Author's Chapter Notes:
Oh my, the response to that last chapter was bananas - b-a-n-a-n-a-s!
Yikes. But seriously, a humble thank you.
This is just an angsty little nugget set in s2, perhaps between "Michael's Birthday" and "Drug Testing." Inspired by a Sarah McLachlan lyric*, a terrible Disney Channel movie I'm still not sure why I sat through (scared? you wouldn't know if I hadn't shared...why did I share, anyway...?), and the song from which the title comes, Blur's "End of a Century" (very Pam/Roy/Jim, IMHO).
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* if you were curious, from "Do What You Have To Do" - Deep within I'm shaken by the violence of existing for only you...
Yikes. But seriously, a humble thank you.
This is just an angsty little nugget set in s2, perhaps between "Michael's Birthday" and "Drug Testing." Inspired by a Sarah McLachlan lyric*, a terrible Disney Channel movie I'm still not sure why I sat through (scared? you wouldn't know if I hadn't shared...why did I share, anyway...?), and the song from which the title comes, Blur's "End of a Century" (very Pam/Roy/Jim, IMHO).
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* if you were curious, from "Do What You Have To Do" - Deep within I'm shaken by the violence of existing for only you...
“So what do we need again?” Jim questioned as he started the car.
“Um…” Pam glanced down at the notepad she held again. “Celery, ‘fat free bacon?’” She paused and they exchanged a shrug. “Wheat grass, water pills and…‘poop pills,’” she read, making a face at the last entry.
“Ah, Michael and his weight loss kicks,” Jim sighed. He took a peek at the list and frowned. “Wait, that’s it? The list looks longer than that.”
“Oh, I need to pick up a few things too. Just figured I’d save myself a trip after work.”
“Misuse of company time. I’m reporting you to Dwight.”
“Would you? Maybe I’ll get fired.”
“Aw, come on. You don’t really want to get fired. What would you do without seeing… Kelly every day?” he joked, almost forgetting to edit himself. Again.
“Know a heck of a lot less about Laguna Beach, that’s for sure.”
“True.”
“Never mind. I can’t afford to lose my job. Not before the wedding, anyway.”
The frequent appearance of the “w word” was as dependable as the tides these days.
“God, I’m just so tired lately,” she sighed, tipping her head back against the headrest.
“Yeah, me too.” As soon as he said it he realized that was a total failure of self-editing.
She gave him a puzzled look. “Why?” she asked.
“Oh…uh…just not been sleeping well. This week.” Or since the booze cruise, he mentally added. “Why are you tired?” he quickly tacked on, to divert the conversation away from him.
She threw a hand in the air. “There’s just so much to worry about with all this planning – did I call so-and-so about such-and-such? Did I tell that other vendor I’d changed my mind about the color of…I don’t know, whatever I had to choose a color of?” She laughed a little. “Did that even make sense?”
“Yeah.” The real answer was it was just another sentence in the epic novel he was mentally writing entitled Nothing Makes Sense Anymore.
Pam toyed with her necklace. “I just keep telling myself, ‘Pam, there’s only a couple more months. You can make it. Just get all of this over with already and you’ll be fine.’”
Jim looked over at her to see if this assessment made her sad, or if she seemed depressed that things had gotten to this point, but all he saw was a look of resignation. He tried his best not to frown, because it just didn’t seem like weddings to your supposed true love were the type of events you should want to “just get over with already.” That label was saved for things like dentist appointments. Or funerals for a great aunt. Or Michael’s meetings.
Then again, what did he know? Just another line to put in the novel.
But she was about to surprise him.
“Is it supposed to be this hard?”
He white-knuckled the steering wheel for a second. “What?”
He’d heard her, despite her whispering. But he had to ask.
“Um…” Her eyes were a little wider, as if she hadn’t meant to say that aloud (Join the club, he thought), and she started working her gold charm faster along its chain. “I just…it doesn’t seem like it should be this hard to…make things…work…I mean, like, the wedding and…”
(His runaway train of thought finished the sentence over and over: …and my relationship with a guy that’s just so clearly wrong for me…and the calling off of said wedding…and my burning love for you…and wanting to scream, “Jim, take me to bed or lose me forever!”
He pulled the emergency brake – or whatever it was called on a train - when his inner monologue started quoting Top Gun.)
Pam turned to look out her window. “Sometimes I…I just can’t remember a time when all this wasn’t the focus of my life. I can’t remember my life before all this took over.”
And he knew exactly what she meant. He was living it too, albeit not in the same way. It reminded him of a bout of walking pneumonia he’d had in college – he’d just thought it was a cold he couldn’t shake. Finally after two months he’d gone to the campus clinic, gotten diagnosed and was given heavy doses of steroids and antibiotics. And a few days later he’d had energy to spare, a spring in his step – it had been amazing, but he’d forgotten what being healthy felt like. Life was like that now, but instead he’d forgotten what it was to be truly happy. Oh sure, he had times when he smiled and laughed, enjoyed a night with his buddies, but never any real sense of joy.
Unlike her deadline of just a few months, there was no end in sight for him.
Pam was still looking out the window, but then she hung her head, and he knew it was on him to break her out of this funk. The pathetic irony didn’t escape him, ever – the guy who was miserable because he was so damn in love with her was expected to make her happy in these melancholic moments when her relationship with another guy got to be too much. He’d cast himself in this role so long ago, and she depended on it now. He almost hated her at times like these, when she was such a needy jailer, but the sad fact was he couldn’t; it was Stockholm syndrome at its purest.
Jim took a deep breath. “Well, you know what Oprah says,” he said on exhale.
Her head raised slowly. “What?” she asked, sounding more confused than anything else.
“What Oprah says. The wedding’s just one day,” he admonished her in a sing-song voice, wagging his finger.
A small smile tugged at her lips. “I don’t think Oprah says that.”
“Pam, don’t question me. I am an expert in all things Oprah.”
“I had no idea.”
“One of my many areas of expertise, really.”
“What are the others?” she asked, now smiling fully.
“Nacho toppings, Neil Diamond trivia and underwater penny stacking,” he listed as if it was obvious. She giggled, and the sound simultaneously made him smile and pushed the dagger into his heart a little further.
“Thank you,” she said quietly a moment later.
He shrugged. “It’s…”
…the highlight of every God-forsaken day.
…tearing me apart inside.
…because I love you.
“It’s what I do.”
