Introduction.

This is a story about a man named James Halpert and his wristwatch. James Halpert was a man of infinite numbers, endless calculations, and remarkably few words. And his wristwatch said even less. Every weekday, for six years, James would brush each of his thirty-two teeth seventy-six times. Thirty-eight times back and forth, thirty-eight times up and down. Every weekday, for six years, James would tie his tie in a single Windsor knot instead of the double, thereby saving up to forty-three seconds. His wristwatch thought the single Windsor made his neck look fat, but said nothing.

James Halpert is an average man, with an average job, with an average life. He works for a mid-range paper supply company named Dunder-Mifflin in Scranton, Pennsylvania.

James also lives alone in his sparse apartment but he doesn’t seem to mind.

He has his morning routine timed out exactly so that he can make the 8:17 am bus if he paces himself above a light jog crossing Main Street heading towards the bus stop. Every morning he takes a perfectly shaped apple from his kitchen and carries it in his mouth while clutching his briefcase in one hand and timing his steps to his watch with the other.

James takes the bus every day downtown to his office building surrounded by a vast parking lot tucked away behind a few larger buildings.

The town of Scranton is small enough that he finds it to be more efficient not to own a vehicle and to support public transportation so he takes the bus everywhere he goes. His briefcase and coat are slung over his lap, while his hands are folded on top of them as he stares out the window, counting the street lamps that pass by, 34.

James gets to the office at 8:45 am, and heads toward his desk, 8 steps from the entrance. He then places his briefcase down next to his chair, gently sliding it under the desk. James then pulls his arms out of his sport coat and places it on the back of his chair.

“Question: what is 240 times $8.99?”

James looks up to see his co-worker Dwight holding a pad of paper and a pen in his hand eyeing him curiously. James’ eyes head to the ceiling as his brain calculates the answer. The murmur of phone calls and fingers typing on keyboards fill the solemn office while Dwight waits.

“$2,157.60”

James nods at Dwight then heads to the kitchen where he will pour himself a cup of coffee with one cream and one sugar. He mentally counts his footsteps to the kitchen door from his desk, 11.

James sits back down at his desk carefully placing the full coffee mug down on a coaster. His desk is facing Dwight with his back to reception.

The room is small and filled with many desks. There are no cubicle walls separating co-workers, just one clear glass partition between two accountants in the back corner.

James pulls out a manila envelope from his middle drawer and quietly opens it up pulling out a client list that has been typed and left-justified. He starts going through each client cross referencing it with information he finds about them in the computer system. He has many clients who he represents and the list is long. However, James sees that today is shaping into the exact same way yesterday became, and the day before, and the day before this always calms his ever racing mind.

At 12 o’clock exactly James heads into the kitchen and pulls out the same lunch he’s had for six years. It’s a ham and cheese sandwich on white bread and he pours himself another cup of coffee. It takes him exactly 43 minutes and 26 seconds to finish eating his lunch and finish reading an article in Small Businessman, his boss keeps a current copy of the magazine in the break room.

Eight hours after he started his day at Dunder-Mifflin, James’ wristwatch makes a quiet but audible beep. He instinctively closes down his computer, 12 seconds to shut down, and turns off his monitor. He stands up behind his chair and pulls on his jacket. He slides his hand up to the knot in his tie and makes sure it’s still placed straightly across his neck. It is, of course.

“Goodnight Dwight”

“Goodnight James”

They both leave the building followed by many other Dunder-Mifflin employees and James steps up to a mid jog as he heads to the bus stop down the block.

That night when he set his wristwatch on the nightstand next to his neatly made full size bed, he didn’t expect that in the morning things would be a little different than they had been previously.

James Halpert’s wristwatch went off at the same time it did every morning, and he stepped his big bare feet onto the cold wood floor. He walked directly towards the bathroom that was attached to his bedroom and pulled out his toothbrush.

27…28…29…As James counted the brushstrokes in his head he heard a voice. It sounded like a woman, explaining what he was doing. She was narrating his actions in a clear British accent.

He stopped brushing and stared down at his perfectly straight toothbrush. He forgot in a split second that the pause in brushing was causing a loss in time. He carefully put the brush back on his teeth and continued counting. 33…34…then he stopped, hearing the woman’s voice again. He pulled the brush out of his mouth expecting that the brush was the cause of the noise.

“Hello?” he spoke quietly but clearly to the brush.

He shook it in his hand and put it up to his ear. Nothing. He finished his brushing and went to put on his favorite blue tie.

He wrapped the silk around his neck and watched himself in the mirror. So far the voice had been quieted but as he swung the fabric over itself she spoke again and James fumbled with the knot. It wasn’t perfect now but he didn’t have time to fix it. He glanced at his watch and realized he was 2 minutes and 41 seconds later than usual.

He grabbed an apple and rushed out the door having to pick up his usual consistent pace.

James felt off today, as if something wasn’t right, he was running late, and this was not like him.

James stopped in his tracks just across from the crosswalk on Main Street and looked to the sky.

“SHUT UP!”

Cursing the heavens in futility.

“No I’m not! I’m cursing you, you stupid voice so SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE!”

He looked back to the bus stop and saw the 8:17 bus heading to the group of people across the street.

He started running quickly now jumping in front of oncoming traffic and just missing a white Toyota Carolla that zipped behind him. He began waving his hands as he ran, now on the sidewalk, towards the bus but it kept going down Main, ignoring his pleas.

James began to question whether it really was Wednesday.

James turned to his left and saw a woman standing beside him waiting for the next bus to arrive.

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“That voice saying ‘James began to question whether it really was Wednesday’?”

“It is Wednesday.”

“No, but did you hear that voice say ‘James began..”

“Who’s James?”

“I’m James, but did you hear it?”

She looked up at him her brow furrowed in the middle and her eyes slanted towards him, she would be sitting far away from him on the bus.

“Nevermind.”

When James got to work 22 minutes late this morning he couldn’t keep his mind under control. He continued to feel mixed up and confused.

James stormed by the reception desk and huffed down in his seat forgetting to take off his jacket. Feeling the sudden urge for coffee he stood up quickly from his seat almost toppling it behind him. He started heading towards the kitchen, 1…2…3…

“Question: What is 345 times $12.99?”

James stopped abruptly and faced Dwight.

James answered quickly…

“$4841.00”

And in doing so didn't realize he’d gotten it wrong and that the correct answer was $4,481.55

“Oh um no, it’s $4,481.55” James shook his head and lowered his eyes to the floor not noticing everyone’s eyes following his footsteps to the kitchen door. He wasn’t sure what was going on and also wasn’t sure what to do about it.

****

Later that afternoon he found himself in the warehouse surrounded by many green and white boxes. There were aisles and aisles of consistent cardboard boxes around him and he was standing behind a cart that was holding a box he had pulled down earlier. He had stopped moving a while ago and was holding a client file with many pieces of paper enclosed tightly in his hands, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular.

A short quiet man, with blonde thinning hair approached James cautiously.

“Uh…James?”

