Remembered Impulses
An impulse propelled Joey to kiss Eddie, there, in the middle of the bar. Eddie may have been right about the harbored anger she retained toward Dawson after seeing him at that movie set, but those were feelings. Deep ones, sure; strong ones, certainly. But impulses were something entirely different. Impulses led to action.
So she had acted. And he spurned her, told her she was being reactive, that she was not the impulsive sort, that she would never stray beyond her own well-constructed plans and boundaries. But afterwards, there was a lull and a shared sense of new beginnings, when he kicked that damn song that reminded her of Dawson right off of the jukebox queue. Now, Eddie was dropping her off in front of her dorm at Worthington. Despite the sometimes uneasy silence between them during the ride home from Hell's Kitchen, Joey turned toward him now to give him a grateful smile and a quick squeeze on his arm before exiting the car.
"Thank you," she said. "And about what you said back there? You're probably not far off. So thank you for that too."
Eddie smiled back at her and shrugged. ''I'm known for dispensing a sage piece of advice on occasion. You were lucky enough to be on the receiving end this particular time."
That elicited a small laugh from Joey, a wider grin from Eddie, and then she was out on the sidewalk and he was driving away. As she watched the car disappear around a distant corner, she felt a jumble of emotions assail her. What a night. Seeing Dawson at the set, post-coitus romance, interrupted. Meeting Natasha, the girl he had been seeing, face-to-face. Having Eddie and Todd, that overbearing Brit-brat director, witness yet another incidental, disastrous reunion.
But she did manage to finally put some closure on that unnamed thing between her and Dawson. For two lifelong soulmates, they sure excelled at finding new and different ways to hurt each other. And she was exhausted now from too many rides on that specific merry-go-round.
As she slowly walked into her dormitory building, the conversation at the bar moved forefront to her memory – Jack Kerouac and impulses and life. Eddie liked On the Road; she, not so much. But she had to admit that Eddie was sharp. He had called her out on the kiss, had tied it to her upset over seeing Dawson. He was developing a pretty good take on her, and challenging her perspectives. She was, despite her best intentions, beginning to like that about him. But he did not have a complete handle on her. Not yet.
For she had followed her impulses before. Several times, in fact, but was not willing to share such information with Eddie at this stage of their whatever-it-was that was evolving. An errant thought crossed over into her consciousness -- Eddie reminds me a little of Pacey.
Impulse is as impulse does, she remembered that smart-ass, cocky boy teasing her once, feelings may pass but impulses can drive you on to greater things. Sure, he was all of ten at the time and was ridiculing her fear of Grams, waving that damn dollar in her face and gleefully daring her to run up to the Ryan front porch to ring the doorbell on a dark, cold night, while Dawson looked on bemused. She was scared and he had goaded her, but in the end, she did not give in to an impulse in that moment -- her stubborn will choosing to defy his taunting rather than to prove her own courage -- but she certainly did several moments after that day and a number of occasions since.
Skipping classes during high school on an autumn day, against her best judgement, with that boy she grew up hating, simply because she was curious. Later that year, in the springtime, grabbing the hand of that same boy and kissing him, her unwitting soulmate barely a stone's throw away. And then, jumping on a boat with just the clothes on her back and sailing away for the summer with him.
That next year, she had seduced him on a winter's night by a flickering fire in a quiet cabin, even though she had had no idea what she was doing, was merely following her intuitions and feelings and desires. And last year, despite getting her heart broken in a thousand pieces in the most public and awful way at the senior prom just a few months before, she had sought him out again, despite his purposeful non-communication. Barreling past the pain and tempered joy at seeing him again, she had followed the impulse to re-initiate their friendship.
That boy-that-was-now-her-friend-again brought out the Other Joey in her, and that girl that he once gleefully aggravated on playgrounds, in classrooms, and during makeshift movie projects in the Leery backyard, he now motivated to impulsively sing onstage with a band in crowded college clubs and shady bar-rooms, encouraged her to indulge in a brief mad fling with a bad boy wanna-be-rock-star trying to go good, and willingly jumped along when she ring-led them on a mad-dash escapade at the airport to chase wispy dreams and diverging hearts. Audrey and Dawson never knew what hit them.
Yes, she had followed her impulses before, to great effect, and even brought people along with her. Okay, brought him along with her. But then again, he had always been the one who had brought her along before -- she was only now just returning those favors.
