Chapter 1 ~ Pam, September 15, 2016.
As large of a city New York is, as many people create their own stories each day through the hustle and bustle of these streets, I find it ironically peaceful. Granted, I’m only passing by for the day, but the noise and crowdedness feels, somewhat comforting? It isn’t the dull, uneventful Scranton where I’ve spent every aching year of my life. Granted, I appreciate my roots in such a quaint suburban town planted between both New York and Philadelphia, but it’s all I’ve ever known.
My entire life is planted there: running into former classmates in the grocery store, knowing each and every teacher at each West Scranton High Flea Market, and the worst of it? Having to drive past my former place of employment each and every day on my commute.
A place of what ifs, and has beens. I spent about ten years working at Dunder Mifflin as a receptionist, before I resigned and began working as a Library Assistant at Penn State Worthington near Throop. I couldn’t stay there, not after placing everything I had on the line for the person I loved more than anything, and being shot down completely.
Not to mention, he becoming my boss’s higher up.
So, upon finding out about his promotion, I gave Michael my resignation. What happened after that, I am not proud of in the slightest.
New Fancy Beesly dissipated, and Boring Beesly returned.
I made the worst mistake in confiding again with Roy. Admitting how hurt I was, I slowly fell back into the comfort of his arms, and we picked up where we broke things off. And just like that, we found ourselves engaged again, and went through with the wedding: June 10, 2008. Our oldest, Rian, was born March 18, 2009. Our youngest, Parker, was born May 6, 2011. At the time, I thought to myself that things were great, and how it felt so good to know that I was where I was meant to be, with the person I was meant to be with. But, oh how I was wrong.
Roy, who somehow was rehired in the warehouse after I resigned, started working later than he did before he was originally fired. We fell into the same routine of him coming home late, smelling entirely like cheap beer, and passing out on the couch. He was never up in the morning to see the boys off to daycare, never home to see them after school. It always broke my heart when Rian would ask where his dad was at bedtime. He was four at the time, and started realizing something was wrong.
I honestly needed a break, and with some money I saved up on my own, I started taking a few art courses through my job at Penn State two nights a week, while my wonderfully selfless mother babysat the boys those nights. Did Roy know? No. But did the boys know? Absolutely. I asked them first before I dove into it.
However, it didn’t take long until Rian said something to Roy about my night classes, and all hell broke loose. Endless nights of hearing “You need to be here for the boys, not taking classes in a career you’ll never have” out of Roy’s mouth, slammed doors, more tears than I thought I could ever cry. Three entire months long of arguing with the man whom I thought would actually change this time, I felt like surrendering and stop taking the classes. But, knowing how happy the boys, especially Parker, was to see a smile reappear on my face, I knew I couldn’t take the arguing or the lifestyle Roy followed anymore.
Filing for divorce from Roy Anderson was the best decision I have ever made.
It wasn’t easy in any matter. Having to unravel 6 years of a marriage, figure out custody, split our bank accounts and all, it took around 7 to 8 months for the divorce to be finalized. Our boys didn’t take it very well, especially Rian. He was 5 and Parker was 3 when it happened, and Ri knew what was going on. I take him to therapy once a week still, 2 years later, and comes home after each session asking “Why did you leave Daddy? Why did you have to break up our family?”. And I know I come home Tuesday nights and pop open a fresh bottle of wine after that.
Roy and I share custody, which does help alleviate some of the stress of raising our boys. I have the boys Sunday to Wednesday Morning, Roy has them Wednesday Afternoon to Saturday. And for this reason, I am utterly tied to Scranton. Well, at least for another 13 years.
I find myself in New York thanks to a job interview. Since our divorce, I completed my BFA in Art through Penn State. Although I’m still working at the college, I’ve had a few interviews for art companies here. Today’s was for RAPP, a media company whose interested in me as a designer. Wouldn’t be my first choice of job, but someone’s interested. To me, that’s all that matters.
My interview concluded about 20 minutes ago, and I’ve been walking down 42nd Street to Times Square. No clue why, as my car is parked around the corner from where the RAPP building is, but I’ve found myself here. The hustle and bustle led me here, I guess.
It’s gorgeous, Times Square. The lights, the atmosphere. No wonder people stand out here on New Years. Who wouldn’t want to be around here? I look around to see if any store particularly catches my eye. Not like I have the funds to pay for anything in this city, most of my paychecks go towards bills, food, and tuition for the boys to go to school. However, the pipe dream of having in-disposable funds is calling my name, and I find myself walking into Express on 7th street.
They do happen sell some cute clothes, I came to realize. I’ve always expected this store to have mostly clothes that were a bit more flashy for my taste, but I was wrong. I’d like to say that my fashion sense has grown a tad since becoming single, but I’m a mother. T-shirts and Yoga pants call my name when I’m not working.
They have nice work dresses, some I would consider buying, have I had some money to spend on myself right now. Maybe Penny and I could go to the one in the Steamtown Mall next time she’s visiting, who knows? All I know is, is that it’s probably best that I get going. I find myself taking the escalator back down to the first floor, and taking in the atmosphere of this store. I guess I get too soaked up into this, as I find myself looking across the store as I accidentally bump into somebody.
This poor guy dropped some of the clothes he had in his hands thanks to me. God dammit, Pam. Watch where you’re going!
“Shoot, I am so sorry!” I apologize, “Let me help you.” I pick up a few sweaters that had fallen onto the floor. They look really nice too, seems like this guy has good taste in clothing.
“It’s alright, I need to watch where I’m going sometimes…” he says, in a low-toned voice that sounds strangely familiar.
“Me too, here’s your-” I freeze, passing him his items. Now realizing whose vaguely familiar voice this belongs to, New York City now feels 20 times smaller than it did two minutes ago.
“Beesly?”