“Oh, hey Toby.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“The voice, it stopped and I’m waiting for it to start again.”

“Um…”Toby’s eyes started to wander around the warehouse expecting to see something that would explain why James Halpert would be waiting for a voice.

“Listen, tell me if you hear it.”

James quietly opened the file in his hands and turned the pieces of paper over. The noise of them scraping against each other was echoing down the empty aisle and the sound they produced was reminiscent of lapping waves from a distant ocean, falling over each other against the sand of a lonely beach.

James’ hands came to an abrupt halt and his eyes stared into Toby’s.

“So?”

Toby shook his head looking around James to the stacks of boxes. “What?”

“Did you hear it?”

“Hear what? I didn’t hear anything.”

James released a heavy sigh and rested his eyes down at his feet.

“Nevermind, maybe I’m going crazy.”

“You know Dunder-Mifflin has a corporate therapist. Maybe you should tell Ryan that you’d like to speak to him.”

“Yea maybe that’d be a good idea.” James closed the folder in his hands and hugged it to his chest.

“Oh uh, I was wondering if you wanted one of these clients? There’s uh an art store and a bakery. How bout you take the art store.” Toby hands over the file and James delicately takes it from him. “It should be pretty easy, it looks like you could use an easy sell.”

“Thanks man.” James ran his hand across the back of his neck and nodded at Toby in agreement.

90 minutes later James found himself sitting in the office’s conference room with an odd man standing over him. He was unusual looking; he was older with gray thinning hair. He was lanky and had an odd odor surrounding him, something similar to dead rats.

Dr. Bratton was leaning his hands against the table behind him while he leaned in towards James.

“Are you feeling wibbly-wobby? Do you need some time off to collect yourself, to bring yourself back to your center?”

Why was James talking to this man? This man…was an idiot; this man used words like “wibbly-wobbly” and “convo”, and explained that trees were trees. Of course trees were trees; James knew that trees were trees.

James sat in the small wooden chair and stared forward at the man who was in fact explaining that trees were trees just like she’d said.

“Uh right…I think I’m going to just take some vacation. I’m sure that will work, I’ll just take the rest of the week off. I just have one last sales call to go on, then I’ll go home.”

“Oh that’s wonderful! I’ll just tell Howard you’ll be going then.”

“Howard? You mean Ryan? Howard is his last name.”

“Oh dear, I’m not so good with names.”

****

James was standing outside the small family owned art supply store gripping his briefcase tightly beneath his fingers. He craned his neck up and read the store front “Art Supplies” seemed forward and accurately descriptive. He took a deep inhale and walked into the front door, a light bell tinkled against the glass informing the store owner a new customer had entered.

James looked around the small space. There were aisles of art supplies, 6, but in the front corner was a sitting area. There was a coffee pot and a plate of scones, also 6, set out. A small group of college students were sitting on the overstuffed couch reading a book about coloring. James found himself staring at them wondering what sort of world he’s found himself in.

“Excuse me?” A rushed female voice came up behind James and he was startled when he turned to see the prettiest woman he’d ever seen in his life. She was average height with average weight and wild untamed curly auburn hair. She was wearing a smock splattered in paint with her hands tucked down into the front pockets. “Can I help you?”

She looked down at James’ briefcase and knew instantly this man was lost. He was standing in an art store wearing a black suit, white shirt and blue tie holding a briefcase and staring blatantly at the group of girls sitting in the corner.

“Oh, uh. I’m looking for a Miss Beesly.” James pulled his briefcase in front of his waist now gripping the handle with both hands.

“Uh, that’s me.” The woman bit her bottom lip while she looked up at James questioningly.

“Oh, Miss Beesly. Hi I’m James Halpert, uh from Dunder-Mifflin. Do you have time to talk about your paper supplies?”

“Oh.” Miss Beesly pulled her hands out of her pockets and turned walking back to the counter behind her. “No solicitors allowed.” She placed her hands on the counter and James looked down at her fingers. They were long and her nails were short, there was some blue paint streaked across her index finger.

“Oh, no. Um we called uh, last week. We supply your paper already, no I’m not a solicitor.”

“Oh right. Dunder-Mifflin.” She ran her fingers through her hair and shook it out loosely around her shoulders. “Look, I’m sorry but I’m sort of busy here. Do you think you can come by tomorrow or something?”

“Oh, yes that’s fine. I’m sorry I showed up unannounced. No tomorrow is fine, that’s great.” James stepped back and felt his hands start to sweat around his leather briefcase handle. He watched her as she took a set of paintbrushes from a customer’s hands and started to ring them up at the register. “Ok, so Miss Beesly I will see you tomorrow, how about after lunch?”

“You can call me Pam, after lunch is fine thanks.” She waved him off and went back to her register. She was wearing a white tank top under the smock with denim capris.

When she turned her back to James he saw a small tattoo peeking out from the hem of her shirt on the small of her back and he found himself imagining his hand covering it. The feel of her soft delicate skin under his body made his cheeks flush. He imagined her smile bright and early in the morning with a delicate kiss to his lips after saying hello.

Now James was acknowledging the voice and letting the woman speak. He understood now that no one else could hear it and this was probably a safe place for her to say what he felt.

Suddenly a woman with three unruly children came through the door and broke the moment releasing James from the mysterious trance he found himself in. He slowly backed out of the store and turned walking across the hot asphalt towards the nearest bus stop, 27 steps.

Jan Levinson stood on the edge of her table holding her left hand out over the edge, her right hand clutching a thin cigarette. The room she was in was spacious and nearly empty except for the table she was currently standing on, and a chair. It was the middle room of three major rooms. The one to the left was the front room it also contained a table and a chair along with the front door. On top of the table however was a white typewriter with a lone white sheet of paper sticking out of it. Then the third room contained a small gray couch and a table with a telephone on it. In the corner was a bed that was covered in tangled sheets and blankets, off in the back was a kitchen, and a restroom. Jan’s humble abode.

She was staring forward through the floor to ceiling windows that flanked the south wall of her apartment, seemingly at nothing. She was a skinny woman, wearing a baggy blue and white striped button down men’s dress shirt. It was un-tucked from her loose fitting pants. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and her hair was tousled appearing as if she hadn’t brushed it in days.

She was surprised when she turned and saw a stern looking woman watching her from the ground.

“What are you doing up there?” the short, thin, blonde asked.

“Research.” It was the same voice that had been following James, this was the woman in his head, this was the woman narrating his life but he had yet to find this out himself.

Jan bent her knees and slid down onto the edge of the table, scooting her butt across it and letting her toes hit the ground, she stood up facing the woman who had just entered her apartment. “You must be my new secretary the publishers sent. I don’t need a secretary.”

“Actually I’m your personal assistant. My name is Angela Martin and I am here to serve you as you need me.”

Angela was a petite woman with straight blonde hair that she had pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a gray skirt with a white blouse covered by a pale rose colored cardigan. She had her hands clasped in front of her and was standing perfectly straight. She was the polar opposite of Jan at the moment.

