Her head’s spinning as she pulls the delicate dress from its smooshed place beneath her college paintset and touches the scissors to its hem. With less than two hours to go until her meeting with the tall mysterious man from the art show, she’s already torn through the entire contents of her closet twice and come up with nothing, and now she’s in the throes of a creative project.

If I turn this dress into a skirt, then I can wear it with my new shirt, Pam thinks, eying the peach buttoned-down blouse that’s hanging on the bathroom doorknob. At first she was wary – peach with periwinkle? – but after a few moments of contemplation with her artist’s eye, she decides that the two shades will make a nice contrast, and will go nicely with her silver heels. It’s something new and different – which is what I need right now, she thinks, drawing a line across the dress with a pencil to mark where she needs to cut. Making something new out of something old.

The phone in her apartment rings – she realizes she must be the last person in the world to buy a cell phone, but she just doesn’t want to be bothered – and she glances at it, annoyed. Jim has already called three times since this morning, asking if she would like to go for a drink, out to dinner, or perhaps ice-skating at Rockefeller Center. For some reason, the idea of holding his hand, of possibly letting him catch her if she lost her footing, doesn’t appeal to her, and she politely declines each invitation.

“That must be him again,” she mutters, scissors poised. The phone finally stops ringing, and suddenly she can’t get herself to cut the fabric. Why is this so hard? she wonders, biting her lower lip. It’s just an old dress. Why should it matter?

Before she steps into the bathtub, she lights a few scented candles and puts on an old jazz record in an effort to try and relax. She desperately wants a glass of wine but thinks better of it. This poor guy. After tonight, if he doesn’t think I’m nuts already, I’ll definitely have him convinced. I can’t believe I actually threw myself at him the first time we met.

If that really was the first time we met.

The door opens slightly, and the cat weaves its way through the doorway and up to the edge of the tub, purring softly.

After her bath, Pam sits in her bathrobe, glaring at herself in the mirror. What are you doing?

She reaches for the hairbrush, then stops. You know what? I haven’t done my hair curly in awhile, I think I’ll do tonight. Why not. Instead of steaming up the bathroom with her straightener, Pam puts gel and hairspray in her hair and scrunches it up to create soft waves that fall past her shoulders. Not too bad. I don’t even know why I care. I don’t even know this guy.

After her behavior at the art show, she decides for a more demure look, applying half as much makeup, a bit of eye shadow, mascara and lip gloss. She doesn’t bother with blush, knowing full well that some of the things she’s going to have to talk about with Mr. Art Show tonight are going to do that job for her.

After hair and makeup, there’s nothing left to distract her from the task at hand. She picks up the scissors again, moves towards the dress … then hesitates again. You know what, it’s such a pretty dress, it would be kind of a shame to demolish it beyond repair. Hmm… what else could I do?

She ends up topping the dress with a pale yellow cardigan and a large maroon flower pin. She can’t get herself to cut it. Nervous, she grabs a small clutch purse and opens the door.

“Wh—Jim, what are you doing here?” she stammers. He’s standing there in a sportcoat, holding a bouquet of flowers in front of him.

“Look, I know you told me you were busy, and you’re going out – I get that. I thought maybe I could walk you to wherever you were going.”

“I…” she trails off, feeling defeated. She really doesn’t want him around, doesn’t completely trust him, feels something is wrong with this situation. And she needs to talk to… him. Not this guy. “Jim, please, I need some space. I’ll let you walk me, but then you need to back off a little, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, still holding the flowers out to her. “These are for you, though.”

“Thanks,” she says, stepping quickly back into the apartment and placing them in her fish tank. She’ll move them when she gets back. “Come on, I’m going to be late.”

