Ch. 4 - author: "Jake"
"Are you ready?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Are you scared?"
"Yes."
"You're scared? Why?" Pam's eyes showed concern but her mouth was smiling.
"A small part of me thinks, when you open that door, I'm going to be greeted by Munchkins and the Good Witch of the North," Jim crinkled his brow with false anxiety. "Without my ruby slippers, I won't be able to get home."
"Well, it is a colorful place. But no little people."
Pam stood at the door with one hand on the knob. Jim looked down at her, his eyes scouring every detail of her face under the bright haze of the porch light. Her cheeks were glowing pink, connected across her nose by the lightest band of freckles. Her lips were soft--he knew how soft--and curved into a smile. Her eyes were deep and vulnerable. And smiling, too. So many times he'd looked into those eyes. A hundred times, a thousand times. But every time seemed brand new.
"Let's do it," he uttered.
"Okay," Pam said, "but there's no turning back." She pushed open the door and walked through. He followed her and closed the door behind him. Jim stopped there in the entryway and looked around.
"Will your servants take my coat?" Pam smiled at him over her shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen.
"Make yourself at home, Halpert. I'll put on the tea."
Jim tossed his coat onto the couch and walked into the living room. It was a small apartment with hardwood floors, crown molding and a large window looking out into the courtyard. The sofa was a deep green. It had blankets over each of its arms and knelt at the edge of a shaggy oval rug. Small but cozy. Pam-perfect, he thought. Under the window was a table with framed photos on it. Jim looked closer and saw a picture of Pam and her mother, another of her father and one more of the three of them posing in front of a colonial-style home. Nice. No Roy.
"So, first impressions?" Pam had taken off her coat and was standing behind him, clasping her hands together and bouncing ever so slightly on her toes.
"Seems nice," he replied and squinted at her. "But I'll reserve judgement until after I see all of it."
Pam's smile faded, "You mean all of the apartment, right? 'Cause the other stuff," she placed her hands on her hips, "you're gonna have to work for."
"Other stuff? I have no idea what you're talking about." Jim tilted his head in mock confusion. Pam reached out and took his hand. "C'mon," she said, "I'll give you the tour."
"Wait," Jim stopped her. "I have a checklist so I want to make sure I get the complete tour."
"What's on the list?" she asked.
"Um...I need to see your bedroom."
"Uh-huh."
"I need to sit on your bed."
"Okay."
"I need to see your high school yearbook."
Pam rolled her eyes, "Oh, right!" She started walking down the hall.
"C'mon, Beesly. It's only fair." Jim followed her.
As Pam reached her bedroom, she turned to face him. "Through this doorway lies a mystical land. Prepare to be amazed."
"Munchkins, right?"
Pam laughed and stepped into the room. She flicked the light switch. Inside was a large bed with a mission-style headboard, a matching wood dresser with mirror and, off to the right, a tall, narrow window hidden by wispy lace curtains. Under the window was a desk with a stack of papers on it. The walls had a violet hue and Jim couldn't tell if they were painted or if it was the color cast by the lampshade. Pam sat on her bed and watched as Jim looked around.
"Sit," she beckoned. Jim sat next to her. "Bedroom. Check. Sitting on bed. Check." He looked at her and smiled. A lock of hair had fallen over her right eye. He reached to push it aside when a whistle sounded in the distance. Pam stood. "Water's boiling."
Jim watched her skip through the doorway and then walked over to her desk. The stack of papers was her artwork. Still lifes of fruit bowls and pencil cups. Sketches of people sitting on a park bench and dogs playing. Watercolors of trees and a river. Jim chuckled to himself, embarrassed that he felt such pride for Pam. He placed the drawings down and glanced toward her dresser mirror. There, something caught his attention, something white and angular hanging from the corner. As he stepped closer he realized what it was.
One dove.
It was moving enough that she had sent him to New York with that yogurt lid. Moving, he thought. How about life-altering? That lid convinced him to withdraw his name from a corporate position that was easily his, breakup with his girlfriend and finally connect with his soulmate. Now, here was a dove from their office Olympic games that she had carefully preserved. "Wow," Jim said under his breath as he held the paper bird in his hand.
"There's more," Pam stated quietly from the doorway. She reached under her desk and pulled out a large shoe box. "I've saved almost everything."
Jim sat on the bed and opened the box. Inside was his life, a window onto his years with Pam in Scranton. There was a copy of Dwight's resume that he and Pam had altered, a picture of the two of them standing next to Jim's desk, the Valentine's Day card graced by Dwight's face that Jim had made for her. And there was everything he had given her in the teapot--the broken pencil, the hot sauce packet, the high school portrait. On and on it went. She had kept it all.
Jim felt heat in his chest and a weakness in his knees that made it hard for him to stand. But he did. And he faced Pam, placed his palm against her cheek and kissed her. It was warm. It was strong. It was electric. Like never before their lips met in perfect fusion, as if all the uncertainty, all the hesitation, all the barriers were gone. Finally, they released their grasp on each other simply as a way to keep from starting a fire. Their eyes remained locked.
"We're not in Kansas anymore," Pam whispered.