Jan took out a tissue from her pants pocket and spit into it, Angela eyed her quite disgusted. Jan lifted the cigarette and placed it into the tissue wrapping it up and placing it carefully onto the table.

Angela brushed her eyes across the large table covered in empty cigarette cases and ashtrays. “Did you smoke all of these yourself?”

“No, they came pre-smoked.” Jan was cautious and feisty with this new woman who just entered her life unannounced.

“You know there’s something called a nicotine patch.”

“I don’t need a nicotine patch, I smoke cigarettes.” Jan ran her hands across her face then up through her hair. “I read this, in this fantastically depressing book, that when you jump from a building, it’s rarely the impact that actually kills you. I was just imagining James Halpert standing on a ledge of a building and him falling off. I’m just not sure how I would get him to the roof of a building.”

“Ok, so you need help getting him to a roof?”

“Have you ever thought about jumping off a roof top?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Did the publisher’s send you over here because they think I have writer’s block?” Jan crossed her arms in front of her and stood firmly in front of Angela.

“Do you?”

“Maybe…I just don’t know how I’m going to kill him.”

“Well, I have helped finish 23 books and never once been late or had to ask for an extension. So I think we can work this out together” Angela stepped closer to Jan and put her hand on her arm. “I will gladly and quietly help you kill James Halpert.”

“This coming from a woman who’s never even thought of leaping off of a building.” Jan looked warily at the petite woman. She didn’t like being pressured into writing, this wasn’t going to be pretty.

****

James was now surrounded by many business men who were all waiting for the crosswalk light to read WALK, when all of a sudden his wristwatch started to beep uncontrollably. The face of the wristwatch started blinking and turning off and on and the hands were moving quickly where minutes turned into seconds and hours into minutes.

James lifted his wrist to his ear and shook the watch, when it went dead. He gently took it off his wrist, pulled out the stem and pushed it back in. The wristwatch sprung back to life and the hands slowed down to their regular pace.

“Do you have the time?” He asked the short balding middle aged gentleman in front of him.

“5:34”

“Thanks” James then slipped it back onto his wrist and heard the voice.

Little did he know that this simple seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death.

James stopped his feet and tossed his head to the sky. “What? What? Hey! HELLOOO! What? Why? Why MY death? HELLO? Excuse me? WHEN?” The men surrounding James didn’t stop when the light read ‘walk’ and James began to yell towards the sky, and they didn’t stop when he asked about his death.

****

James was now sitting across from a rather old woman, and he began to wonder if all therapists were supposed to be old and weird looking. He had called the number that Dr. Bratton recommended and made an emergency appointment with this woman after hearing the voice imply his death was near.

She was very small, no taller than five feet, if even that. She had dark brown hair cut into a perfectly straight bob. There were strands of grey streaked throughout her hair showing her age. She wore small round spectacles on the edge of her nose and sat leaning over her chair with her legs crossed in front of James.

“A woman talking to you in your head…Schizophrenia”

“No, not to me, but about me. I’m somehow involved in some sort of story. Like I’m a character in my own life, but the problem is that the voice comes and goes. Like there are other parts of the story not being told to me, and I need to find out what those other parts are before it’s too late.”

“Ok, about you, in your head…sounds like schizophrenia.” She took her pen and rested it against her lips.

“No, no. I’m not a schizophrenic. It’s just a voice in my head. I mean, the voice isn’t telling me to do anything. It’s telling me what I’ve already done. Accurately, and with a better vocabulary.”

“Mr. Halpert. I hate to sound like a broken record, but that’s schizophrenia.”

“You don’t sound like a broken record, but it’s just not schizophrenia. What if what I said was true? Hypothetically speaking, if I was part of a story, a narrative, even if it was only in my mind, what would you suggest that I do?

“I would suggest that you take prescribed medication.”

“Ok…other than that.” James rested his hands on his knees and looked into the woman’s eyes pleading with her

“I suppose talk to a literary expert.”

“Oh that’s brilliant.” He stood up from the couch and reached out to shake her hand.

****

James stood in front of the college directory and ran his finger down the long list of names, falling just below a Professor Michael Scott, 13th down the list.

James opened the heavy wooden door and walked into the long empty corridor. He counted the doors on his left as he looked for room number 24. He stopped, 29 steps from the entrance, and lightly knocked on the door marked 24.

He heard a voice from inside, “Come in”

James walked in to see a man bent over the back of a reclining chair reaching for something.

“Um, I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Oh…” Professor Scott was startled and the chair almost tipped backwards. James stepped forward and put his hand on the back of the seat. The professor stood up and ran his hands down his shirt. “Sorry bout that. Wow I’m such a clutz. Oh so you are…?” He reached his hand out to shake.

“Oh sorry, I’m James Halpert, I called you earlier.”

“Right, right. The narrator thingy. Ok so sit down.”

James pulled up the chair that the professor had been hanging over earlier and sat down pulling his overcoat around his waist. He eyed the room as the professor also found somewhere to sit.

It was a small office with a large bookcase filled with all sorts of books. His desk was covered with papers along with many toys. As James sat across from him he did notice an air of childlike wonder on the man’s face. There was a picture of the professor framed on his desk and it looked like he was dressed up like Monica Lewinsky, possibly for Halloween but James wasn’t sure.

Professor Scott leaned over and grabbed a white coffee mug and lifted it to his lips. The words “World’s Best Boss” were printed across the front of it.

“You probably think I’m crazy don’t you?” James rubbed his fingers across the back of his neck, scratching the skin gently.

“Well…Ok yes, maybe a little. Can I ask you to tell me about it? What happens when you hear it? What does the person say?”

James leaned back into the chair and recounted the actions and descriptions from the last couple of days. Professor Scott stared intently at James with his eyes never leaving the young man’s face.

“Ok, so I still think you’re a little crazy. I’m sorry I’m not sure I can help you.”

“Oh alright”, James stood up and ran his fingers through his hair, the usual tamed ‘do was now ruffled and loosely falling over his forehead. He stood up from the chair and shook the professor’s hand. “It’s just that I can’t get this one line out of my head…’ Little did he know that this simple seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death’”

“Wait. Did you say ‘Little did he know’?”

“Yea, that’s what she said yesterday on my way home, ‘Little did he…’”

“Oh, then that means little do you know, that means there are things you don’t know. Oh this is good. You know I taught a lesson about little did he know? Wow…little did he know…” The professor trailed off and lifted his hand to his chin turning to stare out of the corner window.

“Um. Professor?”

“Oh please, call me Michael. Wow ok then maybe you are involved in something here, maybe this is bigger than we thought.” Michael clasped his hands together and began rubbing them back and forth. “Alright Jimbo let’s find out what kind of story you’re in!”

The morning had turned into something very odd with Professor Scott. The man suggested that James carry with him a small black notebook and mark off each time he felt like he was in a comedy and each time he felt like he was in a tragedy. Now James was standing outside the small art supply store just past 12:00 pm wondering if he should already be making a check under Tragedy.

He was standing out side watching Pam through the front window and couldn’t summon his feet to move.