* * *

Jim finally leaves her about fifty yards from the restaurant, which is strewn with white lights and evergreen and looks lovely in the fading light. She can’t help but soften a little when they enter the park, but she doesn’t take his arm, which he offers. I’m starting to think that this guy isn’t just some random creep trying to convince me that we were once in love just to get some action, she thinks, watching him steal glances of her as she watches a horse-drawn carriage clomp by. There’s a couple riding in the carriage, a middle-aged man wrapping a blanket around his wife’s shoulders. Whoever this guy is, Pam thinks, even if he’s not who he says he is, he loved me once.

“Well, this is me,” she says, gesturing towards the restaurant, which was nestled in the middle of the greenery next to a frozen pond. Tourists shuffled around them – couples holding mittened hands, kids in line for hot chocolate. It was all too much – it would be so romantic, Pam thinks, if only I loved him back. “Thanks for walking me.”

“Well, you can call me if you need a ride back – or someone to walk you back to your place,” he says, shrugging. “I could just walk you back to your door, nothing else.”

“I appreciate that, Jim,” she says, squeezing his arm lightly. “I do. But I’ll be okay. You go on.”

“Have fun,” Roy says, watching her walk towards the restaurant, the lights glinting off of her hair, his fists clenched inside the pockets of his coat. I just can’t believe that this is happening… again. I’m not stupid - she’s meeting Halpert. How is it possible that she’s remembering him?

He decides to grab a cup of coffee at the nearest diner – but he doesn’t go home. He’s going to come back later.

* * *

As she approaches the restaurant, she can’t help but hope that he’s there already – if he’s late, she’s going to order one too many cocktails and then make a complete ass out of herself (again, she thinks). She runs her hand along the white latticework that lines the garden, trying to get her hands to stop shaking. This is not a big deal. Not a big deal at all, she tries to tell herself.

He is there first. He’s standing right outside the front door so as not to miss her. He doesn’t remember who she is or what she looks like – just that she was some quiet voice on the other end of the telephone – but when he sees her walking up the path with her hair wavy and cascading down the back of her coat and her face glowing and her breath puffing little clouds – my God, he thinks, that’s got to be her. How could I have thought I might miss her walking by?

He stuffs his hands deep into the pockets of his black peacoat – partially because his hands are freezing, but also because it’s his favorite defense mechanism when he’s nervous. Even though he doesn’t know who this woman is, he suddenly feels like he should throw his coat on the ground for her to walk across. I should’ve brought flowers, he thinks suddenly. Or a ring.

Part of him wants to shake his head at that thought. He’d left Karen in the hotel room – she’d fallen asleep on the bed in the middle of seventeen Macy’s shopping bags – but she wouldn’t mind much. Things don’t feel like they’re going so great in that department, Jim thinks, but he doesn’t even care at the moment, she’s coming closer, close enough to touch him.

“Hi,” she says, shy, not meeting his eyes.

“Hi,” he says, and it feels like he’s said it to her a hundred times before. He takes a deep breath, tries to figure out why he feels this reaction to a complete stranger, and suddenly he’s talking. Just talking. “You know, before I came here tonight, I made this list,” he says, a helpless grin spreading across his face. “I made this list of reasons why I shouldn’t have agreed to meet you tonight.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh? And how’d that go?”

“Well, I started out great. I was using Roman numerals. I had some decent reasons in there. Like, ‘I don’t know her,’ ‘I really can’t afford to buy drinks in New York,’ and ‘she likes touristy places like Tavern on the Green.’”

“Yet you’re here now,” she says. Is she flirting with me? He wonders, and wonders even more why he’s enjoying it so much. “How did that happen?”

“Well, I got up to Roman numeral eight, and then I realized, I don’t know what comes after Roman numeral eight.”

She laughs, a light, easy laugh that belies the nervousness she feels. “That’s too bad. I don’t think I know what comes next either.”

“Well, it’s cold,” he replies. “Why don’t we step inside and get something to drink. Or eat, if you’re hungry.”

“Sure.”

They step into the welcoming warmth inside, and sit at the bar, which is nearly deserted. Tall shrubbery obscures the bar from the rest of the restaurant, and soft music plays in the background. Aside from the bar, there are several cushy leather chairs clustered around coffee tables, so Jim suggests they sit there. “This way we don’t have to crane our necks every time we speak,” he jokes.