As she slowly approached her dorm room, Joey stopped at the bench window, just outside, to sit down for a few moments, alone. Why was she thinking about Pacey right now? She thought back to another recent evening, when Pacey had come into Hell's Kitchen, looking weary and tired, in a dress shirt and tie, no less, looking so different from the boy she had always known. Maybe it was his clothes or the goatee, which she was still getting used to, but it startled her to see him come through the doorway like that, all grown up, reeking responsibility and, dare she say it, a sense of manhood.
After tossing up a furtive greeting in his general direction, she had moved to the bar immediately, suddenly feeling uncertain and shy in the face of it, leaving Audrey, Jen and Jack to greet him. Eddie threw her a quizzical look as he placed four bottles of non-alcoholic beer onto her platter and she had merely shrugged him off.
Turning to come back to the table, she saw Pacey walk past her to make his way to the bathroom, without a glance in her direction, a perturbed preoccupation etched on his face. She had let him go by without a word or a gesture toward him, sensing he did not want to be disturbed, and then asked Audrey what was wrong with him. Her roommate shrugged and professed that she had no hand in any of his probable upset.
Later, Audrey told her what happened on his first day at his new stockbroker job -- how his new boss, Rich Rinaldi, had snatched the credit for a particularly impressive client coup from Pacey -- and Joey was outraged. In fact, she probably bypassed any preceding thresholds of hate for any one being in the known universe. If she had a gun -- and knew how to shoot it -- she would have wanted to aim a bullet right between this Rinaldi character's eyes.
"Oh bunny! You are so sweet to get all worked up with me!" Audrey said, hugging her. "But Pacey insists on handling it by working harder. He won't quit! He says he's going to stick it out. I would've been so outta there!" she had pronounced. "So now he plans to go in at the crack of dawn every day and stay late to study for some stupid exam-thingy and just do better. Which means I'll never see him now!" she whined, pouting her displeasure.
He was not going to run. That was what was different. And Joey had been so proud. She offered words of empathy to Audrey, made sympathetic noises in support of her new "predicament," and honestly felt for her roommate's temporary loss of 24/7 boyfriend-love, but deep down inside, she was so proud of that boy -- her friend, Pacey Witter. Her best friend, actually.
And when had that happened? For all of her life, Dawson Leery was her best friend, the one she always talked to, went for advice to, sought support from, whom she knew would always be there for her. And yet, they had not talked all summer, even after her impulsive trip to see him at the airport before he left for Los Angeles. Until tonight, they had not talked since the night they slept together.
But Pacey she talked to all of the time. Except for that one summer after senior year, when they both found words too painful to exchange for the first time in their lives, she never stopped talking to Pacey. Granted, he was also dating her roommate now, so that put him in closer proximity more frequently. But she knew that would never matter. Because it never did.
For Dawson Leery, the boy across the creek, everything mattered. It was always all-or-nothing. If they could not be boyfriend and girlfriend, they could not be friends. If they were going to be just friends, they could never be together romantically. There were no grays between them, no maneuvering any in-betweens, no straying into the margins. It was all textbook storyboards.
And that should have been perfect for a girl like her, Miss-Read-the-Ending-Before-Starting-the-Book, Play-By-the-Rules, Josephine Potter. Yet it was not. Perfection, though constantly yearned and striven for, just was not her forte. Nor should it be, she had finally realized, standing there in front of Dawson tonight, looking at the pain in his eyes, feeling her own pain balled up inside of her. Perfection just does not work in the real world. But when she turned to walk away from Dawson, toward the car where Eddie waited to drive her back to the bar, she only felt a sudden sense of relief.
Eddie Doling. Now there was an intriguing boy. A bit of a mystery, arch and rough around the edges, witty and smart, easy with the sarcastic banter, yet there was a streak of idealism running just below the surface -- maybe even a little bit of yearning for an unnamed dream. She sensed some fear there too -- of what, she could not tell at this point. But she was curious. And she had not been this curious in a very long time. He kissed her back earlier. She had felt it and, skittish as she often was with her emotions, her feelings were always true. He was interested in her. And he was also probably wary. Thus, the bantering. And it was banter, not pride, that goeth before the falling.
Joey stood and walked over to her door, quickly unlocking it and quietly entering the room. It was dark inside, and as her eyes adjusted to the absence of light, she could make out Audrey's sleeping form curled up in bed. And she was not alone. Pacey was here, curled up against her, also asleep. Joey stood there for a moment, firmly squelching the sudden catch in her throat.