Pam was wearing a pink tank top today but still covered with the same paint splattered smock. She was carrying a plate of cookies over to the reading nook and setting them carefully on the glass coffee table. Even from this perspective James could tell they were homemade. He began to wonder if she made them herself and wondered what they would taste like against his tongue.

Today he was wearing, however, a blue dress shirt without a tie and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. The shirt was tucked into a simple pair of khaki pants. He was on vacation after all.

His right hand was clutching his briefcase as he shoved the left, still clutching the black book, into his pants pocket. He took a deep inhalation of breath then slowly walked towards the front entrance.

Pam looked up from behind the register and gave James a small smile in acknowledgement. James smiled back at her with a bigger and goofier grin that he’d anticipated. She just shook her head and turned back to the customer who was trying to pay for their oil paint.

He carefully set his briefcase down and pulled out a small pencil he had in his right pocket then removed the black book. He made a straight line below the section marked Tragedy.

He pushed the pencil and book back into his pocket and started walking down the first aisle of art supplies. He felt completely out of place. He didn’t paint, he didn’t draw, he didn’t even read about painting or drawing.

He was clutching a small blue box in his hand of oil pastels, and reading the back cover of it trying to figure out what exactly made these ‘oil pastels’ when he felt a tap on his back shoulder. He dropped the box from his grip and bent down to grab it.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you. Here, I’ll take those.” Pam reached her hand out for the small box that James was seemingly having trouble to handle. “Have you ever used these before?” She tilted the box in front of her.

“Oh no. I don’t paint or actually do anything creative, I kind of feel like I’ve stepped into a third dimension here.” His eyes wandered down the rest of the aisle filled with questionable items, a slim smile crossing his mouth.

“That’s too bad. We have classes you know, if you thought you’d ever be interested. Naw, you’re probably not interested, you’re just here on business right?” She set the box back on the shelf and slapped the side of his arm. “Ok, well let’s get to business.” She turned back from him and headed towards a wooden door that had a clear “Employees Only” sign glued on it.

Pam forcefully pushed through the door stepping into a cluttered back room. James watched her carefully as she took a right walking through another door. He followed suit and found himself in a messy office. She slumped down into the chair behind the desk and he gently sat in the plastic chair against the wall.

12 different sizes of pencils were strewn across her desk.

****

“What are we doing here? I don’t even think we’re supposed to be in here.” Angela was leaning against a white wall gripping her elbows tightly with her hands. She took in a deep swallow as a doctor was leading a gurney down the loud corridor yelling out instructions at the following nurses.

“Well you told me I needed visual stimulation.” Jan was still wearing the same baggy blue and white striped shirt she had been wearing the day before but had now thrown a coat over it.

“Yeah, I meant a museum or something.”

“I don’t need a museum, I need the infirm.” She turned her head looking for someone she could speak to, someone who worked at the hospital.

Angela delicately whispered to herself, “You are the infirm.”

“Excuse me, nurse?” Jan stepped up to a husky nurse holding a clipboard against her chest.

“Yes ma’am. Can I help you with something?”

“Yes, well you see I would like to know where the dieing people are located. These people are all well and good but they won’t be dieing. They’ll be recovering…from their injuries and I really need to see the one’s that won’t be getting better.”

The nurse had a look across her face as if Jan had just slapped her. “What? I’m sorry who are you? Why are you in here?” She motioned her hands towards the hallway.

“Oh, right…you see I’m a novelist, and I’m on research. I’m trying to kill my main character and I can’t quite find the right way to accomplish that so I was looking for inspiration.”

“Oook. I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”

“Right, ok, thank you.” Jan turned away from the shaken nurse, and huffed out a loud gust of air. “Next!”

Angela hugged her right arm around her body and her left hand was twisting a gold chain around her neck carrying a thin cross on it. She inhaled sharply as she followed Jan out the door under the dark cloudy sky.

It looked like rain.

****

45 minutes later Angela was shivering underneath a large black umbrella, sorry she’d been right.

She was sitting next to Jan who herself was not under the umbrella and was getting soaked to the bone.

Angela could tell Jan was having another one of her ‘moments’.

“Ok, so what are we doing here?”

“Do you even need to ask? I’m waiting for an accident, possibly one where the vehicle careens off the road and breaks through that barrier there, on that bridge and plummets down into that river.”

“Is that how you see James dieing?”

“No, not particularly. But this weather can cause crazier things to occur.”

“Ok”

They both continued to sit there in silence watching the cars cautiously pass across the bridge.

They never saw an accident that day or even a flat tire.

****

“Ok, so let me get this straight…You used to have a particular piece of paper…”

“Purple.”

“Ok, purple paper, that looked recycled…”

“Sort of recycled, you know like a whole bunch of little bits of paper put together.”

“Ok, and you’ve had some requests for this, but since you stopped stocking it you don’t really have the stock number or anything easily attainable to find this information?” James had been sitting in this small office now for about an hour and the petite artist was beginning to drive him nuts.

He was also having the same effect on the woman but was unaware.

“Ok, look I have some old order forms that I had faxed to you guys like awhile ago I can go get them and you can go through them. I made a list of the papers I’d like to restock up and what they look like. Some of them I was able to find the numbers on because they’re still on our shelves but, I’m trying to branch out into the scrap-booking world and I’ve just got some weird handwritten requests on some of them.” Pam stood up from her desk and pushed the chair back a little causing a slight scrape along the floor.

“Ok, well that’s a start.”

Two minutes and thirty-two seconds later Pam appeared carrying a box filled with little sheets of paper mixed all together.

“Is this how you keep these filed?” James stared at the overflowing box, his mouth had dropped open.

“No, actually I’m quite fastidious. I just wanted to mess with you.” She made a small wink and plopped the box down onto her desk causing a small wave of air to rush across James’ arm. She turned flipping her hair across her back and left him, alone.

“Greeaaat.” James stood from his very uncomfortable plastic chair and slunk down into the ever squeaking desk chair. He reached into the box and pulled out a handful of small pieces of paper trying to separate them into similar piles.

After 3 hours, 43 minutes and 17 seconds James had every piece of paper carefully stacked across the now impeccable desk. Along with a list of paper products that should correspond with the stacked papers.

He lifted his arm and looked at the time on his wristwatch it was almost 5 o’clock and he knew the store would be closing soon.

He carefully wrapped up all the papers and stuck them deep into his briefcase. He stood up and grabbed the small black notebook off of the desk flipping it to the page with many slash marks across it. The side with the Comedy column had only a couple slashes and the side with the Tragedy column had an impressive many more slashes. He closed the book and slid it down into his pocket.

When James stepped out cautiously into the warehouse he smelled the sweet aroma of cookies. They smelled delicious.

He carefully opened the ‘Employees Only’ door and walked back into the small art store.

Pam was standing at the front register closing up, with a plate of cookies in front of her. Two individual milk containers were resting beside the platter.

“So…I think I’m all set.” He couldn’t help but stare at her, even though there were moments he had wanted to strangle her earlier she was too beautiful not to stare.

