Notes: The only spoiler for this is Dwight's Speech.
It's two o'clock when the mail comes, and Jim never would have known it if his roommate hadn't called up the stairs to him. He says Jim the mail's here, something for you from the travel agency. Jim says nothing in response, doesn't make a move from his desk. His roommate, Mark, waits patiently for an answer. Fine Jim he says at last, fine it's on the table. Jim waits until he hears the door slam, until he knows he's alone and free to mope without being lectured. Mark's gone, so he yells thanks down the stairs, content that his voice rings through the empty house.
He stands at last and goes to get his mail, feigning surprise (though for who, he doesn't know) at finding the tickets for his trip. Tickets. Two tickets. One for him, and the other a waste of money. You're delusional he says and there's no one there to contradict him and that makes him a little sad.
It's two twenty-five when he finally stops staring at the tickets and he realizes he's wasting his life. A sigh, and he heads back upstairs to do nothing—his favorite activity on a Saturday afternoon. He doesn't even reach the top of the stairs when the doorbell rings.
Mark he thinks. He knows it has to be Mark. But why would Mark ring the doorbell? It's the mailman, then. It has to be the mailman. He forgot--there's a package too, oops, I need you to sign. Yes, he convinces himself. It's someone practical, no need to get excited. Jim doesn't get excited because excitement leads to disappointment, disappointment to heartbreak.
It's two twenty-eight when he opens the door and realizes this is one time he could have gotten excited and that thought leaves him feeling a bit empty. Pam stands on his doorstep and stares at him silently while his head tries to figure out what to say. She speaks first, and he exhales gratefully.
Hello she says, sorry to bother you and he says oh no, no problem. She pulls at the bottom of her jacket, twisting it into a knot. Well I suppose you're wondering why I'm here she says and he is silent, just looking at her expectantly. She nods her head and tries to smile, fails miserably, and gives up.
She says I'm a fool of the worst kind.
He says never, and stops because he's not sure there's anything else to say.
It's cold out here, you should have a jacket she says, and he shakes his head and looks to the ground before looking back up at her in that way where he wants to say something, but just can't. And suddenly, in a flash, he is reminded of all the other times when he could have said something but didn't. All those times and he wonders what kind of difference they would have made if he had just spoken up. Say something. Say something say something say something. The words are there, he knows they're there, because he practiced them a million times over. But when it comes time to actually speak them, it's too hard. His tongue gets clumsy and trips all over them and its better just to say nothing, right?
It's two thirty-three and he realizes he hasn't spoken in some time. Sorry he says, sorry I'm a bit out of it today. Oh, I noticed she says and a silence settles between them. He wants to reach out to her and wrap his hands around hers, but they don't leave his side and he silently curses them.
She says I'm sorry, I didn't, she says I didn't mean for things to ever get like this. Maybe I should just, and she trails off and he knows she's hoping he'll fill in the words for her. But he doesn't.
She says things were great. We were, she says, or rather, well. And he doesn't like seeing Pam so unsure because its times like these that he stops trusting himself.
He says are you okay, and she says in time and laughs sharply. He doesn't like the way it sounds because it's loud and awkward and hurts his ears.
She says you're something. She shakes her head. You're something.
He disagrees. No, I'm just the same he says. I'm just the same as everyone else. She frowns at him and thinks it's a tragedy. But she had never been one to speak up, especially to him—so she says nothing.
He says Pam maybe we just. He says why are you here.
Her mouth opens and she makes a slight oh sound. She says I'm sorry, I didn't realize, I'll just go.
He says no, I didn't mean that. You don't have to go. He says it and as he does he realizes he's only a slight degree away from begging. But maybe it's good that there's a hint of desperation in his voice. Maybe that will be enough for her to stay, if only a minute longer. And it is enough. For now.
It's two thirty-six when she says I guess I'll be honest and tell you that I don't know why I'm here. She tells him, but he knows. He knows she doesn't know why she's here and he thinks that maybe it was her plan all along. It's not like there had ever been any other way besides her standing on his doorstep with nothing to say.
She says Jim, and then she stops and doesn't say anything else. She tries again and says Jim.
He looks at her and tries to speak but can't, knowing that if he did he would say the same thing—her name and nothing more.
He looks at her and for once decides her name is better than nothing at all. Pam, he says, Pam.
He knows this is the part where he's supposed to step forward, be a little closer, so he does. He steps forward and he can see her almost cave, almost close the small distance between them. Almost. But she steps back suddenly and shakes her head. I can't she says, we can't.
It's two thirty-eight and for now he looks at her, knowing the embarrassment will set in later.
She says well and he nods. She says I should go. He doesn't beg her to stay. Doesn't say a word, doesn't do anything except nod his head and watch her leave.
A sigh as he steps inside and closes the door. He sees the tickets on the table and picks one up, staring at it.
It's two forty-five when he nods his head decidedly and rips it in half, throwing the shredded pieces into the garbage.