It was not the first time she had come home to find them asleep in each other's arms, here in this dorm room. It was not a frequent occurrence, because though she had given them her full blessing to date each other - which they had never, of course, really needed, because who was she to grant anything? -- she sensed they both cared about and respected her too much to put her through any discomfort even though such feelings should have been, at this point, minimal to non-existent. Should have been? Should be. So she had learned to catch those quick reactive flashes of feeling, to immediately throw them out of her mind, so as to prevent any accompanying memories from suddenly following. It had become her habit and she'd grown accustomed to it.
Making her way over to her own bed, Joey's brain latched onto Jack Kerouac and On the Road again, barreling through her irritation at the author's apparent misogyny to come up with counter-arguments to formulate against Professor Hetson for tomorrow's class. She moved around stealthily, gathering up her bedtime things -- an old faded tank top, her blue plastic carry basket containing her toiletries, her fuzzy pink bathroom slippers, a clean pair of underwear because she was a night-time shower person -- and was on point number four of her inner academic diatribe when she heard a faint rustling from across the room.
"Jo? Is that you?" she heard Pacey inquire, his voice scratchy from recent sleep.
She threw a glance in his direction and answered, "Hey, Pace," before shifting her attention back to locating her pajama bottoms somewhere under her bed. She was always more careless and messy with her things at the beginning of the semester, when she focused on finding her way with her coursework and class dynamics instead. Pacey propped himself up on an elbow and, after watching the deeply slumbering Audrey for a moment to ensure he had not disturbed her, he gently smoothed her hair from her face, and then turned to sit up, bringing his feet down to touch the floor.
"Man, I'm still wearing my shoes," he said, staring down at his shoe-clad feet. "'I must've been really tired."
Joey looked at him and smothered a laugh. He looked so thoroughly non-plussed and bewildered, his dress shirt rumpled, his tie askew, his dark brown hair tousled beyond repair and sticking up in several places. Pacey shot his head up at the sound and smirked at her. Throwing another furtive glance at Audrey beside him, he turned back to look at Joey and inclined his head toward the doorway. Joey nodded and crossed the room to carefully open the door and slip out into the hall. Pacey followed her out, closing the door softly behind him after making sure it was unlocked for later re-entry. Joey went over to the window bench and, after placing her bundle of gathered bedtime things onto the ledge, she collapsed onto it, chuckling.
"You look like the Head Clown of Circus Corporation. But you forgot to put your make-up on."
"Gee, thanks," Pacey muttered, sitting down beside her.
"But seriously," Joey said, arranging herself into a corner of the bench so that she was leaning back, facing him, bending her knees so her feet could rest up on the bench seat in front of her. She dropped her hands to rest on her thighs. "I haven't seen neither hide nor hair of you these days -- except the other night when you came into the bar for about a second -- without saying a proper hello, I might add-"
"-Sorry-"
"-and looking for all the world like you were holding said world up on your very own shoulders all day," she finished on a sympathetic smile. "You okay, Pace? Is something going on?"
Pacey sighed and leaned against the opposite corner, stretching his long legs out diagonally in front of him, and crossing them at the ankles. He flung one arm across the back of the bench, resting a casual fist on the top of Joey's knee. Running a futile hand through his messy hair, he rubbed his goateed chin once for good measure and then offered up a weary smile.
"Work. Life. Love. All of the above."
"Ah, the usual maladies of human existence," Joey said, her tone wry. "Pacey, do you think we can we ever choose none of the above?"
"I don't know, Potter. That would make breathing a little less interesting, I think. And, since I'm still trying to find a good general consensus to believe in, I think I'm stuck with trying to find at least one or two good answers along my way."
A look passed between them, loaded deep with remembered understanding. Junior year. The day Andie packed all of the evidence of her love for -- and relationship with -- Pacey into one cardboard box and he, drunk and disorderly, had tripped and accidentally tossed it all into the deep and murky waters off the Capeside docks. Then Dawson, self-righteous for all the wrong reasons, accusing Pacey of stealing that PSAT answer sheet, initiating an exchange of punches. And afterwards, his lip bloody, both his heart and his pride severely bruised, nursing his wounds with an ice-cold Pepsi that Joey had given him, Pacey had wondered aloud how the guy who knew him better than anyone on earth could think he was such a loser, asking, "When does a person start believing the general consensus about themselves?" And she had replied, without hesitation, "When it's right." Now, in a college dormitory hallway, crammed onto a small bench next to co-ed Joey, grown-up Pacey chuckled, eliciting a half-smile from his bench companion.
"So how did we get from there to here?" Joey asked, her eyes full of wry amusement.
"By planes, trains, and automobiles, darlin'," Pacey drawled, leaning his head back against the wall behind him and tossing her a jaunty look.