“Oh ok, here do you want a cookie?” She lifted up the plate.

“Oh, naw, I’m not really a cookie guy.” He had placed his briefcase at his feet and was now waving his hands in front of him.

She walked over towards him and gestured towards the sitting nook. “Oh right. Come on now, everyone likes cookies, especially some made by the famous Pam Beesly.” She winked at his smiling face.

“Beesly? Beesly? I don’t know any famous cookie bakers named Beesly?” He enjoyed teasing her, a little bit.

She smacked his arm a little too hard and ended up rubbing the shirt where her hand had just whacked.

Pam gripped her fingers around the firm surprisingly muscular arm and pulled him over to the couch.

“Sit.” She pushed him down and placed the cookies on the coffee table sitting in front of him. She turned her back and walked over to grab the milks still sitting on the register counter. “Here, milk and cookies.”

“Oh no, seriously it’s alright.”

“Please, I insist. It’s been a rough day and I haven’t really helped with that. Eat it. It’s soft, still warm actually.”

She lifted a cookie up to his face, offering it to his watering mouth.

James reached and grabbed the chocolate chip cookie in his hand and placed it delicately on his tongue. Taking a small bite out of the cookie his eyes were staring back at Pam. She was leaning over on her knees watching him with a large smile on her face.

“Good?”

“Yes, very. Thanks for forcing me to eat it.”

“Welcome” She tapped the milk bottle a couple times with the palm of her hand over the table towards James.

He smiled at her warmly, the corner of his mouth lifting up and his head tilting at her.

After a couple sips of milk and a couple more cookies James stood up in front of Pam, he had run out of things to say and felt the comfort between them dissipating.

“I should…go.”

“Oh, ok, let me give you a box for these.”

“No, no you don’t have to do that.”

“Come on I want to.” She ran her hands over the front of her smock and took a small box out from behind the register counter. Pam lifted the lid and creased the sides open, delicately placing some tissue paper into the box then lightly putting a cookie at a time in the box.

“No, please. We’re not supposed to accept gifts actually, corporate policy.”

“Well what was that…?” She pointed towards the couch.

“Oh, right I shouldn’t even have had that. I’m sorry.”

Pam’s eyes fell onto the box and she slowly closed the lid down.

“How about I pay you for them?”

“What!? No, no please don’t… I think you should go.”

She turned her back and leaned up against the counter.

“Wait… you made those, just for me, didn’t you?”

She didn’t respond and he pulled out the small black book that was stabbing his thigh deep in his pocket.

Another tragedy mark

“This may sound ridiculous to you but…I think I’m in a tragedy.” His warm fingers grabbed the cold metal door handle. As he stepped through, the tinkle of the bell was the last sound he heard.

“Hey hey…faaat Halpert!”

“What?”

“You know…fat..alb…never mind. Hey you know what? Are you hungry?”

“What?” James was holding his coat over his arms and repeating himself.

“Hungry? Are you?...Yoda, he he.” Michael stared at James with a gleaming grin on his face.

“I suppose.” James was afraid to ask what he had in mind. He didn’t know this man very well but he’d had enough of a taste to understand that Michael Scott, was…, well he was odd.

“Sweet! Let’s go to Hooters! Then we’ll pretend we’re brothers and I’ll ask you some questions I have about your narrative.”

James’ jaw fell slightly open and he was almost frozen in place. “Hoo...ters?”

“Yeah! They have the best chicken wings, and you know…boobs. Ha!”

“Ok.” James lifts his eye brows and shakes his head; this would be an interesting lunch he was sure of it.

****

The two men arrived at the restaurant a little while later and they were escorted to their seats by a bubbly red-head named Katy, who was also going to be their server.

James pulled the little black book and small green pencil out of his pocket and opened it up, there goes another check for Tragedy.

Michael set down his notebook covered in scrawled lettering out in front of him.

Katy came back over and stood behind James waiting to take their order.

Of course Michael spoke first. “How is your chicken breast?”

“Oh God.” James whispered it more to himself then exclaimed it to Michael, but the point had been given.

Katy had finished describing the Hooter’s delicacy when Michael replied, “I’ll have that but hold the chicken.”

James lowered his head and huffed out a “no.”

Katy looked at Michael quizzically not getting the joke. “You mean you don’t want chicken in your chicken breast? How does that work then?”

“Oh, forget it. No, I’ll just have the, uh the hot dog.”

Katy took the menu from Michael and didn’t stop staring at him as she took James’ order.

“Ham and Cheese sandwich please, with fries. Great.”

She rushed away to get their orders in and Michael began running his pen down the long list on his paper.

“Ok, so I have some questions, a test if you will that I’ll need you to answer so we can figure this out more. I know you have your list of Comedy and Tragedy tick marks, but I don’t think you’re doing it right. Now, Jim…James, sorry, these may seem silly but your honesty is important.”

“Ok”

“So, we know it’s a woman’s voice. The story involves your death, it’s modern, it’s in English and I’m assuming the author has a brief knowledge of Scranton.”

“Sure”

“Ok. Question one: has anyone recently left any gifts outside your home? Anything? Gum, money, a large wooden horse?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Just answer the question.”

“No”

“Do you find yourself wanting to solve murder mysteries in large fancy homes in which you may or may not have been invited to?”

“No, no…no,” James was shaking his head fervently at the crazy man across from him.

“Alright, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the chance you might be assassinated?”

“Assassinated?”

Their food arrived and James was grateful to be a little distracted. However, Michael just continued.

“One being very unlikely and ten being you’re expecting it around every corner.” Michael’s eyes were wide and staring.

“I have no idea.”

“Ok, well. Um, are you the king of anything?”

“Like what?”

“Anything, the king of the lanes…at the bowling alley.”

“King of the lanes?”

“King of the lanes, king of the trolls?”

“Trolls?

“Yes, uh, uh…a secret land found underneath your floor boards.”

“No. That’s ridiculous.”

“True. Let’s start with ridiculous and move backwards. Now, was any part of you at one time part of something else?”

“Like, I have a dog’s kidney?”

“Well is it possible at one time that you were made of stone, wood, various corpse parts?

“Uh. No. I’m sorry but what do these questions have to do with anything?”

“Well, nothing. We’re just determining what stories you’re not in. You may not realize this but we just ruled out half of Greek lit, seven fairy tales, ten Chinese fables, and determined conclusively that you’re not King Hamlet, Scout Finch, Miss Marple, Frankenstein’s Monster, or a golem. Relieved?”

“Hmmm?”

“To know you’re not a golem?”

“Oh, yes I’m relieved to know I’m not a golem. Ridiculous. Can we go back to your office now? This place is getting a little noisy?”

“Sure, but first you need a new shirt.”

“No Michael, really I don’t, please let’s just go.”

“Oh, ok.” Michael’s eyes fell sadly to the ground and he led James out of the door.

****

Angela walked into Jan’s apartment to find her slumped in front of her typewriter.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Jan quickly raised her head up then lowered it back down.

“Not going well?”

