I. Precipitation
Jim hesitates before hitting her speed dial number. Calling Pam over the weekend doesn’t exactly go hand-in-hand with not thinking about her so much, which is after all his only identifiable goal these days. He usually resists, but sometimes the effort required to not simply pick up the phone (as if there’s anything simple about it) only intensifies the focus. It’s like holding his breath; all he can think about is drawing air.
A couple of months ago, when the first of this winter’s relentless snow had arrived, they’d had a rambling don’t-make-me-go-back-to-my-desk lunchtime conversation about snowy movies. She’d mentioned loving Dr. Zhivago and wanting to see it again, but always hesitating to rent it because it was so long. Today when he’d woken up to a near blizzard and flipped open the newspaper’s TV page as he ate breakfast, he’d noticed it was on tonight. Not immediately grabbing for his cell phone, mouth still full of Cheerios, had been an act of sheer will.
By mid-afternoon, not calling her has started to feel like holding an unnatural contortion, a yoga position designed to cloud instead of clear his mind.
Pam answers on the first ring and Jim wonders if that’s a sign. A sign of what, he has no idea. He really needs to stop doing that.
‘Hey, Julie,’ he says when she says hello.
‘Excuse me?’ she sounds confused. ‘Julie?’
‘Well, look out the window…. and guess what’s on TV tonight?’
‘Uh,’ she pauses a second, stumped. ‘The Sound of Music?’
‘Nope. Wrong Julie. And think Tundra, not mountains.’
‘Tundra…. Africa…Out of Africa!’ her excited laugh is like his fix.
‘Pretty sure that’s the Savanna, not the Tundra. And really Pam – snow makes you think of Africa?’
‘Yeah, yeah, thank you Mr. Geography…. gimme another clue!’
‘Let’s see…big fur hats …Bolsheviks …’
‘I’ve got it,’ she blurts out gleefully. ‘Dr. Zhivago!’
‘Yes!’ he exclaims. ‘Thought you’d want to know.’
He’s entirely too pleased with himself, as if he were personally responsible for the cable station’s schedule. He’s aware that his pathetic quotient is scratching the danger zone, but well, fuck it. For a second, all is right in the world.
‘Thanks. I’m totally watching it,’ she trills, though he detects a hint of annoyance when she adds, ‘I’m snowed in here anyway.’
‘Has Roy ever seen it?’ The question leaves his lips before he can even wonder why he’s once again catapulting himself from elation to torture.
‘I doubt it, but he’s over at his brother’s doing something or other with tires.’ The note of exasperation in her tone grows increasingly distinct as she continues, ‘And he just called to say he’s staying for poker tonight…. not that he’d want to watch with me even if he were here.’
‘Oh, okay…’Jim responds uncomfortably.
He’s learned to tread lightly around the ever-shifting boundaries of what’s acceptable to say when Pam is angry with Roy. Unwittingly slipping from sympathetic to judgmental is far too easy, the ensuing unspoken tension too hard to bear.
‘No, it’s fine’ she quickly backtracks. ‘It’s just…. well, I ran into my old high school art teacher yesterday and she has this figure drawing group at her house Saturday nights, with a model and everyone brings wine and sketches and…’
It’s as if she catches herself. Crackling cellular air hangs between them for a moment before she equivocates, ‘It’s really not important - it was flattering to be invited, that’s all.’
‘You should go,’ Jim says, perhaps a bit too emphatically. ‘It sounds like fun.’
‘Yeah, well Roy was supposed to come home in time to dig my car out, because my back is still kind of sore. So…’
The dots connect. A couple of days ago, she’d been moving stiffly around the office, grimacing whenever she stood up. He’d asked what was wrong and she’d said she’d strained a muscle carrying several large loads of laundry up from the basement. Of course, she’d read his mind when he’d frowned and defensively qualified, ‘It’s just a freak thing…I mean, Roy would have helped as soon as the hockey game was over…I was just being impatient.’