The waiter comes by and she orders a mixed berry martini; he chooses a local beer. Pam looks around nervously, unsure of what to say. When the hell is my drink going to get here, she wonders.

“You know, you could take your coat off,” Jim says, unraveling himself from his own coat. “You were the one to call me, so I assume you’re not going to go running from the restaurant screaming, right?”

She smiles. “Probably not.” She stands to take her coat off, and he jumps up to help her out of it.

“Here, let me…” He still has his hand on the arm of her jacket when suddenly his knees threaten to buckle and he slumps back down in the chair.

“Oh,” she says, a line of worry creasing her forehead. She shrugs quickly out of the rest of the coat and tosses it haphazardly on the back of her seat. “You look pale, are you feeling all right?”

“He… I…” I have no idea why I just said ‘he.’ You’d better get ahold of yourself, Halpert. Don’t go insane.

It’s odd to admit, but the look in her eyes looks familiar. She looks nervous, scared, confused. Those eyes, peering back at him… and that shining dress that’s the color of raindrops… his head feels messed up, like a jigsaw puzzle has just been dumped out on the table in front of him, and now he's got to figure out how to begin putting it together again.

“Your… your dress is just… you look really pretty,” he stammers, his tongue feeling like it’s covered in sawdust. “I’m sorry, I, uh, it’s just been… a weird week.”

“You’re telling me,” she says, managing a smile. He really does look pale.

The waiter comes by with their drinks, and Pam immediately picks up the garnish, plucks the raspberry and blackberry off the fancy plastic toothpick, and swallows them – followed by half of her cocktail. Jim watches her over the edge of his beer bottle, amused.

“So tell me about your weird week,” she says, wincing a bit at the taste of alcohol. It’s a strong drink. She thinks it’s a good way to lead into telling him she didn't remember him before because part of her brain was erased on Monday. “How did it start?”

“Hmm… hard to say. I guess it started when I randomly got into my car and drove up here from Scranton.” He shrugs. “I guess I just had itchy feet, you know?”

She giggles. “You mean like Athlete’s foot?”

He rolls his eyes, but is smiling in spite of himself. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. Maybe I needed a vacation from life, ya know?”

She almost snorts. “Oh, believe me, I know. I haven’t had the most normal couple of days myself. So what did you do when you got here?”

“Well, I…” She’s charmed to see him blush a bit. “The first night I was here, I went out drinking. I mean drinking like back in college drinking. Sloppy. Which I rarely ever do. I mean, I enjoy a fine local brew now and then,” he says, motioning to his drink. She nods in approval. “But I haven’t been like that in a long time. I guess that’s when I met you, when I was a little out of it. I would’ve remembered you. Anyway, I woke up the next morning not feeling too great, but I had some breakfast, worked my way out of the hangover. And then my girlfriend came up, so she’s been putting up with me the past few days.”

Girlfriend. Oh. “Hm, that’s nice of her,” Pam says, reaching for her drink again. “That doesn’t sound too abnormal. Maybe for you Scrantonites that’s big excitement.”

She’s challenging him. He laughs. “You know, I guess it doesn’t sound too weird. Maybe it’s not me – maybe it’s everyone else.” Feeling uncomfortable, he changes the subject. “So… what do you do? Why was your week strange?”

“I’m an artist,” she replies, “so I guess pretty much everything I do is considered strange by some people. I don’t know… I know you don’t remember meeting me, but meeting you was kind of a trip. And then I had a pretty unique admirer this week.”

“I can see why,” Jim says, then wants to bite his tongue. “I mean…”

“Thanks,” she says, pausing a moment. “I kinda wish he would leave me alone, though. There’s just too much oddity going on right now. Plus, I bought a shirt at the Gap, which I never do.” She laughs to herself. “So tell me. What’s made your time in New York so… interesting? More than a hangover, I’d think.”