“No, it doesn’t seem like it is. I’ve never had such a difficult time with killing a character off before. It’s not like this is my first book you know? It’s my 10th, you’d think I’d have a knack for the whack.” Jan raised her hand to her neck and made a slashing motion across her throat.

“Uh huh.”

Jan slunk down out of her chair and fell onto the floor. She put her head on the cold tile and sprawled her arms out at her sides, like a snow angel. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well maybe if you thought about going to some of the places I’ve suggested...” Angela stood over the woman clasping her hands tightly in front of her. She was never really good with comforting others and she was trying really hard to be compassionate here, but she was slowly losing patience.

“Right, the museum.” Jan rolled over and curled her legs up to her chest. She was facing the windows to the east now.

Angela turned abruptly and her hair flopped around her shoulders. “Oh forget it.”

****

The ride back to campus had been awkward and Michael hadn’t spoken the entire trip.

James flung his coat over the back of the chair and slouched down into it. He put his head in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair.

Michael stood behind his desk opening and closing a geometric constructed ball.

“You know what you should do?”

“What?” James was relieved Michael was breaking the silence.

“Nothing.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Do…exactly that, nothing. You should stay home and do nothing, don’t move, don’t talk don’t do anything. It seems like the story is feeding off of you and if you aren’t doing anything then maybe nothing will happen.”

“You know what?” James put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up. “That’s a great idea. Wow. Thanks Michael.” He tossed his jacket back around his body and ran out the door.

“I am a genius.” Michael slowly pushed his office door closed and smiled to himself.

James finds himself staring blankly out of a bus window, completely enchanted by the moving lamp posts. However, what eventually catches his eye isn’t something he expected to see today, at all.

“Pam?” He fumbles with his sleeves as he tries not to stare.

Oh. Uh, hi, Mr. Halpert.” Pam walks behind James and stands towards the back of the bus, gripping the railing above her.

“James, please. Why don’t you sit here?” He gestures to the empty seat next to him.

“Oh, you know what? I’m alright. No, thanks though.” Suddenly the bus lurched forward and Pam lost her grip. Sliding across the bar, she lands against the back of James's seat.

“See, now you have to sit here.” He smiled brightly up at her, hoping to ease the tension growing between them.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.” Pam sat awkwardly next to him, fiddling with her purse strap and trying to avoid his gaze.

“Um, you know what? I wanted to apologize. For, being…an a-ass the other day. That, that just wasn’t cool.” James’ chest tightens as he watches her eyes brush across his face.

Pam smiles up at him and feels her body completely relax. “Thank you, apology accepted, but, only because you stammered.” She patted her hand gently on his shoulder for a split second, and then lowered it back into her lap.

James stood up as the bus came to a stop. “So this is me, um, I’ll come by the store when your order comes in. Give you a hard time about your oil pastels and deliver some fresh purple paper.”

“Deal.”

James puts his hand up in front of her and she replies with a playful high-five.

James was so enamored by Pam and didn’t want to ruin the momentum of the blossoming relationship that he found himself standing at a bus stop twelve blocks from his home.

“Aw, damn it.”

****

“Okay, so if I’m going to do nothing, I guess I’ll do nothing.”

James lowered his body heavily down onto his couch, covered his legs with a blanket and flipped his television set to the Discovery channel.

He sat there for hours, and hours, eventually succumbing to the deep slumber of sleep late at night. The next morning he woke up with a terrible cramp in his neck.

At 9:00 am, on the dot, his telephone began to ring. He stared at it almost willing it to stop. After four rings the phone ceased, and his cell phone began to buzz.

“If it’s an emergency, they’ll leave a message.”

He crossed his legs and leaned his elbow onto his knee; he stared hard at the blinking light on the face of his cell phone. He didn’t recognize the number and was hoping it was just a coincidence.

The room fell silent and James turned back to staring blankly at his television.

Hours later he was abruptly startled to hear rumblings in the apartment next door. The previous tenants had moved out about a month ago and the landlord had warned him that there would be some remodeling going on from time to time. However, this noise seemed a little too close for comfort.

*BANG*

Without warning the south wall of his living room was crumbling down. James leapt up from the couch and clutched the blanket to his chest.

He was so caught up in the confusion that he just stared as construction workers continued to make more holes into the collapsing wall.

Finally when one of them peered through and saw James standing visibly shaken, he snapped out of the trance and began yelling at them.

“What the hell? What…what are you doing!?” James threw the blanket down and ran over to the falling wall.

“What the hell? Dude. Is this your wall?” The construction worker stood baffled gesturing towards the wall.

“Uh. DUDE. What the fuck does it look like?”

“Oh shit! Jerry! This isn’t the right wall, man.” The worker stepped back from the wall and headed into the crowded apartment.

James flung his door open and almost crashed into the landlord. James gripped the man’s shirt and shook him. He was shorter and easy to manhandle but he wasn’t afraid of James but he was surprised at his reaction.

“What the hell is this!? They’re putting holes in my wall!”

“I’m sorry James, they’re supposed to be working on one of the other walls. Let me see what’s going on.” The landlord brushed James’ hands down from his chest and stomped into the clutter.

James couldn’t hear the exact conversation but he was sure someone was getting their ass chewed. He leaned his body against the hallway wall and closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, and wishing away all the mess. He was crushed to open them and realize it didn’t work.

****

After thirty minutes of arguments and discussions, James had accepted the fact that he was going to have to find somewhere to stay, temporarily, while they fixed the problem.

He called Toby and asked if he could stay at his place. Toby was recently divorced and lived in a two bedroom apartment alone. He had a daughter who was five and he picked out that apartment specifically because of the second bedroom, but since she rarely visited he was more than happy to help James out in his time of need.

James tossed his overnight bag onto the small twin bed and walked back out into the living room. Toby was standing over the stove stirring a large wooden spoon into a deep pot.

“Hungry?”

Almost instantly James’ stomach began to churn. He didn’t realize that he hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday and it was catching up to him.

“Actually, I am.”

“Sit down. I made some spaghetti, nothing fancy but its good.” Toby reached into the cabinets and pulled out two small white bowls, filling them completely with a large scoop of noodles and setting one on each end of the table.

The kitchen was small, with a quaint eating area fitted with a little round table and two matching chairs. The furnishings were sparse and the tiled apartment seemed to echo as each man clanged their fork against the porcelain bowl.

“Wow, this is really good man, thanks. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

“Thanks. I haven’t cooked for anyone in awhile. So…how long do you think you’ll be here?” Toby held his fork inches from his mouth as he waited for James’ reply.

“Oh, I don’t know. Not too long.” James spun a large cluster of noodles around on his fork and gulped down a large breath.

“No rush or anything, if you need to stay a while that’s cool.”

James released a large amount of air and relaxed his shoulders. “Cool, that’s great. Thanks.” He finally put the fork in his mouth and pulled it out slowly losing himself in a train of thought. “Hey, if you knew you only had one week to live, what would you do?”

Toby stopped and placed his fork down beside his bowl; he furrowed his brow and thought hard about the odd question. “Do I have any special powers?”

