Well, this chapter's a different format. But I think you'll enjoy it. Please be specific in reviews.
Props to Elly for beta'ing and being the voice of ridiculousness. Anyone (besides her) that can tell me who the "voice of ridiculousness" is wins at life.
Responses:
Voiceofridiculousness- Why do I even respond to you anymore? ;) I do know how upset you are, silly. And I'm glad you loved the chapter. And my voice of ridiculousness is amazing, so thanks.
Ash- Hehe. Thanks so much!! And I love my CD too!
Madi- Thanks!! I love the vase too. It's a cool story how I came up with it. If I remember, I'll write it out down here.
Alison- Thanks so much!! And that made perfect sense. :)
Henantz- Thanks so much!
Ashley- Well, I thought about that, but alas, I did not... Sorry. Hope you like J is for... though.
Kerber- I'll try and remember to put more about the vase at the end. And I love Jim!
Katy-Thanks so much girl! How's 8 comin?
Dancer- a) Thanks, Me too. I hope that made it a bit more realistic, why she's scared? or made sense at least. b) do it. it's worth it. c) here's your small moments galore.
Dean- Wow. Feel special. I never use the suggestions (as far as the name of the game goes) from reviews because I like to surprise, but yours was too good!! So, here you go!
KT- Look below for the vase explanation, it's really cute. :) and Roy will make an appearance.
Literati- I is for... God, what is I for?
Small Tuna- Yes, Yes... And the vase, look for the rest of the story, haha. And Ella.. Mm great name! my cousin's name!
Maddi- Thanks so much!! I saw Juno yesterday--fantastic!! It's mentioned in this chapter (but you wont catch it if you havent seen it). DOABH will be later.. dont know when, haha.
Kathryn- Thanks so much for reviewing! I love new readers! And, read below for the Vase story.
Browndoggy- Well, this one did :) And thanks so much. I love the shine part too... the vulnerability. Oh pam. (thats what he said)
Yabberli- Heh, im sorry to have killed you, but so glad you liked it. nad dvd sets are fantastic. And thanks for your comment about my JAM. Did you read 20 questions? I cant remember if you read that or Shattered, but you should read whichever one you havent. :)
Jgrrl- Aww, thanks!
Christine- Hehe their touching. You girl, are obsessed with the physicals! Which is present in this chapter, so be happy. :)
Ruli- yay on the iguanas. couple skaters. and yeah, JAM marrige. mmmm. Vase, explanation, below.
Rach- Oh im glad you liked it!! More on vase below.
Meg- Oh thanks! More on the vase below.
Eagle- thanks so much!!
Janey- Wow, thanks for the long review! And you are right on target, and you will see more of Roy in later chapters, I promise. I don't plan my fics out... at all, really... but i do have Roy in my head, so keep reading!
Rabidfrodo- Well, if Jam is drug, then count me in!
Now, a lot of you inquired about the vase story... Here's the explanation:
My father is a preist. When I was four years old, I was running through the house playing soccer with my brother (against the rules, obviously), and we ran into a vase that my dad had got my mom for their first wedding anniversary. It came toppling to the ground, shattered in five peices, and cut me. My mom was really upset about the vase (and me, but mostly the vase ;) ) and dad took the peices and didn't get rid of them, knowing how much it meant to her. He glued them back together, and gave it to her for mothers day that year. He took it with him to a camp every year, and whenever he gave sermons about God's love shining through our brokenness, he put a flashlight in the vase (he'd gotten another one that was whole). and so the illustration has been used constantly, and that's the story of the vase. And so, we shine.
Pam tossed and turned in bed, the sheets getting wrapped up around her in such a way that if she wasn't awake, they might have suffocated her. She groaned, kicking at them until finally she felt them loosen up and she started to emerge from the tight hold they had on her. She kept kicking until finally, she was free, and the nervous feeling in her chest lightened slightly. She stared up at the ceiling, silently pissed that she couldn't seem to fall asleep. It was 3 AM on a Sunday morning, and she'd been trying to fall asleep for the past four hours. Nothing seemed to be working.
