Jim tried in vain to concentrate on Amy’s words. She was telling a story about two co-workers that had drunkenly hooked up the night before, but Jim couldn’t quite follow it. His head was still spinning from his chance encounter with Pam. What were the odds that they would both end up in New York, much less in the same neighborhood?
He gave his head a little shake, trying to physically get her out of his thoughts. “Um, so what did Lou say this morning?”
“I just told you—he said that nothing happened, but we all saw him kissing Christine. I mean, they were at the booth next to us! Real subtle.”
“Yeah, that’s crazy.” Jim said, absentmindedly.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Amy asked, concerned.
“Oh, um, nothing. I guess I’m just tired.” Jim feigned a yawn.
Amy reached over and grabbed his thigh. “I guess I kept you up pretty late last night,” she said, with a suggestive smile.
Jim couldn’t help but smile at the memory, and for the first time in a half-an-hour, his mind turned from Pam to Amy. “Amers, this is a family place,” he laughed, moving her hand back onto the table. “Let’s get the check.”
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Jim walked Amy to Trinity Bar, where she bartended on the weekends as her second job. He dropped her off, and then headed back to his small apartment on 85th and First. It was a sixth floor walk-up, but Jim had gotten used to the climb. He threw his keys down on his bookshelf and flopped his long body on his too-short futon. All of his windows faced narrow alleyways, so even on the sunniest days, the apartment was dark. Jim didn’t bother turning on any lights. He just wanted to close his eyes and think.
When he first saw her, he suddenly felt his whole world just . . . shift. Someone that literally defined a life he left far behind just sauntered right into the middle of brunch. They had been talking about a crazy camping trip Jim had gone on last year, when all of the sudden—wham. There she was.
The shock of seeing Pam was finally wearing off, and he could actually think about what this meant. He was happy with his life in New York. He was happy with Amy. They had been dating for about two months, and things were going really well. She had a great laugh and loved his friends, and she had the cutest Minnesota accent.
Thinking about Pam . . . he couldn’t even define what he was feeling. When he had first moved to Stamford, he was a mess. The confession, followed by the kiss and the rejection, took a lot out of him. He moped around in a daze for the first month of his new job. For a while he harbored hope that Pam would come to her senses and run into his arms. That flicker of optimism was extinguished when he saw her wedding announcement from the paper. He had googled it. Pathetic, he knew, but he had to see it for himself. There she was, in a white dress, with a veil, her arm entwined with Roy’s. At that moment, he knew he had to move on.
Five months later, he quit his job at Dunder-Mifflin Stamford. He had taken a good hard look at himself, and realized that there was nothing keeping him attached to the paper company. It had been a rough year. Despite his intentions, it was difficult to get over Pam. Things were getting easier, though. He had thought about her every day, but the screaming pain he had felt radiating from his heart through his entire body slowly but surely became simply a dull ache. He could learn to live with the dull ache.
His cousin Finn had a free couch in her apartment in New York, so he arrived in January of 2007. The combination of a new city and a new career having nothing to do with paper had a restorative effect on Jim. He began to feel like himself again. He made fast friends with his co-workers, all of whom were interesting, normal people. None of them ordered deer urine on the internet.
He thought he would miss Scranton, miss his friends, and miss Pam. But to be honest, Pam occupied his thoughts less and less. It wasn’t her fault; it was just that she was part of what he had come to recognize as a pretty unpleasant part of his life. For three years, he thought he was happy enough just having her in his life, just being her friend. But looking back, he realized how miserable he was. It was his fault for being so paralyzed.
He didn’t know how he got the courage to tell her how he felt, but it was the best thing he could’ve done. He had gotten desensitized to the small, day-to-day pinpricks to his heart. Seeing Roy with his arms around Pam hardly even got to him anymore. He needed the living shit kicked out of his heart in order to wake him out of his torpor, and that’s what he got when she said, “I can’t.” And for that, he was grateful. If she hadn’t been honest with him, he might still be sitting next to Dwight, watching his life pass by without him.
He had come to terms with this a long time ago. He was over her. He was happy now. He was happy with Amy. But lying in his dim living room, his arm flung over his eyes to block out the world, he let himself imagine what his life would have been like if he had stayed. He saw himself pulling his hair out with frustration over Michael and Dwight, but he also saw himself standing by her desk. He remembered the moments of pure joy when he would say something funny, and her eyes would light up, and she would throw her head back in laughter. He was happy, but nothing he had now came close to that feeling.
“Come on,” he suddenly said out loud, pounding his fist on the futon. “Get a grip Halpert.” He was not going to sink back into this. He had fought too hard to extricate himself from her pull. He couldn't go through that again.
He hadn’t asked her for her phone number. He had seen a flash of hurt in her eyes when he said good-bye so suddenly, but he refused to think about it. He didn’t want her number. Right now his only goal was self-preservation, and for him, that meant forgetting that today ever happened.
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© 2006-2023 More Than That | Skin created by Kali
© 2006-2023 More Than That | Skin created by Kali