“What? No, no it’s just you. What would you do?”

“So I don’t have any powers? Well then how would I know I only had a week to live? Isn’t there anything I can do?”

“No, no powers, I don’t know the doctor told you or something. You’re just you, nothing different about you at all.”

“Well I guess I would go to space camp.” He picked his fork back up and continued his meal without hesitation.

“Space camp?”

“Sure. I’ve always wanted to go and I never got the chance, so I guess if I knew I only had a week to live, I would make sure to stop everything I was doing, and…go.”

James stared at Toby for a couple of seconds letting what he just said sink into the deep chasms of his brain. He began to realize that sitting around waiting for nothing shouldn’t be what he does with the last few days of his life, if in fact there was a chance he could die. He should really be doing the complete opposite.

In that small moment, he realized there was so much more to life.

“Michael? Are you here?” James rapped his knuckles against the wooden door of Michael’s office, peering delicately through the crack.

“Jimmy crack corn!” Michael gripped the door handle and pulled it quickly, bringing James stumbling forward. “What can I do for you my boy? I thought you were staying home doing nothing?”

James stepped one foot in to the office and saw a television screen in the middle of one of Michael’s bookshelves. “What’s this?”

“Oh just an old interview I was re-watching.” Michael adjusted his tie awkwardly and began to perspire suddenly. “I can turn it off.” He leaned over the coffee table in front of the bookshelves and was about to hit stop when James unexpectedly halted him.

“Wait!” James took a deep inhalation of air and slowly moved toward the television screen.

There were two women in what looked like a television studio. It had two large over stuffed chairs and in one chair was a bubbly Indian woman with an overly adorned purple dress on. She was talking constantly and using her hands in wild gestures. The other woman was British with straight brown hair and light blonde highlights. She was wearing a black pant suit and a blue button down top.

“That’s her. Oh…Oh my god! That’s, that’s the woman that’s the woman narrating my life!” James pointed wildly at the screen placing large finger prints across it.

“Oh, no it can’t be. That’s Jan Levinson-Gould, er, I guess by now it’s probably just Jan Levinson. She’s in hiding, she’s a recluse. She hasn’t written anything in 10 years. I love her though and I’ve written her many letters but she can’t be your writer.” Michael was rubbing his sweaty palms over his pant legs and staring blankly at James.

“It is. No I’m sure of it, that’s her!”

“That’s not good then. If she is it, she always kills her main character, it’s inevitable. That’s the only constant in her stories. You are then living for a fact, a poor sad depressing tragedy.”

“What?” James turned to face Michael, completely bemused.

“No, it’s true. It’s not going to end pretty either, I imagine. Damn, and I was just getting to like you. Wow, Jan Levinson. Amazing.”

“Wait. Michael! No, no that’s not true. Than I have to see her, she has to know I’m really real. I need to find her! Help ME!” James gripped Michael’s shoulders and shook him back and forth, Michael stumbled backwards hitting his back hard against the opposite wall.

“Whoa. James, take a breath. First I don’t know where she is. Second you can’t just tell her to stop writing, she won’t anyway. Third, you’re hurting me.”

“Sorry.” James dropped his hands to his side and began pacing back and forth across the room. “What do I do?”

“Look. If this may truly happen, you need to live your life. This should be the best part of your life, you’re young, you should be in love, you should be doing the things you want to. Go out there and do them, go find what you want. Maybe that will change the outcome of the story. Maybe instead of being completely depressing and predictable, you go out there and change. Yeah, it’s official. Look deep inside of yourself and find who you truly are. Maybe you really are a Jim, ever thought about that?” Michael’s hand was squeezing James’ shoulder and James knew he was trying to comfort him, in his odd Michael Scott way but it wasn’t working.

“I don’t know. My family always called me Jimmy. I guess when I grew up I wanted to sound like an adult so I went with James.”

“Jim is much more manly, I’d go with it.

“How come you don’t go by Mike?”

“That is because I am a professor, I’m not supposed to sound ‘manly’, just always professional. Okay, so from now on, you’re Jim; that’s final. Go out today and buy something for yourself, do something you never would normally. Live! Now, go.” Michael placed his hands on Jim’s back and pushed him a little too hard out the door.

“Alright, I guess I will.” Jim lowered his hands into his pants pockets and pondered exactly what Michael had just suggested.

****

Something had come over him, something he felt he needed to change, something he thought was missing. This feeling brought him to a small shop filled with used electric guitars and he hoped what he was looking for would be found inside. He’d always wanted to play the guitar, just never had the courage.

As he stepped foot into the small charming shop, he felt bombarded and overwhelmed with the selection in front of him. There were so many colors, so many choices, so many styles where would he begin?

There was a black Gibson Flying-V that was saying “Why yes, these pants are Lycra”. A purple “Jazzmaster” that spoke a little too much Elvis, and a Cherry Gibson EDS-1275 that was asking, “I’m compensating, but for what?”

Just as he was about to give up he saw it. Peering back into the small room offset from the main area he could see it through a sea of fiberglass. It was gorgeous, it spoke to him, he knew he had to have it.

Jim stepped into the small room and pulled down the guitar, it was a pale yellow Fender Highway One Stratocaster, and it was his.

He purchased the guitar along with a portable amp and headed back to Toby’s apartment.

That night he sat in the vast empty living room and practiced one song, the only song he’d ever wanted to know how to play, over and over again.

****

“Angela?” Jan ran into the room, breathless while caring two full paper grocery bags.

“Jan? Where have you been? I thought you were going out for some research?”

“Oh I did. Actually I went out for cigarettes, across town, and it came to me. I know how to kill James Halpert! Actually I wrote it all down on the bus ride back, now I just have to type it up and that’ll be that!” Jan tossed the bags onto the empty table and they fell over spilling their contents everywhere.

A lone green apple spilled down over the edge of the table and landed with a thud on the floor. Jan looked up at Angela and just smiled at her, the apple meant something and Jan was willing Angela to figure it out.

“Well however you did it, at least you did it. So tomorrow are you going to type it up?”

“Yes Miss Stuffy. I will type it up tomorrow, don’t worry about little ‘ol me.” Jan walked into her bedroom and landed backwards on her bed. The sheets and blankets lifted up around her body and she closed her eyes. “Goodnight, Ms. Martin, you may leave me in peace now. Please!”

Angela turned away, silently shaking her head.

“Goodnight, Jan.”

With that, Angela slammed the door behind her and left Jan to finally fall asleep, in peace.

Jim woke up the next morning with a clear understanding of what he wanted. He knew he needed to stop waiting for something to happen and make it happen.

He had gone out shopping that afternoon, and picked out a few items that he was planning on using in the evening.

He took the bus down to Pam’s store later and waited for her to close up. He was watching her through the small front window and forced himself to not chicken out. There had been at least four times he almost turned away and went home but he was trying to be different. He was trying to take charge of his life and he knew this was one of the things he needed to do.

“Pam?” Jim approached her as she locked up and almost made her drop her belongings. She turned to see him gripping what appeared to be a handful of picture frames.

