Candlelight (Jim): For I have lied, now all there is left for me to do is hide. Take in a deep breath, I lift my head; for I am a new man and I arise from my bed.
To any outside observer, it would appear that he could have done more to let Pam know how he felt, but it’s not as simple as that. He’s come to realize that her happiness is more important to him than his own. When she says she’s fine with her choices, when she says she’s cold and leaves him out on deck, when she laughingly says that he can tell her anything, he keeps his mouth shut, because it’s her life, not his. If she’s happy, he won’t be the one to tear it all down. Instead, he becomes an expert at protecting them both.
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The first layer of armor crystallizes, unexpectedly, after a game of basketball against the warehouse guys, when Pam leaves the office with Roy, giggling in a way that has nothing to do with funny and everything to do with the promise of sex in the tub. One moment he’s grinning at her compliment, the next he’s aware of a steely surface slipping into place all over his body, like a cold shower and a protective barrier, all at once. It feels kind of nice, like jumping in the snow after a sauna. It is difficult to discern which burn is worse.
It becomes a kind of ritual for him, the thrill of contact, the thrill of making her laugh like only he can, followed immediately by some new torture that he wills himself impervious to, like Roy tickling Pam, right on his goddamn desk, actually rubbing against his shoulder like he’s a wall or a potted plant. Actually having her on his bed, looking through his things, only to go home to someone else. The joy of seeing her for the first time after her January ski vacation, and then discovering she had spent very little of it actually skiing.
Soon, the shell isn’t enough. They are getting so close that the disappointments begin to feel like blows, cracking him, letting all the stuff inside spill out. When the wedding gets close and she is making plans within earshot while sharing private smiles with him, he starts being a little more proactive about keeping them both safe. But in the kitchen that day, she chips away at him until he splits open, spewing resentment and impatience for how blind she can be sometimes. She doesn’t notice, she never does, so he decides to put up another barrier: three states, miles of highway. A transfer seems like a small price to pay for her happiness and his well-being.
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The day of the casino fundraiser, he rallies, determined to end things on a good note. He told Jan that he has to think about the move, although he knows already that he’ll go. He wants to remember them like this, partners in coat rack crime, laughing over Kiss cover bands, wrestling playfully over signing Scrantonicity. He wants to say good-bye while things are good between them, but when it comes down to a game of poker, she wins completely, like he never had a chance, smiling and grinning and making him feel like they really might have something. Her flirtatious look when she rakes in all his chips is downright cruel, considering she plans to marry someone else in just a few weeks. Suddenly, he wants desperately to strike a few blows of his own, to fight back.
When Jan asks if he’s told anyone he might transfer, that he should, the idea quickens him. He would tell Pam he was leaving, with no warning, no explanation. It was the only victory he would ever get. He finds her outside, left alone by Roy, as usual, and when he sees her so happy, smiling up at him, he falters, unwilling to shatter her good mood. Then she talks over him, interrupts him, not listening to what he’s really trying to say for the millionth time and the shell of self-preservation is shattering instead and his mouth opens and the opposite of what he was going to say escapes. I’m in love with you, instead of I’m leaving you.
He almost smiles at her expression, because he has succeeded anyway. He watches her face fall like he’s slapped her and it feels good for a moment to be the one inflicting pain, the one who’s insensitive as the words spill from his lips.
Then he sees the hurt coming, anticipates it, blocks it like a punch, and wipes it away with the tear on his cheek. He’s getting very good at defending himself. He leaves her there in the parking lot, hoping he’ll never have to see how happy she’ll be without him. He circles the building a few times until he feels stronger, more like his old impenetrable self, all those wishes wrapped tightly back up inside his chest where no one can touch them, least of all him. He’s not sure how long he walks, but when he’s ready, he heads up to the office to call Jan on her cell and tell her he’s going to take the transfer.
Pam is leaning against his desk, on his phone, so beautiful his breath catches at first, and it’s so clear that he’s knocked loose her grip on the happiness that he’s worked so hard to sustain for her, that he thinks: what the hell, and kisses her. She’s lost for a minute in the candlelight glow of tiny desk lamps and kisses him back; he can’t pretend it’s anything more, or he’ll come undone again. She pulls away at last and he knows that look in her eye, has seen it every time he has challenged their façade of just friends with a look of his own, but he has been disarmed by her mouth on his and forgets to prevent this particular blow. It slices through him, as surely as if she’d wielded an axe. He hopes it’s not fatal and quickly begins to reassemble his armor, his defenses. He won’t let another hit slip past them again.
When her hands slide from his, he waits patiently until she has left and packs up his desk. He never did remember to tell her he was leaving.
