May 2011

Pam felt Jim watching her closely, pulling away from their kiss. He had professed his love for her and kissed her and then everything came together for her in a very surreal way.

It always took her longer than everyone else to make a decision. Her mother said that she ‘valued security and wasn’t a risk-taker.’ Her sister said that she ‘lacked confidence.’ Roy said that she ‘thought too much.’

As she got older, she realized that what she lacked in deciding quickly, she made up for in learning thoroughly. And once Pam understood something, she felt it entirely and deeply.

She studied Jim. ‘My god,’ she thought to herself. ‘He’s had this — us — figured out for years. I’m just now catching up. But it’s right. This is so right.’ Her brain was racing to put plans into place while she deeply inhaled Jim’s aftershave and still tasted his vodka tonic on her lips. Briefly, she wondered if he was as sure as she was. She knew he wasn’t drunk, but did he know, entirely and deeply, what he was saying?

“I think we’re drunk,” she tested.

She knew his answer before he spoke. Years of crafting glances and meaningful looks to communicate a range of emotions came together as he tipped his head and honestly said, “I’m not drunk. Are you drunk?”

“No,” she said, softly, weakly smiling in embarrassment that she even went through the charade of suggesting it.

Slowly, she ran her hand over his sweater, up his chest and onto his shoulders, her eyes focused on a small loose thread on the collar of his button-down shirt. The gentle tug of his arms, still wrapped around her waist, brought her out of her reverie.

He must have thought she was conflicted, but she wasn’t, not even a little. Her mind was already devising her next steps.

“I’m not going to marry Roy.”

“You’re not?” He grinned, but took a deep breath to conceal the thrill of her words, just in case he heard her wrong and bit his lips together.

“I’m not.” Pam saw his chest catch briefly, but he let a slow, steady breath expel at the same time his face broke out in a wide grin. Her small hand crept up to the back of his warm neck and, as she pulled him to kiss her deeper than before, she wondered what took her so long to figure out that they were meant to be together.

***

Monday, March 26, 2018 8:14PM

Pam Beesly has moments when her senses overtake reality and she detects ghosts from her past.

Once, at a department store in the Steamtown Mall, she caught a whiff of Chanel No. 5 combined with Jergens hand cream that sent her wandering through the Ladies’ Dresses department searching for her beloved Meemaw, who had passed away a year ago.

There were a few times when Pam, sprawled across the floor of her apartment, was so immersed in a piece of charcoal artwork that she could positively feel Ms. Everdeen, her 8th grade art teacher, place a hand on her shoulder and say, “Pam, you ARE an artist,” with a sense of reassurance that still left Pam feeling awe-struck. Ms. Everdeen, long-retired to Arizona, likely wouldn’t know Pam Beesly if she hit her with her car today.

So on this Monday night, just after 8:30, when she hears, “Pam?” in that deeply familiar voice, she shouldn’t expect to see Jim Halpert standing there. As she looks away from her conversation with Karen to glance over her right shoulder toward the voice, she shouldn’t expect that Jim will be standing behind her barstool in Scranton, saying with more confidence and affirmation, “Pam Beesly.”  

His understated but stylish clothes and the trimmed, full beard lend no familiarity, but that wide smile reaching his hazel eyes brings her to her feet to embrace him. She lets her hands glide across these broad shoulders she loved for so long, only briefly wondering if this is real. His arm around her waist, tugging her to him so that she is rising to the balls of her feet let her know that this is all too real, and she gives in to the warmth that she feels spreading throughout her.

“Hey?” She asks as she lifts herself back into her seat. She doesn’t mean for it to be a question, but it suits them.

“Hi.” He returns with a casual confidence that confirms it is actually Jim. He crosses his forearms and plants his feet under outstretched legs as he perches just on the edge of the neighboring barstool. She’s always been a little envious that he’s tall enough to sit so carefree, no fear of falling, while she feels like a child, wiggling to secure herself into the center of the seat.