She sighed, flipping on the light on her nightstand, surprised with the little nightlight seemed to fill the entire room. She groaned at the light, more out of habit than anything else. She could feel her eyelids closing in on her. Sure, now that the light is on, you're ready to sleep. Isn't that just my luck? She kicked her feet over the bed and walked into the kitchen, pulling the gallon of milk out of the fridge and staring at it for a moment. I shouldn't drink it straight out of the carton… but who else is here to share my germs? She lifted it to her mouth and chugged for a few seconds, before setting it back inside the refrigerator door and crawling in bed, shutting off the light, willing herself to go to sleep.
She knew why she couldn't go to sleep. She was too busy replaying the events of their day in her brain. It wasn't that their day was extremely extraordinary. It wasn't even one of Jim's better dates (she still really liked the Gavin DeGraw concert). It was just fun, in it's own way. The way he had told her what they were doing; the way he had set it up. It was just so characteristically Jim she couldn't help but be Pam… Lately, she'd been feeling like she was only truly herself, only truly in her element, when he was in his. When they were together, just being them. That's what she loved about their relationship. There was no reason for her to hide who she was. She could talk freely, about anything, and be assured that everything was safe. Safety. Security. All of the things she wanted, but never had.
Being with Jim wasn't a chore anymore. Not that it was ever really a chore, but there were a few dates where she woke up Saturday morning, upset to find that Saturday had come and she had to get up to go meet him. It wasn't that it wasn't fun with him, it was more that she had to give up valuable art time, or lounge time. She had to fit everything into Sunday, and she wasn't used to that. Every part of her life was rushed, and even though she didn't like being rushed, she didn't like Saturdays without Jim anymore.
He was so… thoughtful? But that wasn't the right word. Even when he was trying to just be nice, he was amazing her. She secretly wondered if he was some sort of mutant romantic that had come to woo her into something, only to bite her and take her blood and return to Uranus. Usually, when she thought about that, she went back to bed, knowing she was completely deranged. But really, the man had an insight into women—into her—more than any other being she'd ever met. He understood her in a way that just flabbergasted her and left her so completely bare in front of him. She wasn't sure how to react when she was around him; she wasn't sure what to say because it seemed like he already knew it all.
It was a strange feeling. A mix between knowing that he understood before she opened her mouth, knowing that he knew her—knew her so deep that the core of who she is was completely exposed to him—but at the same time, knowing that he felt he knew nothing. Knowing that he wanted more. He wanted to know more than just her height and her eye color and the address of her first house. He wanted to know her in a way that scared her half to death. He looked at her sometimes, and she knew that he just wanted to unravel the mystery that she was and finally uncover what it was about her that made him so mesmerized by her. It was as if he couldn't figure out what 'it' was about her, but he always wanted to. So he kept her talking, reminiscing, anything to get her to speak clearly about who she was and what she wanted, so that maybe he could understand her. That way he looked at her… The way he spoke to her… It sent chills up her spine.
Even on an ordinary day, a day with jeans and a t-shirt and the rolled-out-of-bed look, she felt so special around him. It was as if the world had opened up to her, and whenever she wasn't with him, she was left with it a bit more closed in, and she wondered why she couldn't just keep it so expansive forever. She loved the feeling she got when she was with him, as if she was on the brink of her entire life, and yet, it didn't feel like a huge undertaking, or some huge moment. It was just there. She was on the brink, and it was huge, but it felt so small because he was there beside her.
She'd had plans the night before with Kelly, and it wasn't until 2 AM that she actually got home, thoroughly unamused that she'd missed Three's Company. She'd texted him, and it wasn't until morning that she'd looked at it and realized it was a little less coherent than she'd originally thought—in fact, it wasn't coherent at all. Just a whole bunch of scrambled letters from where she'd thought she'd used T9 Word, but in her sleepy and somewhat tipsy state… Well, anything was possible.
She'd woken up that morning with a splintering headache, horrible cramps, and the desire to just stay in bed all day long and do nothing. At first, when she woke up, she'd felt horrible. It was twenty minutes past noon, and she was sure she'd completely missed the start of her and Jim's date. But then she'd opened her cell phone to see a text message from him: Come out when you're feeling better.
