Author's Chapter Notes:
Title is taken randomly from Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace, because I have to steal titles from things instead of coming up with them on my own. Also, this was written in all of twenty minutes last night while I was in an odd mood. So.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Like time machines are real and he just went back a year and things are okay. Her fingers brush against his palm as she slips the phone into his hand and he wants to just stop right there. He wants to stop, turn to her, kiss her hard, beg her please please could it just always be this way? But he doesn’t, because there’s a mission to accomplish here and he’s still so unsure.
And then he wants to run away again, go somewhere far far far because he can’t take it anymore. Can’t take being close to her and not knowing if she- just not knowing. He wonders if he asked her, what she would tell him. Would she even say, “Yes, yes, I love you. I’ve missed you. I-” But he doesn’t ask, because he’s tired.
He hears her laugh in a sombrero and he’s done, over. He’s going to marry her. He’d do it right then with a priest standing in front of the hole in the wall, with Michael giving her away and Dwight as his best man. She’d make a dress out of paper and he’d make a ring out of paper clips. He’d give her everything, anything, all of it, whatever she wanted, the world, the moon, his ribcage and all that’s inside it. He’d hand it right to her just because she laughs in a sombrero with him and he feels like he might explode from all the joy and love and warmth.
But there’s this other girl and when she asks, he doesn’t even think about denying it because he’s so so so- So he says, “…yes.” And she walks away and he doesn’t hurt at all, just feels like he wants to be better, so much better than this.
And then he’s standing next to her again sans sombreros, but she’s close and she’s warm and all he wants is her. He wants to take her home with him, wants to watch her sinking into his mattress slowly, slowly, wants to kiss her until it’s morning again and the pinks and the oranges are all over her face and it’s too beautiful not to just sit and watch.
In the parking lot, Karen walks briskly by him and he grabs her elbow, says, “Sorry,” in a quiet murmur with his eyes looking down at the snow. She doesn’t say anything, her eyes are glistening and red and he never ever means for this to happen. But it does because he only loves one person, one thing and it’s all he’s really capable of. He isn’t sure there’s room enough inside him for anyone else no matter how hard he tries.
Her elbow slips from his hand and then it’s just his index finger touching his thumb.
He can see Pam in the corner of his eye, snow falling around her, she’s watching. He closes his eyes, tries to make the water slide back behind his eyes. It does and he’s thankful, swallowing hard before he turns to look at her. She’s between the wall of the building the curb stop of her parking space. And she’s beautiful.
He walks toward her, the pavement beneath him spinning and icy and covered in snow. He takes his steps carefully and then she’s there in front of him. He’s being torn in half, because he hurts but he’s happy and maybe he’s happy because he hurts or maybe he hurts because he’s happy. But he’s inches away from her now and she isn’t saying anything and her face isn’t telling him anything.
“I still love you,” he says simply, falling deeper into himself because of it. The snow is coming down harder and harder making it difficult to read her face, making his eyes squint, making his words get sort of lost in all the wind and the cold.
But she hears him, because she reaches out with the fingers of her left hand and holds onto zipper pull on his coat. He’s been holding his breath for four years and he’s still holding it now, feeling lightheaded and dizzy and dying. Finally (finally), she looks up at him, says, “You have to know that I’m so, so- That I’ve been so in love with you that I can’t even-” And then it’s just, “Please,” as she moves closer and closer.
He nods, finds her hand, bends down, and kisses her. He wants to cry, almost does, tries not to, moves her hand under his coat, feels her warm open palm against his waist. His right hand is on the back of her neck, her hair spilling over it, she presses harder against him.
In his car, when they finally take a moment to pause and relocate, when she’s climbing into his front seat, pushing some trash and an atlas out of the way and onto the floor, he adjusts his rearview mirror, looks at his reflection, and finally, for the first time, recognizes himself.
He smiles, puts the car in reverse and then back into drive and then rests his hand on her knee, feeling the way her legs move with the car’s movements. She’s smiling wide and bright and full and when he skids a little on a patch of ice, she braces herself and he’s scared to death for the tiniest split second, but it’s over and she’s laughing again and he pulls the car into his driveway, already kissing her again.
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