Listen.
The air is full of voices.
They brush against our spines and smooth their fingers over our eardrums, whispering things that echo in our minds as thoughts.
Listen.
You can hear them. Humming. Calling out to you.
They dance across the leaves at night and push their way through the cracks in the window panes, to press their hands against our dreams while we sleep.
The air is full of voices.
Close your eyes, Pam…
Listen.
Can you hear them?
Pam?
Take a chance.
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She had driven herself to work that morning and now she was grateful, not even bothering to adjust the thermostat of the car as she drove herself home, enjoying the iciness of the air. Enjoying her isolation. Enjoying the way that the steering wheel was almost painful in its coldness against her skin. She had anger deep down in the core of her. She had anger bubbling in her stomach and pushing itself against the walls of her intestines. She had anger for a lot of reasons, but she wasn’t really up for dissecting any of them. She knew one reason for certain…and that was the one she would announce…that was the one she would grab and thrust in Roy’s face. She pressed down on the accelerator and sniffed.
Her thoughts kept drifting back to the pamphlet that was in her purse…back to the possibilities that she had foolishly let dance through her mind all afternoon…back to the look on Jim’s face when she told him, and how that was so much different from the way Roy had looked at her…the way Roy had rolled his eyes and said no…the way Roy had gently taken her dreams from her hand and tossed them into the nearby trash can. She’d been stewing since then…even before the break room and the way Jim had confronted her. She’d been stewing. Her disappointment had turned to anger and that anger had sunk down and planted heavy, bitter roots inside of her. And now it was like someone had lifted the lid on all the things she’d never let herself say, and she could feel them preparing to burst from her mouth. She forced her car into park.
She slammed the front door on her way into the house.
She took in the look on his face.
She called him selfish.
She called him selfish and a lot of four letter words that she would sometimes regret when she would think back on that night.
She asked him why he didn’t think she should get what she wanted.
She asked him how he could say that he loved her when he didn’t want her to be happy.
She told him that he didn’t know her…that he would never know her.
Take a chance.
She told him it was over…
She packed her bags…
And she left.
She slammed the front door on her way out because she couldn‘t help herself.
And that was how Pam left Roy.
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Stand up.
Jim had grudgingly gone to the grocery store after work, the promise he had made to his roommate to restock the refrigerator battling with his physical and emotional exhaustion. He had pushed a cart down the aisles, not really seeing the things he was tossing into it’s metallic confines because his mind was heavy with reliving the day. He thought of the way that Pam had seemed so afraid to be excited when she’d first told him about the internship. He thought of the way that Pam had seemed so honestly pleased when he had encouraged her to try. He thought of the way Roy had stolen that from her…the way Roy had pulled the rug of happiness out from underneath her and left her to explain her own bruises away to herself…left her to keep living, when Jim was sure he would’ve wanted to die. He shook his head at a box of Easy Mac.
Some things were just wrong. There was no getting around it. Roy was just wrong for Pam.
He tossed the blue box into the cart with unnecessary vigor and a woman standing next to him deciding on soup flavors shot him a withering look. He raised his eyebrows at her as if to confirm that he meant to cause a ruckus, and she frowned, turning away and heading out of the aisle, foregoing the soup in favor of putting distance between herself and Jim. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
Yeah because he was so right for Pam? He’d just threatened a woman with macaroni and cheese, for Christ‘s sake… And he’d yelled at Pam in the break room. Yelled at her. Cut her off in impatience and confusion and actually voiced his disappointment in her, which he had never done before. But he couldn’t help it…there was just something inside of him that wanted her to have these things…to have…everything. And every time Roy got in the way of that it made Jim’s blood boil. He wanted Pam to have happiness. He wanted Pam to have art. He wanted Pam to reach her potential, and Roy…Roy clearly didn’t want those things for her. Roy clearly didn’t want anything for her.
He shook his head and pushed his cart toward check out. Whatever food he’d gotten he’d gotten, and Mark would just have to deal.
