I knew that the day would come when Pam discovered my secret. And when that day came, I knew we'd have to talk about everything we'd been repressing for several months.
So when she popped up behind me and ran her fingers over my upper back (centered, slightly to the left), my heart stuttered a bit. Her singsong "What 'cha got here, Halpert?" forced a smile to my uncertain face.
"Oh," I replied. "Just something that reminds me of you."
Of course, at that her play smile faltered. "But--Jim--that's--and, I--"
"I think you're being too coherent, Beesly. Try to be less so."
Her mouth quirked a bit, but her fingertips continued to run carefully over the design on my bare back. I set down the razor I had been attempting to use, and glanced at her in the bathroom mirror.
"You want to know the story?" She nodded, and I launched into my tale.
- - -
Driving out of Scranton had been tough, but driving into Stamford was worse. The misty, coastal city reflected my mood, but couldn't speak the sadness of my heart (not to be poetic).
A deeper excursion into My New Home confirmed what I had realized at first glance:
This place held nothing of Pam.
The sun didn't shine as brightly, not that I could tell; flowers weren't as beautiful; there was no warmth in anything visible. Cold. Gray. Lacking beauty.
Living with this every day would soon make me forget she had ever existed.
But isn't that what I wanted?
My apartment was nice enough; empty, but nice. I longed for a Pam-shaped imprint in my duvet, a yearbook lying open next to it, pages and covers smelling of her cucumber lotion. But this would have to do.
The office was nice, professional.
Karen was nice.
Professional.
I craved Pam like a smoker craves tobacco. A little piece of her would do.
Imagine my surprise when, after another way-too-long, monotonous day at work I found myself in front of the local tattoo parlor.
I knew immediately what I wanted, where. Something that would never fail to remind me of her. No matter how long I lived.
Immeasurable minutes of pain later, the artist slapped my shoulder, too close to the raw skin. I winced.
"'Kay, bud, yer all done. That was a challenge. Made my day. Pay up."
At my apartment (I hadn't yet felt comfortable calling it 'home'), I twisted my head until I could see the new addition to my skin in the small mirror.
A blue heart, shattered with spidery lines crisscrossing and overlapping, creating a web of lies and heartbreak was positioned directly over my own beating one. Encircling the heart was a diamond ring, a replica of the one that still resided on Pam's finger.
The tattoo ached, but I would have done the same thing again. And again. Beyond the physical and emotional pain I felt somewhat whole for the first time in years.
I would always have a reminder of her, even if it was out of sight. It would stay with me forever.
- - -
"How come I've never seen it before?" Pam asked, her cheek pressed to my chest.
"I would dare say that when I take off my shirt you are almost always otherwise occupied," I winked.
She laughed, clutching me tighter. "True. But Jim--you got a tattoo for me. Because I broke you. How can I ever forgive myself that?"
"Shhh." I smoothed her hair, pressing a kiss to her head. "We're together now. And I wouldn't change what happened for the world."
"Yeah. We're together now." The barest hint of a tear touched my chest.
- - -
The blue heart is faded and stretched now, a mere blurry mess of what it used to be. I creak my arthritic joints around painfully to run my hand over it through my shirt.
I smile softly, feeling a piece of her next to my heart at all times. The grave before me is adorned with roses, but it's not enough for the same tender ache of loss, almost fifty-eight years to the day since I was marked.
My fingers trace the words on the gravestone. Pamela Halpert. Beloved wife, sister, mother. May you rest in peace always.
A tear runs down my wrinkled cheek as I whisper, "We'll be together soon."
And I wouldn't change what happened for the world.
Story Notes:
This is rather simply written, and it kind of makes me cringe. But I love the idea behind it, and I just have such a special picture in my head of the last scene. Meh. Thought I would share it with the rest of you. Also: I doubt the fine city of Stamford is actually like this. Creative license. Go with it.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Don't own anything but the design. And I have to admit, the thing's a stretch. But I like it.
Chapter End Notes:
Reviews are like touching Jim's tattoo. And kissing it, and--okay, fine, this is rated K. I'll stop. Use your imaginations.
elliehalpert is the author of 8 other stories.
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