‘Tell you what,’ Jim offers, his thoughts returning to the present. ‘I promised to pick up Mark’s girlfriend’s birthday gift before the store closes today. It’s that little jewelry shop you recommended near your place…’
‘In this mess?’ Pam interrupts. ‘Why can’t he get it himself?’
Truth was, Jim hadn’t actually committed to running Mark’s errand yet, asking himself the same question.
‘Her birthday’s tomorrow and they’ve been holed up here all day, so he didn’t think he could get away without letting on,’ he explains, glancing out the window. ‘Anyway, the snow’s pretty much stopped. I’ll just swing by and dig you out when I’m done.’
‘Oh, no, that’s too much to ask, Jim…’
As if on cue, Suzanne’s giggly squeal, followed by an all too graphic male groan reverberates through the thin wall separating his bedroom from Mark’s. Getting out of the house is suddenly imperative as a matter of sanity, contrived reasons to be in Pam’s neighborhood aside.
‘No seriously, it’s not a big deal. And you don’t want to re-injure your back. See you in about an hour?’
‘Okay…I’d really appreciate it. But drive safe. Don’t hurry.’
By the time he digs his own car out, waits for the gift to be wrapped at the store and arrives at Pam’s place, the sky is already fading into dusk. She’s standing on her front stoop waiting, wrapped in a pale blue down jacket. Even in the waning light he can see that it’s well worn, obviously not new. He’s never seen it before. This is Pam dressed for her other world, her away-from-work world. Her away-from-him world.
‘I borrowed this from my landlady,’ she extends the shovel she’s holding as he approaches.
As he pulls on his gloves and takes it from her, she begins to thank him again. Waving off her gratitude, he scans the small parking lot and identifies her tiny stranded car. It really is buried pretty deeply, but is luckily in the spot closest to the road. Vestiges of the tracks from Roy’s truck are still visible, heading straight past it.
‘At least let me make you some hot chocolate,’ she insists when he begins lifting the heavy wet snow.
The snap of wintry air feels good as the wind hits his face. He feels more awake – more alive – than he has in a long time.
‘Marshmallows?’ he calls after her, as she trots gingerly back toward the building.
‘No, damn! We don’t have any.’
‘That’s it, I’m out of here then,’ he grins broadly, resuming his shoveling.
He’s already half done with her car when Pam returns bearing a large steaming mug and a dejected expression.
‘Well, you might as well stop…. there was a message on my machine – tonight is canceled because of the weather. I guess I should have figured.’
‘That’s a drag. Maybe she’ll reschedule,’ Jim suggests hopefully.
‘Yeah, maybe…I’m really sorry to have put you out for nothing though.’
‘It’s not for nothing… you’re going to need to get out of here eventually, Pam.’
She stares off for a second as if contemplating his words, before looking back at him. ‘Hey, why don’t you stay for dinner?’ she asks more brightly. ‘I owe you one.’
‘No, you don’t. Really, I’m happy to do this. Good exercise,’ he smiles, flexing a wool-obscured muscle for full he-man emphasis.
‘Come on, I’ve got a freezer full of sauce I made with tomatoes from the farmers’ market last fall, and Roy only likes the supermarket stuff. I’m never going to get though it all myself – you’d be doing me a favor. I can defrost it in the nuker.’
‘Nuclear dinner, huh?’
‘I’m a modern girl, Jim,’ she quips. Her smile quickly fades into something more serious as she says, ‘Please stay.’
It’s already dark out, Mark and Suzanne are probably making out in his kitchen by now, there’s really nothing to eat in his fridge anyway…and Pam asked. How could he refuse?
Before following her inside, he downs his hot chocolate and finishes liberating her car. He also clears the pile of snow blocking the driveway, apparently left by the plow after Roy’s hasty departure. The streetlights flicker on just as he completes the job, casting a yellowish glow over the icy white blanket surrounding him. It makes everything look almost surreal, at once ordinary and unknown.