“Well… it’s kinda stupid… but my co-workers and my girlfriend keep asking me about this girl Pam, who I know nothing about. At first I thought maybe it was someone I’d met while on my drinking binge… or I thought it was part of a joke. I’ve been known to occasionally prank my co-workers.”

She’s quiet.

“Yeah, I’m that jerk who only puts out decaf coffee, or who goes in the break room and puts out a cupcake with a big bite out of it to see if anyone will actually eat it.”

Still no response. She’s looking at him, but he can’t tell if it’s in disapproval or because of something else.

“Umm…”

“I’m Pam,” she says, placing her empty glass on the table between them.

“What?”

“The woman that your friends keep telling you that you know? I think it’s me. That’s actually why…” But he’s looking at her, he’s looking at her with these eyes that stop her from finishing the sentence.

“I liked you, you know. A lot. Actually, I kind of loved you.”

But what if I didn’t love him back? What if we’d been together maybe, and then broke up, and it was too painful, and that’s why he erased me? What if he had a really good reason and I’m making him remember all that?

“You know… it’s probably just a coincidence,” she finishes, shrugging. “Stranger things have happened, right?”

“Yeah… right,” he says, inspecting his shoes. His voice sounds uncertain, distant.

“So… why don’t you tell me about some of these great pranks you played on your co-workers. What do you do, anyway?”

“Hah, I work at a failing paper company,” he says, sounding a bit more lively. “So I have to do something to keep myself sane.”

“Is there anyone cool to at least talk to,” she asks. “A partner in crime, perhaps?”

“Not really.”

“So when you were little, and people asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up, you said, ‘I want to clockwatch at a paper company?’”

He laughs. “I think what I really want to do is design buildings.”

“Really? That’s…really cool.”

“That’s not what my girlfriend said,” he replies, rolling his eyes.

“No, I think it’s great! What kind of stuff do you want to design? Like… homes, neighborhoods, skyscrapers, multi megaplexes?”

“I like houses,” Jim replies, and as she watches he comes to life. “I like the idea that a family with this… great life… would be living in something I made. You know?”

“Sure I do.”

“And I especially like outdoor stuff… like porches, decks, terraces. Especially terraces, like when they’re on the second floor… so people can just wake up in the morning and then sit outside together, reading or having coffee.”

As he speaks, Pam suddenly feels the immediate need to leap across the space between them and just start making out like crazy with him, though she’s not sure why. She wants to just throw caution to the wind and pull his face to hers and attack him with her mouth and hands.

Instead, she smiles and says: “Have we met before? I mean, before my art show.”

Jim opens his mouth to speak, unsure of what’s going to come out of his mouth. Before he has a chance, though, the waiter is standing by them again, looking uncertain. “Miss? Someone is asking for you.”

“What?”

It’s Jim, holding even more flowers. “Pam, I’m sorry to bother you, but…”

She stands up, angry, and crosses the room. “I thought I told you to give me some space,” she says, her voice raising. “I don’t know how else to possibly say it!”

“Pammy… can I just walk you home,” he begs, trying to take her arm. She yanks it away.

“Let… go!”

Sitting there, watching their exchange, Jim feels an unexplainable burst of fury. Seeing them together, seeing him push her around, makes him see red. “Hey!” he cries, shooting to his feet. “She said leave her alone, man!”

Roy backs up, holding up his hands. If I’m pretending to be Halpert, he wouldn’t get into a fight. I’ve got to back up. “Hey, alright, okay man, calm down. I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” I don’t think… I don’t think Halpert knows who Pam is! He realizes as he leaves, a grin inching across his face. I can’t believe it, he had the mind erase, too! No fucking way! So, even if she remembers him, it doesn’t matter…

“God, I’m sorry,” she manages, trying to collect herself. “In case you didn’t guess, that was my not-so-secret admirer.”

“He’s a creep,” Jim replies, still breathing hard. “You could do a lot better than that, Pam.”