She'd taken a moment to gain composure, but then she'd made her way into the living room. He was watching the TV, almost silently, and when she entered, he looked up before she'd even made a sound. "Hey," he said, turning the TV off without thinking.
"Hi," she grabbed her head, and he quickly got off the couch and took her hand, helping her lie down. She closed her eyes, and he went into the kitchen, pulling out some pills and coming back into the room. He handed her two aspirins and a vitamin, and a glass of water, and she sat up slightly, taking them all. "I'm sorry, I just really don't feel good…"
"That's alright," he said, sitting down across from her. "We don't have to do anything, if you don't feel up to it."
She waved him off, "No, no it's fine… Just a splintering headache and some cramping. I should be okay." She bit her lip when she realized all the information she'd just given him, but he didn't seem affected. "You've planned a whole elaborate date… I don't want to ruin it."
He shook his head lightly, "J was just for Jam. Don't worry about it."
"Jam?" she asked, taking a sip of her water. "You planned a date around Jelly?"
"No," he replied, smiling lightly. "Jam."
"What's the difference?"
"Jam is Jim and Pam… Jelly is Jim and Kelly."
"Disgusting," she replied.
"What is?"
"Jelly."
"I agree. I'm a Jam fan myself."
She'd just sat there, staring at her eyelids while he said that, and even though she didn't think a smile had formed on her lips, her entire being felt like flying. It was the kind of comment that miraculously eased her headache and her cramps and made her feel like she could do anything. She'd been desperately trying to force her body into feeling better; she didn't want to let Jim down, and more than that, she didn't want to miss whatever it was they were planning on doing that day. But when he said that… It was like the very core of her was soaring.
He'd brought her two pieces of toast with grape jam on them, placing them in her lap before she could even notice he'd gone to make her anything. They'd talked lightly as she'd eaten, and by the time she'd digested all of the toast, her headache had been non-existent for a good hour or so.
She'd just sat up on the leather sofas, opening her eyes to see him watching her, a smile across his face and a slight dab of grape jam on his lips. "I'm feeling much better," she'd said, slipping on her shoes. "Thank you."
"Wow, that must be some amazing grape jam if it can heal the morning hangover blues and the lady troubles," he said, the smile evident through his voice.
"It's amazing what jam can do," she trailed off, thinking of the truth present in the statement. They sat in silence for a moment, before she spoke up again, "So, where are we going today?"
"Jail," he replied, and she rolled her eyes and laughed. "My other girlfriend is locked up for armed robbery."
"Your other girlfriend? Armed robbery?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "I wouldn't picture you as the cheating armed-robbery type."
"You learn something new every day," he replied, grinning.
She'd held onto his words, and it wasn't until this moment, lying in bed, staring idly at the ceiling as her whole body was tired but her mind was pulling an all-nighter, that she realized why. He'd called her his girlfriend. Not directly, but discreetly in his statement. His other girlfriend was locked up. Other. Other. She was the first girlfriend. It excited her to no end that he'd called her that, but in ways, it also scared her.
When she'd been with Roy, they'd never officially said they were together. It had been late nights talking about hot chocolate, dinosaur comics, and the guys on the football team, which had led to random outings to go see movies, or go to dinner. They'd quickly become each other's "I want to do this, but I need someone to do it with" person. She went to football banquets and sporting events with him, and he went to chick-flicks and art shows with her. Neither of them particularly enjoyed the other's choice of activity, but they put up with it for the comfort of not having to find someone else to accompany them.
All of that had eventually led to a kiss, and a kiss to making out… And before she knew it, they'd entered into some sort of relationship, where her kisses were reserved for him and her plans included only him. If she hadn't wanted it that way, it still would have been. Roy was the jealous type and the only way she even found out that they'd hit "a relationship" was one day when she'd been talking to Robbie Johnson outside her locker, and he'd come storming up to give her a kiss on the cheek. Robbie'd left—all he really wanted was the French homework—but she'd learned that day that she had, at some point, become Roy's girlfriend.
