- Text Size +
“Hey.”

His voice startled her. Despite the fact that she came to the drugstore hoping to run into him, she didn’t think she actually would. Now that she had, she had no idea what to say.

She stood up, reflexively smoothing her hair. She was wearing an old sweater and a pair of dirty jeans. She wished she had worn something else.

“Hey.” She hoped she didn’t sound too eager.

“Fancy meeting you here. Twice in a month, huh? I think you might be stalking me,” he said, with a laugh.

She tried to laugh, too, wondering if he knew how close to the truth his joke was.

An awkward silence followed, and Pam started fiddling with her necklace. Say something, anything. “So what are you up to?” she said, nodding to the tape Jim was holding.

“Oh, we’re painting my bedroom, but evidently you need tape for ‘clean edges.’ Who knew?”

We. Pam’s heart sunk a notch from his use pronoun. Did “we” include that girl he was eating brunch with, Amy? Probably.

“So what are you doing?” he continued.

“I was just taking Frank to the dog park, and I thought I’d pick up some things on the way,” she said, holding up the bottle of shampoo that was still in her hand. Thank god she hadn’t picked up tampons yet.

Another silence. They were standing a few apart, and an old woman with a walker tottered between them, grabbing some soap from the shelf, unaware of the conversation she was interrupting.

Pam took the opportunity to gather her thoughts. She had to keep him talking. “How’s you mom?” she said as soon as the old woman walked away. She couldn’t think of anything better to say. She wanted to kick herself.

“She’s doing good. I think she wants me to move back to Scranton, though. I don’t get back that often, and she’s only visited New York once.”

“I know, it’s hard having visitors here. My entire apartment is about the size of the Dunder-Mifflin break room, so my parents have to get a hotel room whenever they come up. It gets pretty expensive.”

“Right! When my mom visited, she stayed at my place, and it’s not meant for two people. I was tripping over her suitcase all weekend. I gave her my bedroom, so I had to sleep on my futon.”

“Futon?” she said, with a mischievous smile.

“Yeah, futon. My couch wouldn’t fit. Hey, do girls your age like futons?” He matched her smile.

She had to laugh, remembering Jim’s face when she had first told him about what Michael had said, years ago. It had been a running joke between them for a while. The fact that he still remembered thrilled her. And Jim had implied he lived alone. Good.

Their laughter was interrupted by a young mother, carrying her crying son, reaching in between them for some baby shampoo.

Pam refused to let the moment of good will pass. As soon as the mother walked away and the crying subsided, she said, “We must be in a high-traffic spot here. Do you want to get out of here? Maybe grab a bite to eat?” She surprised herself, but she had been looking for him for a long time--maybe longer than these past three weeks. She wasn’t going to leave it up to chance.

“Um . . . actually . . . actually I can’t,” he said, avoiding her gaze. If he had looked at her, he would’ve seen her face fall, and the laughter in her eyes replaced by disappointment. “I should get back . . . Amy is waiting for me.”

So it was Amy. She wasn’t surprised. He was an amazing guy. Of course he would have a girlfriend. But she couldn’t help feeling a tightness around her heart.

“Oh, of course,” she said, trying to sound light. “I, I’ve got a lot to do today, too.”

“Yeah.” He was looking at her shoulder, still avoiding her eyes. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” He started to walk away.

No, this was not happening. She would not let it end this way. “Jim . . .”

He turned around, and their eyes finally locked. There was another moment of silence, while Pam struggled with what to say. “Jim . . . I hope we can be friends again.”

Something in Jim’s expression changed. She thought she saw a hint of . . . what? Pain? Sadness? Resignation? He sighed, and looked down at her feet. Pam felt as though a lifetime passed before he spoke again. He finally looked back into her eyes. “I’d like that, too.”

Pam felt as though her heart might soar right out of her chest. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she knew her smile betrayed her. “Okay.”

They both stood their ground, fidgeting a little. How does one revive a friendship that had been dead for so long?

Jim finally spoke. “Listen, a bunch of my friends are getting together tonight. We usually go to this bar on Saturday nights, Olde City Tavern, on 11th and Avenue A. Do you know it?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “Anyways, I know its kind of strange, but we get together for a couple of rounds of competitive Pictionary.” His words were rushed.

“Competitive Pictionary?”

“I know—kind of odd. It’s like a trivia night. There are a bunch of teams, we’re all pretty much regulars, and at the end of the night, the winning team gets three free pitchers of beer. Imported, not Coors Light or anything like that. Anyways, it’s a lot of fun, and you’re welcome to come, but only if you want.”

“I would really like that,” she said, her smile growing.

“Okay, good.” He still seemed nervous. “Alright . . . see you at nine.”


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She had tried on countless outfits, wanting to look her best, but not look like she was trying to look her best. It was a fine line. Based on the neighborhood, she guessed the bar would be pretty gritty, so she went with jeans, boots, and a green shirt that was slightly tighter her usual fare. She turned sideways and looked in the mirror. Nothing compared to Amy, but that Victoria’s Secret bra did work wonders.

