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Story Notes:

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

*song title is from "Camera" by REM.

Author's Chapter Notes:

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

*song title is from "Camera" by REM.

 

There is a reason why he doesn't like being on camera.

* * * *

He was always shy as a kid.  When he was in elementary school, his teachers would always write on his report card:  "Roy Anderson is a bright young man.  However, he does need improvement on his social skills, as we see a lack of interaction during group activities."

The other kids liked him, definitely.  He'd always share his sandwich with anyone who forgot their lunch money.  He'd always had girls passing him notes in class.  He'd always been picked first in gym class.  It's just that he was shy.  His brother, two years older, always looked after him.  His sister was five years older, and God help you if you picked on her little brothers.  Without them, he was lost.  There was one time in fourth grade when his brother and sister had been home sick with strep throat and he'd had to walk to the bus stop by himself.  He'd dragged his heavy Ninja Turtles backpack behind him, head down, holding his breath and counting his steps.  He knew that if you prayed, God would listen so he prayed over and over and over that none of the older kids would come out and make fun of him.

Roy was always big for his age but he always felt really small.

In junior high he was one of the first in his class to hit a growth spurt and suddenly he was taller than all of the other guys.  Bigger, too.  In seventh grade when they'd had their class photo, the kid who stood next to him had shouted, in front of everyone, "Anderson's big head is going to take up the whole picture!"  Not a lot of people had heard, and very few even laughed, but all the same.  It fucking hurt.  After that, he started hiding out in the boys' locker room whenever it was picture day.

He remembers coming home from school every day, before his brother who was at basketball practice and his sister who was in the band.  His dad would usually be in the garage with a case of Budweiser and his mom would sometimes stay in her bedroom for days at a time.  He never put two and two together until much, much later.

His sister took care of him and his brother, usually.  Sometimes his dad would take off in his Ford pickup, saying he was going bowling, and then not come in until they were leaving for school the next morning.  His mother would emerge from her bedroom to pour herself coffee and get a pack of Marlboro out of the carton in the freezer.  But his sister would help them with their homework, make dinner and when it was their birthdays, she'd bake a chocolate cake, every time.

In high school, lots of things changed.  For one, he was no longer "the fat kid".  He found out that he liked football.  He was good at football.  The coach liked him, because he was strong and fast and his grades didn't need to be fudged in order for him to play.  Granted, he wasn't the smartest, but he got by on his own.  As far as the other guys, he could hold his own if anyone fucked with him.  The girls liked him. He was never able to talk to any, but they did.  He heard things, saw them smile when he walked by in his Away jersey.  It tortured him every day that he didn't know what to do, how to act around them. 

Except her. 

He saw something in her from the very beginning.  It took him weeks to get up the nerve to say something to her.  They had the same lunch period.  By default, he sat with the other football players.  She always sat by herself at the other end of the table.  Sometimes she drew pictures in her notebook while nibbling on pretzels or carrot sticks.  She wasn't like the other girls.  Not like the cheerleaders.  They were cool, but normally when they found out where he lived, and that he drove his dad's old pickup, they weren't interested anymore.  But he liked watching her, because for one thing, she never seemed to notice.  She had curly hair and sometimes while she drew or read or studied, she'd tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and just hold her hand there, and he found himself wanting to touch it.  Her hair, or her hand, or both.  He'd never had a girlfriend but he thought that if he could have one, he'd want it to be her.

So when he finally sat next to her with his tray at the lunch table, it was the start of something different for him.  Weird shit that he couldn't explain.

She'd started coming to all of his football games and sometimes while he was on the sidelines he'd turn and see her in the stands, with her gray turtleneck and pink knitted hat and gloves.  She never waved, but she'd always smile.  He'd smile back.  She made him more confident somehow, and even though he got a lot of flack for being with her, he never really cared.  She never expected him to be something he wasn't.

She was there the summer before their senior year when he found out his fucking dad had never come home from bowling.  Never came home again.  She was there in the fall when his mother left town for two weeks without a word, and he didn't want to sleep in the house all by himself, with his brother and sister away at college.  She was there when his grandmother died.  When his sister got married.  When his brother got into a bad motorcycle accident.  When his sister lost her first child.  She was there for everything.  She'd seen him cry, tons of times.  Seen him shake and scream and punch holes in walls.

She had been his first.  It was fucking weird, and messy and to this day he doesn't know if either of them were ready.  She had cried afterwards, hard.   And he had beat himself up for weeks, wondering if he'd pushed her into it, pressured her too much, hurt her in any way.

When he'd started Dunder-Mifflin after dropping out of community college, he'd asked her to move in with him because he hated being away from her.  She was safe to him, warm and comfortable.  Eventually, he helped get her the job as the receptionist.  It was perfect, really.  They'd never have to be apart.  He loved her.  He did.  Maybe he didn't always show it the way he should have.  Maybe he didn't know how.

When the camera crew showed up the first day to start filming the documentary, he was relieved to find out they wouldn't be spending much time in the warehouse.  He could be himself down there, with Darryl and Lonny and everyone else.  But not in front of cameras.  He fucking hated cameras.  He wasn't loud, not a big talker.  The thought of being on TV was weird, and he didn't like it. 

But he got used to it, eventually.  Just like everyone else.  Every time one of the crew would approach him with a question, he'd simply walk away before they got close enough to ask.  It was bad enough other guys his age were chiropractors and lawyers and had huge houses and three kids.  He accepted the fact that he had a laborer's job for a paper company but he didn't want it displayed on TV.  So he tried to stay away as much as he could. 

The night of the Booze Cruise he drank way more than he should have.  He knew this.  He knew it was all on camera. But maybe that was what got him to do it, finally.  To set the date.  Fueled by alcohol and an emptiness digging into his heart, he just got up and did it.  Ready or not.  He thought about his mom, who deserved more than she got, and his dad, who never deserved a woman like her.  He didn't want to be that guy, with the girl who could always do better.  He wanted to be better for her.

He tried.  He did.  He went along with everything he needed to, subjected himself to talk of reception halls and invitations and flowers.  When she finally told him all he needed to do was sign a band, he'd let out a sigh of relief. 

He'd never been outspoken or overly ballsy.  Hell, if he got pushed, he'd push right back.  But he just was what he was.  He hid behind his size and his strength, but underneath he hated being the center of attention.  When the summer was over, and the camera crew came back to work, after everything that had happened, he wanted them to see.  For the first time, they needed to know, they needed to hear it from him. He owed it to himself, owed it to Pam.  He'd changed and he wanted everyone to know.  Shit, it was hard.  Of course it was.  But he wasn't, isn't ready to let go of her.  Not yet.

* * * *

Yeah, he still hates cameras. 



69 cups of noodles is the author of 31 other stories.



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