“You remember Karen?”  

Pam glances to her best friend. Karen frequently laments that people mistake her resting bitch face for her being unapproachable and pissed off. Pam usually agrees that this is an unfair assessment, but she knows Karen’s look directed at Jim is completely intentional as she flatly says, “Jim.”

“Hey, Fillipelli.” Pam feels Karen bristle at Jim using his old nickname for her, and she almost feels sorry for him as he glances down awkwardly. “How’s Paul?”

“He’s good. Still collects guns.” Her answer rings clear, but she has turned her attention to one of the televisions behind the bar and the martini she’s sipping.

Pam swivels slightly toward him. She can’t help but smile as she sees Jim’s head hang slightly as he nods, a small smile on his lips. He always appreciated Karen’s feisty attitude so he likely knows he got away easy from her wrath.

“You look so different.” Pam sounds a little breathless as she says this and tries to hide her embarrassment with a smile. She means to ask how he is, how is Philadelphia. But she’s struggling to believe this is her Jim because, well, he does look different. Jim has always been strong, but she feels pretty confident that Karen will describe him as ripped once he leaves. His hair is more intentionally styled since she last saw him. He’s wearing jeans and a heathered crimson t-shirt that sparks the green of his hazel eyes.

If Pam didn’t know him, she could admit that the beard was pretty hot, but she feels like she is missing a bit of the old Jim as she struggles to read his expression. She feels a small pang at the realization that distance and running are likely responsible for her inability to read his thoughts more than facial hair.

“Yeah, uh, I go to the gym more.” His arms are still crossed, but she swears to god he flexes just briefly.

“Shave less though?” She scrunches her nose and curls her lip slightly.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says with a soft laugh at her guise of disapproval about his beard. His left hand self-consciously smoothes the hair at his jawline and Pam notices that he’s not wearing a wedding ring. Her heart rate picks up a bit. Why isn’t he wearing a wedding ring, she wonders. “You look exactly the same.”

Something inside Pam shifts ever so slightly when he says this. Maybe it’s the way he interrupts her internal musings at the revelation of his missing wedding ring. Maybe it’s the warmth in his voice or the intensity in the way he’s looking right at her. Maybe it’s because she wants to scream that she’s changed, she’s grown, she’s a different person while reciting the different mantras she’s been chanting to herself for years. Maybe she’s just self-conscious because he’s wearing a t-shirt but looks like a model, while she’s wearing a skirt that’s five years old. Whatever is causing it, Pam suddenly feels unsettled and an old bitterness creeps up as she busies her hands with tugging the wrist of her cardigan over her fingertips.

He watches her fidget slightly and then, with an undercurrent of confusion asks, “I thought you were in New York?”

“Oh, yeah, I was. Um, I was there for, I don’t know, about a year and a half.” He tips his head like he’s trying to figure out how to probe for more information. She huffs at the thought of digging through their last four years apart, so she simply offers a single shrug and says, “City life wasn’t for me. So, um, I moved back here and, uh, I work at the University.”

“Oh, what do you —” He interrupts himself as he looks over Pam’s head toward the door. He nods to whomever he’s looking at and turns his attention back to her briefly to say, “Sorry, Pam. I’ve gotta go.” He’s standing, squeezing her shoulder. “It was great to see you.”

“Oh, yeah, bye,” she says weakly.

And he’s walking out of her life, just as quickly as he dropped in.

He turns his head to smile at her and, for a fleeting moment, she sees the old Jim. She smiles back and holds her palm open as a simple goodbye.

“Fuck.” Karen is still looking at the television, but Pam knows that was meant for her.

Pam giggles as she gently nudges Karen’s arm with her own. “Did that really just happen?” She feels the same way she does after riding a roller coaster; full of a fearful exhilaration that sends a jolt through her senses, making her want more, but maybe a bit slower and without so much fear of falling.