"And boats," Joey added, tilting her chin up and returning a saucy glance of her own.
"And boats," he concurred, with a soft chuckle, acknowledging her reference to his last two summers at sea, at first with, and then without, her.
Having slipped in increments to a slouching position that was growing increasingly uncomfortable, Pacey used Joey's knee beneath his hand as leverage to push himself up to a better sitting position. Leaning forward, Joey instinctively grabbed his elbow to steady him as he shifted himself into his corner more firmly. He smiled his thanks and brought one of his own feet up to rest alongside both of hers on the bench, sliding one bent knee up. They were quiet for a few moments, comfortably so, lost in their own thoughts.
Leaning back against her own corner, Joey watched Pacey beneath lowered lids. The loose fist Pacey was resting on Joey's knee had opened up slightly and his thumb was tracing absent-minded circles there. It felt familiar and just a slight bit sensual. She knew Pacey was not thinking about what he was doing -- he just could not be still -- but she felt a lazy curl of tenderness start to wind through her, touched slightly by a long dormant awakening desire. Old habits were hard to break -- even if you were trying very hard to generate new ones to banish the old ones. Joey knew she should probably throw out some funny remark to get him to remove his hand from her knee, something witty and light that would not threaten their easygoing dynamic. But it was comforting, and though maybe potentially dangerous, Joey gave way to the impulse to let herself feel, briefly, that remembered sense of intimacy between them. Her eyes fluttered closed and she sighed wistfully.
Pacey's thumb stilled on her knee and Joey's eyes flew open to see him regarding her with an odd expression on his face. It was a little bit questioning, a little bit wary, and there was a tiny flicker of something else there that suddenly disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced. Joey sat back up, at full attention, and Pacey shifted his hand from her knee to rest it instead upon the back of the bench. He rubbed his chin again with his other hand and, clearing his throat, he said, "Audrey and I had a fight earlier."
Joey was surprised at how bereft she now felt from the absence of his hand on her knee. Shaking herself mentally, she ruthlessly focused her thoughts. Audrey. Her roommate. One of her dearest friends. Pacey's girlfriend. Move past the damn impulses and get back to earth, Joey Potter, she told herself sternly. "From the looks of things, it looked like you two made up okay," Joey said, her tone strictly platonic and concerned.
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Was it about your job?'
"What else?" Pacey muttered, not meeting her eyes. Joey read annoyance on his face, and frustration too. He looked so much older in this moment, the planes of his face lean and harsh. The mustache and goatee aged him but not in a bad way. It made him look mature and adult, even dashing to some degree. His eyes were shadowed, tired. Not a boy any longer, but almost a man, full-grown.
Sometimes it is difficult to see the person someone has become when one has always been a part of the becoming, when knowing someone all of your life means you do not always catch the shifts of growth or the change of sensibility. And memories that go far back to times long past keep transposing themselves upon the present. But she had always been attuned to this boy's growth and his development. And he had always been attuned to her own growth as well. Probably because they were more often than not the catalysts for each other's forward progress -- for ill or good.
"She'll come around, Pace. She just misses you, that's all," Joey said, her voice soft and reassuring. She dipped her head a little to try to catch his gaze.
"You know what I'm trying to do, right?" he asked, looking at her, his tone bordering on a plea. And then she saw it, that glimpse of the little insecure kid beneath the cocksure young man. The one that yearned for approval and support and acceptance from those he loved. He was still there, buried beneath the new, more confident adult layers of his willful making -- that old little boy lost with the sad blue eyes.
"Yeah, Pacey. I know," she said, reaching forward to squeeze his ankle on the seat beside her. "And I think you are doing an amazing job. I know you're working really hard. And I know it's going to pay off for you," she continued, lifting her hand to pat his shin comfortingly.
"Thanks, Jo," Pacey said simply, mollified, his blue eyes flickering soothed gratitude. He curled his fingers back into a loose fist and put it to rest there on her knee again, as before. Joey felt something hovering in the air between them -- something strong that was always there and yet a fragile, tentative undercurrent of something different lurked there too. She could not place it so, without preamble, she changed the subject.
"I saw Dawson tonight."
Pacey let out an empathetic sound that sounded somewhat like"whoa" and Joey continued on, her tone conversational. "We had an order for a big food delivery and I had to help out and it happened to be at Dawson's movie set. I also met the infamous Natasha. At about the same time actually."
"And again, whoa!" Pacey said. Catching her eye, he asked, "So how did that work for ya?"
