both areas as he did. When she confessed that she’d done some research, he nearly cried.
The closing ceremony was the same night as the exhibition for the students in her mixed media class. Jim set his DVR and jumped in the car, determined not to be late for this art show. He felt a twinge of regret that the Games would be over; Pam wasn’t coming home for another couple of weeks, and watching the Olympics together, even remotely, had made her feel closer. He realized with a sudden ache what Pam had done – she’d gone out of her way to share the Olympics with him, because he couldn’t really share what she was experiencing in her classes.
Jim arrived on campus and found the right building. He checked his phone discreetly before entering the exhibition hall- he wanted to have the final, official medal count to report when he saw Pam. He looked up and saw her- smiling, confident but still shy, understated in her dress but still stunningly beautiful- as she chatted to another young woman.
Arrayed behind her was her work: bright colors, objects of all shapes and sizes, a variety of textures and topics. Jim hadn’t seen any of these pieces before. He knew nothing about art, but he did know Pam, and in a dizzying moment he felt certain that he’d have recognized all of this as hers even if she’d been nowhere around.
He moved closer slowly, his mouth suddenly dry. In the center of Pam’s exhibition space was a paper box.
The big cardboard box was exactly like the dozens of boxes in the Dunder Mifflin warehouse. Across the top, using what looked like coat-hanger wires, Pam had suspended tiny origami doves and a succession of what could only be yogurt lids. It looked like a kid’s rainy day art project, but at the same time it was graceful and balanced and beautiful. It was sort of sad and sort of hopeful at the same time. The tiny placard next to it read “TRIUMPH OF THE WORKING MAN by Pamela Beesly”.
Jim looked up in wonder to find Pam smiling at him shyly. “Do you like it?” she asked.
He stepped forward and gathered her into his arms. Muffled against his suit jacket, he could hear her breathless giggle. “Do you want to go to London with me?” he said softly into her ear.
Pam pulled back, smiling but confused. “London?”
“Yeah, London. The Olympics in four years? We should go.”
Pam’s smile got wider. “Absolutely I do,” she said.
Jim glanced over at Pam’s exhibit. Her heart and soul were on display, but he knew every part of them. He knew that they would be together in four years, and eight, and twelve.
He felt like he’d won the gold medal. Someday, he’d tell her that. He was sure she would laugh.