“Fuck,” Karen repeats. “We are not doing this again.” She rests her forehead into her fingertips and she’s mumbling into the mahogany bar more than toward Pam. “You never come out for a drink with me. Never. The one night you come out, Slick Jim shows up and…” She trails off to take an exasperated sip of her drink.

“Karen, I don’t even have his phone number. It’s been four years since we last saw each other. When we broke up.” Pam emphasizes this last part as if Karen needs the reminder of her best friend’s personal history. “It’s not like… Look, I’m not going to fall in love with him again.” Pam is slowly turning her wineglass by the stem, watching the red liquid peak into small slopes along the body of the glass. She’s trying to think of how she can sound casual  when mentioning how good Jim looks, but Karen interrupts her contemplation.

“There’s so much I want to say about your last statement, but I’m actually more worried about Slick Jim and the way he hugged you.” Karen has a single eyebrow arched, and she is pointing her finger in the air to further validate her point.

Pam takes a sip of wine, and then says, “You sound like my dad when you call him that. And my dad never gave Jim a chance, so let’s —” Pam stops herself midsentence at Karen’s dramatic eye roll and decides to take a different approach — “You know, Kare, there was a time that you really loved Jim. You and Paul both did.” They let the tension lay quietly for a pause.

Pam knows that wasn’t fair. When she and Jim broke up, Karen stood by her side and Paul lost a friend. Especially after all that Karen has done to help Pam move on, it’s kind of ridiculous to ask her to suddenly become a Jim-sympathizer because they are momentarily civil to each other in a bar. While it’s equally ridiculous, Pam’s curiosity gets the best of her and she finally asks, “So, what do you mean? Like, how did he hug me?”

For a long moment she thinks Karen isn’t going to answer her. But then Karen swivels the barstool so that she is looking directly at Pam.  “He had this whole, soldier-coming-home look on his face. Like he was closing his eyes and smelling you.” She pauses and seems to contemplate how much more she wants to say. “It reminded me of the last time we went to Philly to see Jim, before things got...bad. The way he came out of his office and hugged you like seeing you made everything in the world make sense.”

Karen doesn’t go on; they both remember that weekend. When anyone uses the term “the beginning of the end,” Karen and Pam painfully recall that weekend in Philadelphia.

Pam squeezes Karen’s hand and smiles tightly but sincerely.

Karen, the tough-talking, beautiful girl who transferred from New York City had been an unlikely best friend for the quiet, reserved artistic Pam. But they bonded in the Valley View High School gymnasium during freshman volleyball tryouts.

Not knowing each other at all, Pam and Karen would share annoyed looks with one another at the other girls’ catty comments or the ones who talked a big game and then fell flat when it was their chance to follow through. Slowly scooting closer to one another during the grueling three days, they would mumble, ‘Not so cute when she gets a hit to the face, is she?’ or ‘Just cause you have height, doesn’t mean you have springs’ in quiet criticism of their peers.

They both made the JV team and were the only freshmen invited to practice with the varsity volleyball team. Only then did they introduce themselves to each other by name.

Other than Jim, Karen was the only person Pam had been able to tell a whole story to with a single look.

“Well, it was a nice hug. But that’s all it was. A hug. Just a hug.” She slowly nudges Karen’s shoulder with her own so that they are briefly leaning against one another. Pam empties her wine glass so that she can avoid Karen’s measured look.

Three years ago Pam would have wanted to strangle Jim if he approached her in a bar. So why did she feel disappointed that it was ‘just’ a hug?

Karen sighs in resignation and motions to the bartender for another round. “On the other hand,” she leans toward Pam and lowers her voice in a satisfied, conspiratorial whisper, “Jim got jacked! Did you see his arms?”

“You’re terrible,” Pam mumbles through a soft laugh.

While Karen speaks to the bartender, Pam reminds herself of the old mantras she started telling herself four years ago:

We just can’t get on the same page about our future.

We will always care about each other.

We’ll always be friends.

It just wasn’t meant to be.