"Not so well," she replied, holding his concerned gaze with her own steady one. "But I think it was a portent."
"Did you say im-portent?" Pacey asked, his brow furrowed. "As in 'very significant'?"
"No. A portent -- it's a noun," Joey corrected him. "It's something that foreshadows a coming event."
"And that coming event would be…?"
"The rest of my life. Letting go. Moving on."
"And somewhere, in my many past lives that make up my present one, I think I've heard this all before," Pacey said, pinning her with a knowing gaze.
"Well, because you have. Too many times I care to remember. And yes, I know you would only be too happy to remind me." Pacey chuckled at Joey's arch look. "Remember last year? After the dinner from hell when Dawson got back with Jen from that film festival?"
The memory flashed there between them -- of Dawson and Jen making out in the foyer of Gram's house as they – Pacey, Jack, Audrey and Joey – assembled near the dining room entrance to welcome the latecomers, exuding equal parts amusement, curiosity, awe, and shock, depending on whose face bore the relevant emotion. It had been an inauspicious start to Pacey's pilot gastronomic endeavor. Now, he chuckled ruefully. "Seeing as I was the host and creator of said 'dinner from hell,' yes, I do recall the incident."
"Sorry. It was my hell," Joey amended. "Your cooking was merely hellish."
"Again, with the insults. Was that supposed to make me feel better?"
"Just clarifying," Joey said, shrugging. "For what it's worth, you far exceeded expectations not too soon thereafter with your more than impressive culinary skills and we have all been kicking ourselves since for wrong-headedly spurning your very generous offer for a repeat. We are now resigned to living in a purgatory of our own making, tortured by thoughts of the meals that never were. Better?"
"A touch over-dramatic, but I'll take it."
"Anyway, back to the real subject at hand-"
"-Yourself, of course-"
"-Of course." They exchanged mirroring smirks. "Remember afterwards, when we were walking home and I told you that I had felt relieved? That for once, I was actually glad to get a break, to not be the one taking care of him?"
"Yeah, I do remember that."
"I felt that relief again tonight. But it felt different this time."
"In what way?"
"It felt like goodbye," Joey said. "I mean, I was standing there, and I was looking at him -- really looking at him -- and all I could see was this painful, bittersweet past. And I realized, that's all we ever see of each other. And I just don't want to look at him and see that anymore. I don't want to look at anyone and see that anymore."
"Anyone?" Pacey asked, watching her face intently, his eyes a deep intense blue in that instant.
"Anyone," Joey stated, meeting his gaze head on, her brown eyes somber and sure.
Pacey nodded slowly. "So what now?"
"I don't know," Joey said, shrugging.
Her thoughts tumbled back to earlier, grabbed at snatches of feeling and quick flashes of moments. A too-familiar blond boy staring sad confusion at her. A pretty actress throwing probing eyes at her. A shaggy, dark-haired Brit sliding a sardonic smile to each and everyone. All the big lives rolled up in that one small moment. The brown-haired bartender that tossed literary gauntlets at her suddenly loomed there, in her mind's eye. Jack Kerouac and impulses and life. She chewed on her lower lip, lost in her thinking, and before she could catch them, her thoughts slipped out into the waiting air, searching for engagement outside of her head. "I was talking to Eddie earlier about this book I'm reading in Hetson's class-"
"Who's Eddie?" Pacey interrupted, curious.
Joey stopped, startled. She was silent for a long second, gathering her errant thoughts back toward herself, and Pacey watched her, expectant. "I didn't tell you about Eddie?" Joey asked, throwing the question out to buy time as she shifted her mind back into the present. "Audrey didn't mention anything about him to you?"
"Uh…no. Do I need to know about this Eddie for some reason?" Pacey looked at her more carefully.
Joey suddenly felt awkward. Though just last year, during Spring Break on the beach in Florida, they had exchanged advice about their separate burgeoning love lives– she encouraged him to let go of past fears and allow himself to fall for Audrey; he, in turn, prodded her to reach out and grab that present moment to explore romance with Charlie – here alone with Pacey, now, in this close space, she sensed a fragile evolving periphery re-inserting itself. But he was watching her, waiting, so she pushed on, intrepid.
"He's the bartender at Hell's Kitchen. And, he's in Hetson's class with me." At Pacey's look of further inquisition, she continued. "And, he was with me tonight when we delivered that food to Dawson's set."
"And…?" he added, in a tone that poked at her a little harder.
"Aaand…" Joey went on, keeping her eyes trained on her fingers now twisting around themselves in her lap. "I think maybe I'm starting to like him a little bit."