It’s the first time he’s said her name (that she can remember), and she likes the sound of it. A lot.

“I know. I’m sorry, I feel like that ruined the evening. And I…”

“Look… my head is killing me,” he replies. He does look awfully pale, Pam realizes. “I wonder if we could call it a night. I’m just… kinda messed up right now.”

I wish I understood why the sight of that guy makes me want to go postal, he wants to add, but doesn’t.

“Oh,” Pam says, disappointed. “I understand. Could we…”

“I, uh, I need to go,” Jim says, throwing his coat back on. “Thank you for inviting me out tonight. I’m sorry things got weird.”

“I…”

But he’s already walking away, into the darkness, leaving Pam standing there, confused tears gathering in her eyes.

* * *

He’s only a few blocks from the hotel when his cell phone rings. Oh, who is it now? Jim fishes his phone out of his pocket. It’s Michael.

“Hello?”

“Jim! How are you? I was just wondering if you had any information on…”

“Look,” Jim interrupted, impatient. The cold air was making his head feel better but his heart and stomach weren’t doing too well. He felt torn and confused and, well, a mess. “I’m kind of going through some stuff right now Michael, is there anyone else who might be able to help you get what you need?”

“I think the question is, can anyone give you the help you need, my man?” Michael’s serious tone catches Jim off guard, and he stops dead in his tracks on the sidewalk.

“What?”

“Karen called me a little while ago. She’s really worried about you. And with good reason, it sounds like. She said you’re acting strange – and like you don’t remember who Pam is.”

Jim puts a hand to his forehead. “I don’t understand why everyone keeps giving me such a hard time about this Pam. Pam this, Pam that… why can’t I just forget her?”

“So you do remember her,” Michael says, having the smarts to speak quietly after Jim’s outburst. “Or you’re starting to.”

“Well, I had a drink with her tonight. It was… weird. I don’t know who she is, but it seems like… she was someone important to me, at least she was once.”

Michael clears his throat. “Jim, I… I can’t bear to hear you so miserable. I know you told me I should never, ever say these words to you, but…”

“What, Michael? Tell me. You’ve got to tell me.”

“Well, it just… doesn’t seem to be working. Again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… Jim, do you remember what you did before you came to Dunder Mifflin?”

“Do I… what?” Jim almost yells, feeling frantic.

“Jim, you… you said you wanted a drastic career change. You were… an intern when you were at the university. At an architecture firm.”

“What? I… wha… that’s not right.” Suddenly, Jim’s heart drops in his chest. Could it possibly be? It would certainly explain all the sketches that he’d done in the past few days. But why was he so inspired all of a sudden?

“Hi… welcome to Rachford-Barr Architecture. I’m Jim.”

“This young lady and her fiance are building a house. The fiancé isn’t super interested in the details, but she seems to want very specific things. I was wondering if you could work with her to sketch something out…”

Clips of memories begin flooding back, memories that Jim can’t even place in chronological order: sitting and sketching a neat little house…

“I have to go, Mom.”…kissing someone who looked very much like Pam in the dark…

“If you go back to him, I think I’ll die.”

“Really, Jim, you look like you want to say something. You can tell me anything, Jim.”

Staring up at stupid glow-in-the-dark stickers and feeling like laughing and crying all at once…

… cooking a grilled cheese…

… riding a boat with Pam, neither of them speaking, yet so many words left to say. When the hell did all of this stuff happen? He wonders, feeling more unwell and confused than ever.

“Jim, you… you should go talk to Mierzwiak. He should be the one telling you all this.”

“Who’s this guy? M something?”

“He’s a doctor, Jim. He helps people forget… painful things. Or people that have hurt them. I tend to think he’s kind of a quack, but I’ll keep my professional opinions to myself. But really… I don’t want to tell you any more. You should talk to him.”

The confusion overtakes the anger, and Jim knows now where he has to go. “Then I will. I want to know exactly how many times I’ve seen Dr. Mierzwiak.”