“James? What are you doing here?”

“Actually you know what, call me Jim.”

“Jim? I like that, okay, Jim it is.” She hadn’t moved from her spot in front of the store door and she appeared to be getting nervous.

“I brought you these.” Jim turned the picture frames around in his arms and began handing them to her, one by one. Pam had to set her purse down at her feet and stared at the pictures perplexed.

“What are they?”

“Flowers. I brought you flowers.” He had gone to a local art shop near Toby’s place and picked out 12, 3x5 portraits of flowers all framed. They were all different, some were bouquets, some were solitaire blooms, and some were black and white. “There’s a dozen there, just for you. They’re all different, unique in their own way, but ultimately beautiful, just like you.”

Pam was a loss for words and had to choke back the tears forming in her eyes. This man she barely knew had suddenly become so emotional, so powerful, so charming in a mere matter of seconds.

“Why? Thank you, but, why? What do you want…from me?”

Jim stared down at her face completely losing himself in her eyes. He knew that if he didn’t say what he’d wanted to he would soon lose the nerve. This was the moment he needed to seize; this was the opportunity to make him happy.

“I want you.” He didn’t falter, he never wavered, and he continued to stare directly into her hazel eyes, begging her silently to respond.

Pam stared back at him and realized this man had just carried all of these pictures, just for her. Giving her something special, something just for her, she realized someone hadn’t done that in a long time. She nodded at him and began to walk towards her car. “Would you mind carrying these to my car?”

Jim scooped the frames out of her arms and followed her quickly to the little blue Toyota. She popped open her trunk and he gently laid them across the soft fabric. He turned back at her after closing the trunk, and she smiled warmly at him and reached out for his hand.

He stared down at their fingers, now entwined, and lost the movement of his tongue.

“I made some pie yesterday. Do you want to come over and have some? At my place?” Pam gently squeezed his fingertips and blinked her eyes slowly.

“Sure.”

“Great. Get in.”

****

The two of them sat at Pam’s dining room table having homemade cherry pie, talking about the world, politics, music, and life. Jim never shared with her about the voice, actually he’d forgotten about her completely. Pam had the ability to release the tension building in his neck with just a smile. She was great at making him laugh and helping him forget the problems in his world.

She picked up their plates and headed into the kitchen to clean up.

“You know I can do that. I’ll be more than happy to clean up. I mean you made a pie, which is by far a lot more complicated than doing dishes, I’m sure.”

“No. Go sit down on the couch, I’m just going to put them in the sink.”

“Alright, if you insist.”

“I insist.” She disappeared behind the small dividing wall and Jim heard the faucet turn on over the sink.

He walked the few small feet to the living room and sat down on her couch. The room was oozing Pam. It spoke her name in all the things that filled it. The rug, the paint color, the lamp, and over on the chair across from Jim sat an acoustic guitar. Jim found himself dreaming he’d stepped into a parallel universe.

“Do you play guitar?” He yelled out to the kitchen so she could hear him over the water.

“Oh, no, actually, I got that as a present from my mom. She thinks that because I’m artistic that also means I’m musically talented. I just fiddle on it. Do you play?”

“Yeah a little.”

“Play me something.” Pam peered from around the corner her hair falling down over her shoulders.

“Okay, I can do that. You did feed me after all.”

“Exactly! You owe me.” Jim was sure he saw her wink at him.

He leaned over the coffee table between him and the chair and didn’t have to reach too far to grip the neck of the guitar. He pulled it to his waist and positioned his fingers over the strings. He began to strum, and Pam turned the water off and smiled as he began to sing.

“When I was a young boy
My mama said to me
There's only one girl in the world for you
And she probably lives in Tahiti”

Pam came out of the kitchen and leaned against the door frame watching Jim strum on the strings, his eyes were closed as he continued to sing softly.

“I'd go the whole wide world
I'd go the whole wide world
Just to find her”

Pam found herself being pulled towards him, closer to him as he sung, for her. She sat down next to him when he continued the next verse. She knew this song and she loved it. She mouthed the words along as he returned to the chorus.

“I'd go the whole wide world
I'd go the whole wide world
Just to find her
I'd go the whole wide world
I'd go the whole wide world
Find out where they hide her”

Jim felt her sit down next to him and he slowly opened his eyes to watch her sing along. He stopped when he got to the end of the chorus and the room filled with a warm silence.

Suddenly, Pam reached over the guitar and cupped Jim’s face in her hands. Pressing her lips hard over his mouth, kissing him vigorously, she pushed his back up against the couch and the guitar tilted between their bodies. He wrapped his long arms around her body and tried pulling her in closer but the guitar was still between them.

Pam had to pull away for a moment releasing his lips to push the guitar down, it slid off of his knees and fell onto the soft rug beneath them. She leaned back over to Jim and pressed her mouth fully over his. He inhaled in her scent, soap, lavender, and a hint of acrylic paint. It was intoxicating.

His arms were tight around her waist and he was pulling her closer to his chest when she positioned herself up on her knees and moved one leg over his waist. She sat down on his lap and pressed her chest against his tight as he squeezed her body closer.

She leaned back to take a deep breath and he spoke quietly trying not to break the spell. “Pam…”

She nodded at him and just responded, “I know. I want you too.” With that she pressed her lips hard again and he pushed her down against the couch laying his body over hers. His fingers were fumbling at the hem of her tank top and her hands gripped his sweater tightly. He leaned up and pulled it over his head leaving his hair messy and tousled; he was devastatingly handsome.

Pam smiled up at him and found him utterly sexy. She hadn’t noticed how lean he was or how broad his shoulders were, until now. “I love your hair like that. You should always wear it messy.” She reached her fingers up to his neck and linked them through the hair pulling him back down against her.

The twosome ended up enjoying each other's bodies all over Pam’s living room. They initially started on the couch but eventually lost balance and tumbled to the floor. Jim hit his elbow on the underside of the coffee table at one point and Pam stubbed her toe on the leg of the couch, but neither of them noticed.

Eventually late in the night Pam pulled Jim up off the floor and walked him upstairs to her bedroom. They crawled under the sheets and he pulled her head close to his chest. He finally closed his eyes and fell asleep after he heard her breathing slow down and her heart rate decrease.

****

Jim stood in front of the bedroom window looking through the blinds at Pam’s garden in the backyard. There were two blue birds splashing in her birdbath and he found himself smiling at the feeling of belonging. He loved the smell of her bedroom, loved the feeling of her skin, loved the hominess of her place, and loved how it all made him feel. He didn’t want it to end, he wanted to be able to come back day after day, year after year, and he needed to do something about it.

He silently got dressed and left Pam a note on the pillow beside her. He leaned down and kissed her forehead gently, making sure not to wake her and he headed outside to catch the downtown bus.

Jim called Michael’s office phone and almost hung up after three rings when Michael breathlessly answered.

“Hello?”

“Michael it’s…Jim. Um do you know where Jan’s publishing company is? I need to find her, I need to try and talk to her.”