"Ahhhh," Pacey said, almost as if exhaling on a breath. Joey lifted her gaze to his, but he was not looking at her anymore. She sensed his retreat and suddenly felt an unaccountable sinking feeling somewhere inside of herself. Pacey cleared his throat and continued, "So you're reading this book for class and…?"
"Um…yeah…as I was saying," Joey pushed on, following his conversational lead and falling into step behind him, behind words. "I'm reading Jack Kerouac's On the Road right now – have you read it?" she asked him, rhetorically.
"Actually, yes, I have," Pacey replied, not at all rhetorical.
Joey blinked at him. "You have?"
"Don't sound so surprised, Potter. There's a lot of down time while sailing the seven seas. I wasn't just working on my tan that whole time you know. There was some reading being done." Then, he dropped his gaze, adding, "Among other things," a devilish quirk tugging up a corner of his mouth.
"Well, I'm glad you were exploring other horizons beyond just those available at the ends of the earth," Joey responded. "And I'm choosing to ignore that last part."
Pacey chuckled. "Yeah…okay. So moving on…"
"Who gave you On the Road?" she asked him then, batting away an unwelcome notion that the "some reading" may have been offered up as a result of – or by -- one of those "other things."
"Your favorite Dean of Admissions at Worthington told me every young red-blooded man should read it and gave me a copy just before we set sail." At Joey's disgusted snort, Pacey tossed her a wry look. "I gather you were not so impressed with this particular ode to manhood."
"Is it a guy thing to like this book so much? I mean, Eddie loved it too."
"I didn't say I loved it. But yeah, sex, drugs, road adventures – hey, it was a good read," Pacey pronounced, gesturing airily with one hand. "So, your Eddie-"
"-He's not my Eddie-"
"Whatever," Pacey shrugged. "He liked it. So you --just to be contrary, of course -- hated it. "
"Well, no…that's not why…I mean, I do think it's kind of misogynistic. But he had a different take on it."
"And that was…?"
"He sees it as a story about people who don't follow the dominant path. That just live on their impulses."
"I could see that," Pacey concurred, with a slight nod.
"He also thought it was a celebration of madness about people who aren't afraid, and take chances, and really live."
"Sounds very intellectual."
"Yeah…he is very intellectual. I'm a college girl now so I like those smart ones."
"Oh yeah, because that Charlie was a definite Rhodes scholar, as I recall."
She tossed him a glare. "Professor Wilder was very smart."
"Oh that's right – you took a page from my book on that one. Sort of."
Joey blushed and then rolled her eyes. "Well, anyway, that's beside the point."
"The point being…?"
"He thinks I'm not one of those people. That I'm not the kind of girl that follows her impulses."
"So what kind of girl does he think you are?" Pacey asked.
Joey met his questioning gaze and, delving in deeper, found all of the answers that ever were, right there. All the kinds of girl she ever was, would be, and could be. Right there. She tilted her head a bit, thoughtful. Pacey knew her so well. Even more than Dawson, now. Between them, these boys knew everything about her, from her very beginnings to her current existence. It was like having a permanent history book of her life walking around in two people, a constant reminder of all things past, all things that could be, always tied inextricably to those origins. Maybe this was a moment for her to choose the unknown, to see how she fared with a boy that did not know her at all. To really break free and become something else completely, unfettered to explore her life, beyond Capeside, beyond Dawson, even beyond Pacey.
"I think we're at that stage where we're still just trying to figure those things out," she said, half to Pacey, half to herself. "Eddie said I probably didn't like the book – misogyny aside – because it makes me uncomfortable."
"Does it make you uncomfortable?"
"When he pointed it out to me, it did. The implications of that thought, most certainly did."
Pacey was quiet for a moment. Taking the end of his tie between his fingers, he pulled on it, then twirled it about. "I thought the book was about growing up," he said, softly.
"Growing up? How so?" Joey asked, her attention piqued, watching as he twisted the tie ends around in his fingers, pulled and released, then started all over again.
"I remember two lines from it – and don't give me that disbelieving stare, Josephine. I am quite capable of long-term memory when I put my mind to it," Pacey threw out, reproachful, when Joey's head snapped up, her mouth falling open a bit. She quickly amended her expression to be suitably chastened and apologetic, so he continued. "The first one was somewhere in the middle -- 'The road is life'. The second one was at the end – 'nobody knows what's going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old.' Those lines stuck with me, for some reason."