Her hair was shoulder length--shorter than it was in Scranton--and because there was less weight pulling it down, her hair was much curlier now. Her friend Susannah also had curly hair, and had introduced her to some wonderful goop that contained her frizz, but let her curls run free. She checked her hair in the mirror, and decided to just let it be. She put on a coat of lip gloss, and left it at that. She didn’t want to seem too eager. She tried to calm herself down. This was just a regular night out. A night with an old friend. Relax.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jim and Amy got there a little early to secure a good table. He probably should’ve warned Pam that it was a pretty competitive bunch. The tables were set up in a rough semi-circle, with small easels in front of each table. If you got the one in the back corner, none of the other teams could sneak a look at your easel, but the people sitting towards the back of the table had a pretty good view of their neighbor’s drawings. And in Competitive Pictionary, with imported beer on the line, any advantage was worth it.

Slowly, the bar began filling up. It was an ancient tavern, and smell of must mixed with stale beer usually kept the yuppie crowd out. The Ligers, an obnoxious team that usually beat Jim’s group, sat at the table next to them. Jim hated those guys. Jim’s teammates soon joined them, and he was ordering a round of beers at the bar when Pam walked in.

He was momentarily taken aback, first by her beauty, then by the surreal nature of the situation. She was at Pictionary night? He felt his worlds colliding again, but decided he was just going to have to get used to it. He was being honest with her that morning. He did want to be her friend. He could handle being her friend.

He greeted her with a beer, and noticed that she wore the same perfume that she wore two years ago. He tried to ignore the thought, and brought her over to introduce her to the gang.

“So this is the team—the Bumlookers.” He saw Pam’s questioning look. “It’s a long story. You know Amy,” he said, and Amy greeted Pam with a hug. It was strange sight for Jim, so he moved on. “And that’s Finn, her boyfriend Walt, Phil, SaraJane, Scott, Theo, and Grace.”

Pam sat down next to Amy, and Amy immediately began explaining the rules to Pam. Phil looked at Jim with a raised eyebrow, but Jim ignored him.

Six rounds later, the game was rocking. Everyone’s drawing had gone downhill after the fourth round of beer, but the worse the drawings were, the more laughter errrupted when it was revealed what it was supposed to be.

Jim threw his pencil down in mock disgust. “Oh come on! That’s clearly a tornado, right?” he said, pointing to a large swirl in the middle of the page. And the furniture in the tornado? It’s no longer in the house,” gesturing to an empty square with a triangle for a roof. “Get it? Everything’s gone with the tornado! Gone with the Wind!”

The team groaned, and SaraJane threw some popcorn at Jim. “We all thought it had something to do with the Wizard of Oz!”

“Whatever, let’s see you do better!”

“Sorry, it’s Pam’s turn,” SaraJane said, picking up Jim’s discarded pencil, and giving it to Pam.

“I feel like I have so much to live up to, I mean, that tornado! Look at all of the detail—all of those swirls!”

“Whatever Beesley,” he said, giving her a nudge, “this is the last round. We’re only five points behind the Ligers—if you win, we’ll only lose by four! Come on, you can do this!”

Pam, laughed, and headed over to get the clue from the bartender. She came back with a playful look in her eyes. The bell rang, and Pam started drawing. Jim had forgotten what a good artist she was, even after a night of drinking. As her sketch began to take shape, though, Jim choked on his beer. It was a couple having, well, “relations.” The entire team seemed impressed, not only by her artistic abilities, but by the general subject matter.

“Sex and the City!”

“Sexual Healing!”

“I’m Too Sexy!”

“Casual Sex!”

Pam shook her head each time, laughing and pointing to the man in the drawing. The couple was on the floor, and the man was on top of the woman, with a big smile on his face. Jim took advantage of his position at the table, and leaned back just far enough to be able to see what The Ligers’ drawing looked like. It was a man with a collar, reading a book to a bunch of other people. What! What did these two drawings have to do with one another? He looked back at the drawing, and then looked at Pam. He knew that laugh--she had something up her sleeve. He looked back at her drawing, and it suddenly dawned on him.

“Missionary!”

The bell rung. They had won that round. Their entire table burst out laughing, slapping Pam on the back for her clever hint. They lost to The Ligers, again, but celebrated with another round anyways. The rowdy table was filled with jokes and laughter and disparaging remarks about the members of The Ligers.

Finn poured Jim another beer. “Good move bringing Pam into the team, Jim. Maybe we can actually win now. We’ll have to kick you out, of course, after the Gone With the Wind incident, but it’s for the good of the team.”

“Shut it, Finn. I formed this team. I’m the Godfather of this team,” his voice rising with indignation. “‘Finn, you’re my cousin, and I love you, but don’t ever take sides against the family. Ever.’” Jim did his best Michael Corleone impression, which was pretty bad.

The table burst out laughing. Jim looked over towards Pam, sitting next to Amy. Amy was slapping her hand against her leg, like she always did when he got her going. Pam threw her head back with laughter, and wiped the tears from her eyes. She got her giggles under control and looked over at Jim. Their eyes met for a moment, and then she started laughing uncontrollably again.

Jim was immediately brought back to the time when he made her laugh like this all of the time, and the sound of her laughter made the rest of this day worthwhile. He ran his hand through his hair, and tried to ignore the feeling rising through his chest. Maybe this friendship wasn’t such a good idea, after all.

You must login (register) to review or leave jellybeans