He sat at a red light and vaguely registered the weatherman on the radio explaining that a storm was moving into the area. He chewed subconsciously on the inside of his cheek, trying to convince himself that this wasn’t something to be upset about. This wasn’t even his life. This wasn’t even his business. But it wasn’t really any use, because for some reason anything that involved Pam felt very much like his life…very much like his business. The light turned green and he turned onto his street, lifting a shoulder to try to ease the tension that had been building in his neck all day long. He parked and switched off the ignition, pushing his door open and smelling snow in the air. He thought lazily that the weatherman would probably be right as he reached into the back seat for what would be the first of many loads of grocery bags, his keys dangling from his fingers. He kicked the back door shut and made his away around the back of his car, trying to juggle the bags while singling out the right key on his key ring, the shadowy atmosphere of dusk making it difficult for him to tell one from the other. His fingers fumbled and the entire ring dropped to the ground with a clatter.
“Damn-it,” he muttered, bending over to grab at them. When he finally succeeded and stood up he thought he was seeing things. The air left his lungs and he froze in front of the steps to his house, his hands full and his mouth hanging open. Act normal, he thought to himself. Don‘t be angry. He shook the shock from his body and spoke. “Jesus, Pam. You scared me.” She didn’t move from sitting on the top step and shrugged heavy, tired shoulders at him.
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
His gaze took in the duffel bag sitting beside her and he felt his brow furrow in concern. He nodded at her and deliberately didn’t speak for a moment, wondering what the right thing would be to say…wondering which of his questions would be the least inappropriate given the look on her face. He met her gaze steadily and something in it asked him to be careful…told him she didn’t want to say much. He accepted that easily because he had things that he wanted to say. He had things that had been lounging on his tongue since they’d left work in stony silence. He took a deep breath.
“I’m really sorry about earlier, but…” he began, but she cut him off, slicing her hand through the air in dismissal and pushing herself up so that she was standing…towering above him.
“Let’s just…not,” she requested quietly. He watched her with wide eyes and she forced a slight grin…for his sake, he was sure. “Ok?” she finished, stooping down to pick up her duffel. His shoulders lifted in a careless gesture and he tipped his head at her.
“Uh…yeah, ok,” he agreed. “What’s with the…” his voice drifted into silence and he gestured toward her bag.
“Roy and I…” she visibly deflated and he realized that pretty much any question he might have thrown at her would have been inappropriate…would’ve caused something inside of her to break. She sighed and looked him in the eye, a little bit afraid and a little bit vulnerable, one hand toying with the necklace at her throat, the other gripping the strap on her shoulder with white knuckles. “I need someplace to stay.” She said this so softly he had to strain to hear her in the stillness of the evening, leaning toward her slightly, his bags rustling at his sides.
Stand up.
Something inside of him suddenly wanted to protect her, and he realized that he should simply try to make her comfortable…simply try to make her feel at ease…he should not pry or nudge or invade her space. Suddenly he realized this was something big, and everything he did in this situation needed to be for her. His eyebrows lifted.
“Definitely, yeah,” he moved up the stairs and past her, shoving the key into the lock with cold fingers, his shoulders hunched with the chill in the air. “Definitely. Come on in, it‘s getting pretty cold out.” She nodded.
“Thanks.”
They made their way into the house and he watched her quietly as she entered and dropped her bag next to the door, pulling her coat off tiredly and reaching to drape it on one of the overloaded hooks on the wall. He cleared his throat because the curiosity of what was going on with her was burning there…itching to be let out…but everything about her begged him to stay quiet…begged him not to ask. He respected her unspoken request.
“I’m just gonna go get the rest of these,” he mumbled, holding up the bags in her direction. She took them from him and nodded. “You can put them on the counter in the kitchen…I’ll be…right back.” He was halfway out the door when he turned around, unable to simply leave her there, and when he turned he found her standing motionless in the hall, her eyes glazed over in thought and something somber draping her features. “They’re saying there might be a snow storm tonight,” he offered up meekly, mentally berating himself for not coming up with something better to say. But then she smiled at him…softly…sadly… And, despite her air of unhappiness, he was glad because at least it was a smile, and his anxiousness abated for just a moment.
Stand up.
“Yeah…it smells like snow,” she agreed thoughtfully. He smiled back at her and nodded.
“Yeah.”
******************************************************************************************
Stand up.
Time is in the wanting.
Time marches because it cannot help itself.
There is a rhythm and there is a regiment and there are rows and rows of boys becoming men.
Men becoming husbands.
Husbands becoming fathers.
And you are among them.
Stand up.
If you are still, the constant sound of feet against pavement will swallow you…
Will engulf you…
Will overcome you until there is nothing left of who you are inside.
Who are you inside, Jim?
Stand up.
Do you feel this?
Jim?
And all men’s hearts must burn and beat.