"I remember those lines too," Joey said quietly. "But I thought the second one was so sad."
"Yeah, it was. But it's also real. See, I thought the book was about a series of journeys one takes in order to grow. The road is just a metaphor, obviously. Sometimes, it means you have to grow a little crazy to go forward. And sometimes, it means you just have to grow up along the way. But it all depends on the person, and the road they want to take. And the roads that are available to take at the time. But there's always a road that goes somewhere. And in the end, well, we all die, right? So might as well keep moving until we get there."
"Profound. And a little depressing. You should be in Hetson's class."
"No thank you. E-mail evisceration is not my idea of a good time." Joey shuddered involuntarily as she recalled the event, not long past, when Hetson deconstructed her very personal regret-and-ruminations-after-first-time-sex-with-one's-soulmate computer correspondence gone awry in the classroom. "I still can't believe you sent that thing to the entire Worthington campus!" Pacey crowed. Then, "Anyway, I never have anymore time to read these days. Beyond whatever test I have to study for next, that is. So let's just count that as my one and only self-initiated reading real literature fait accompli."
Looking at him, Joey recalled all of the impulses Pacey had ever followed, as she stood by observing with a mixture of scorn, incredulity, and begrudging admiration. He was the most impulsive person she had ever known. The road is life, Kerouac wrote and Pacey had remembered it. She recalled Eddie's words from earlier, at the bar – "And here I thought life was about the things you do, not the things you could have done." Later, he had added,"And I guess that I've always wanted to be one of those people, you know?" And that's when she had kissed him, herself suddenly impulsive, allowing herself to be "one of those people" in that moment. But Pacey, he was always "one of those people," in every moment. It was something she would always love about him. Sometimes, it means you have to grow a little crazy to go forward. And sometimes, it means you just have to grow up along the way.
"So how did you do it?" Joey inquired, curious.
"Do what?" Pacey asked.
"Grow up when everyone wasn't looking."
Pacey laughed and lightly bounced his fist on Joey's knee. "Me, grown up?" He shook his head ruefully. "Not so much. I'm still trying, Jo. I have a feeling, I'll alway be trying."
"Maybe so," Joey said, her voice serious. "But still, last summer on the docks in Capeside, when I told you that you were probably the most adult person I know, I meant it. I really did. And now -- getting back to you-"
"-Thank you-"
"-look at what you're doing with yourself, Pacey. You're really doing something great with this new job. And you did it last year too, with the cooking and the restaurant. It's like this thing you have -- this instinct. If you just believe in it, if you just follow that instinct that propels you, everything you touch becomes gold."
"Well, that's a rather far-fetched comparison. I always thought I represented the opposite of the Midas touch."
"Maybe before. But not now. Look, I know I can be totally preoccupied with my own dramas-"
"-Ya think?-"
"-but believe me," Joey continued, ignoring his teasing dig, "I've noticed. It's always been there and now, you're just expanding yourself onto the next level." Joey exhaled a tiny breath, shaking her head a little. "I'm really just so in awe of you right now."
"You're in awe of me?" Pacey asked on a disbelieving laugh.
"Yes. And I probably shouldn't be telling you so, but since I don't see you much these days, I'm taking this opportunity that is presenting itself now," Joey pronounced. Then, a sly twinkle snuck into her brown eyes. "Plus, there's the fact that you just recalled two lines from a book without pictures. I am still completely astounded."
They shared a laugh and Pacey pushed at her knee playfully. Leaning over, Joey swatted his head.
"Ow!" he protested, only half-offended, rubbing his head where she had gently cuffed him. "What was that for?"
"Just smacking the sense back into you," she said, grinning. "But really, Pace, out of all of us right now, you have the most direction and drive. I wish I had some of that."
"I'm running on pure adrenaline here, Potter. Fear and adrenaline."
"But you're moving, Pace. That's the important thing."
"Not 'a portent' of things to come?" he tossed out, teasing.
"That too," she concurred, smiling.
"And what things would those be for me?" Pacey prodded, leaning toward her, his blue eyes glinting with curiosity.
"Success, well-deserved," Joey pronounced, moving forward slightly, her velvet-brown eyes sparkling with confidence. "And respect, well-earned."
Their gazes tangled then, tumbling into a deep intensity that caught them both unawares. A remembered impulse hung in the air and both of them stilled, poised to either reach for it or back away. It was sudden, momentary, fleeting. The road was more than a metaphor in that moment. It was a memory, plain and simple -- a roadside kiss full of monumental implications. A memory they could make real again, if either of them moved to make it so.
But it all depends on the person, and the road they want to take. And the roads that are available to take at the time.
It was Pacey who dropped his eyes first. Opening his fist so that his hand now covered her knee, he gave it a small squeeze and then slowly looked up again to smile at her. It was an easy, sweet smile. Joey brought her hand down to cover his and smiled back. For a brief moment, she intertwined her fingers with his and held them, affectionate. They grasped onto each other in that instant, keeping the connection, taking the reassurance they offered to one another, feeling soothed in that comfort.
"It's getting late," Pacey murmured.
"It is late," Joey countered, releasing his fingers and reclaiming her hand. She kicked her legs up, swung them over his, and then jumped off of the bench to stand up. "You're lucky it was Friday and today will be a nice leisurely Saturday."
Pacey shifted to a sitting position, facing her, both of his feet on the floor, and crossing his arms, he rested his elbows on his knees and looked up at her. "I'm staying over the rest of the night, if that's okay with you. I think I need to be here when Audrey wakes up."
"Of course it's okay," Joey pronounced. Again, she squelched the automatic catch somewhere in the vicinity of her chest this time and pushed it down mercilessly. Habit is a good thing. "And yes, being present upon her awakening will go a long way toward making things right."
Pacey eyed her, considering, and then stood up slowly. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a set of keys and then reached down and grasped one of her hands into both of his, pressing the jingling metal into her palm. "Take my car -- it's parked by that one tree just out front, the one with the funny twisted branch? You know the one -- and drive it back to my apartment. You can stay in my room. I just washed the sheets and everything. I even made the bed up all nice before I left this morning."
"And I would do that because…?"
"Because you've had quite a night and probably need a break from things. And I might need the entire expanse of limited space your dorm room provides to negotiate the full fury of spitfire Audrey come morning."
"Good point," Joey concurred. "And how will you get home tomorrow?"
"I'll take a cab. No worries," Pacey said, letting go of her hand and shoving his own hands into his front pockets. He glanced over at the ledge, where Joey's things were piled, in an orderly fashion. "Good thing you already got your stuff together."
When he turned back to her, Joey looked into his deep blue eyes, grateful for the unspoken understanding and warm solace there. Giving him a tiny half-smile, she murmured, "Thanks, Pace."
"Don't mention it," he replied. Pausing briefly, Pacey bent to drop a soft kiss onto her forehead. His lips lingered there for a second before he leaned back on his heels, waiting for Joey to slowly open her eyes again. When she did, he tossed her a merry grin. She caught it, relieved, and smiled back at him. "Jack pours a mean bowl of cereal, by the way, so please indulge yourself."
"I will," Joey said, chuckling, moving to the ledge to arrange everything neatly into her plastic carry basket. Once things were tucked away to her satisfaction, she picked up the basket with a flourish and turned back to Pacey one last time.
"I'll keep an eye out on you from your dorm window, so no unnecessary detours to the car, okay? If you happen to get waylaid, I'll scream like a banshee and frighten the bejeezus out of any threatening strangers," he told her.
"What -- no leaping out of my window with a single bound to rush to my rescue?"
Pacey shrugged, a teasing glint in his eye. "You're the kickboxing queen."
Joey rolled her eyes at him.
"But actually, if you want, I can walk you real quick-" he started to say, his mind clearly recalling a prior, more dangerous event from the year before, when Joey was mugged while walking to the Boston T subway.
"-I'll be fine, Pace," Joey said, interrupting him.
"Yeah, I know," he said, his tone quiet. "Just checking." Then, he added, "You've grown up too, Jo. And you've become quite the amazing woman, if I might add. Just thought you should know that I was looking. And, that I noticed." With that, he gave her a small smile and turned to walk toward the dorm room door. "See ya, Jo," he tossed over his shoulder.
"See ya," she answered. Then, she called out "Hey!" When he turned toward her questioningly, she said to him, "Don't forget to take your shoes off this time!"
Smothering a laugh, Pacey's blue eyes twinkled at her before he turned the knob and smoothly slipped back into the room. Joey found herself grinning as she turned to walk down the hallway, toward the building's entrance, to Pacey's waiting red Mustang. Impulse is as impulse does -- that long-ago boyish taunt danced around in her head again. Yes, impulses were a distinctive and singular undertaking. And remembered impulses, though not necessarily wise to follow into action every single time, were not a bad thing either. Because, as that boy had gone on to say, quite precociously for one of his tender years -- feelings may pass but impulses can drive you on to greater things. She had a feeling those greater things were just around the corner for them both.