The idea of slipping into a relationship with Jim made her stomach toss. It wasn't that she didn't want to be Jim's girlfriend—she didn't even really know what she wanted in that area. She just knew she didn't want to slide into a relationship with him. She wanted to have a conversation, know what he wanted, be able to tell what she wanted. She wasn't sure what she wanted that statement to mean, she just knew she wanted to be able to decide this time. She'd wasted so many years of her life slipping. For once, she wanted to stand up, claim her ground, and be her own person.
"Okay, what do you think our sign should say?" Jim asked, parked on the side of the road, a huge poster and a big, black sharpie in his hand.
"Buy a loser, fifty cents," she replied, rolling her eyes at him.
"Oh, come on, Beesly. You're worth more than fifty cents." He was making his thinking expression—an expression that looked like a cross-breed between his confused expression and his lopsided grin. It was somewhat adorable, though she was sure that if anyone else saw it, they'd think he was crazy or drunk or both. "Now, I'm thinking 'The jam stand'… What do you think?"
"Okay," she replied, shuffling her feet against the dirt. He looked up, watching her. "That's fine," she said, her eyes open wide in the characteristic, 'just do what you want and pretend I'm not here' look that she'd become so accustomed to over the years.
He paused for a moment, "Well, if you were creating your own jam stand…" she rolled her eyes. "What would you name it?"
She thought for a moment, before shrugging. "Honestly, I'd probably just make the poster say, 'Jam for sale, 75 cents each'." She muttered, staring into the clouds, watching as Mufasa drifted along the sky, joined by a large elephant in a bathtub and the President in a tutu. He straightened up next to her, and she looked over, noticing the words on the sign: Jam for sale, 75 cents each.
She couldn't quite describe what it felt like to see that he'd chosen her idea, even though his was vastly superior. If she'd known he was going to, she probably would have come up with something a little bit more original, but honestly, what did it matter? Nobody was going to see the sign.
Except she did. And seeing that sign did something to her. It was one of those peculiar events that you really only see in movies, where some random, odd-ball fact changes a character's life…. Like a protestor telling a young woman that her baby has fingernails, and nine months later the mother holding her child and being absolutely in love, remembering how she almost didn't have her. Or like a young woman seeing Razzles in the store and being taken back to when she was thirteen and she shared them with her best friend, and all of a sudden, a blue Razzle makes her realize she'd been in love with him the whole time.
She'd felt that strange feeling, looking at the sign. It wasn't miraculous or profound. It was just six words, and a five-year-old could have written them. And yet, it struck something inside her. Why those words? Why had he decided to write her words, not his? Why had she even come up with those words? She understood herself more with those six words… Understood why Roy was so wrong for her... Understood why she'd never really felt home with him.
They'd been Pam and Roy for so long… but she had no idea who Pam was.
Whenever they went out to eat, he ordered. When they decided what color to paint the bedroom, he decided. When they picked the wedding date, he picked. It was always him saying what was going to happen, and her idling behind him. She wasn't sure what it was that made her want to forsake everything she believed in and lived for, but there was something there. Some hidden, underlying message.
They were sitting in the sun, under a make-shift stand with a poster above them that said Jam for Sale, 75 cents each, talking about everything and nothing all at once, when a Trans Am pulled up. He nudged her slightly under the table, and she looked over at him, smiling. This was the moment they'd been waiting for. The chance to sell their jam.
He climbed out of the Trans Am, dressed in a deputy sheriff's suit, his boots encasing his pants, and the belt of his pants resting a little bit too high for comfort, she imagined. His hat was a bit crooked, and overall, he'd managed to look even worse in his costume than he did in his normal work attire.
He charged towards them, banging his fist down on the surface, making their Styrofoam cup full of quarters bounce, a few coins spilling out. "Jim! Pam! What are you doing? You cannot sell jam on private property. I demand to see your permits!"
"Our permits," Jim stated.
"Permits from the city," Dwight said in a demeaning voice, "making this business legal in the eyes of the Scranton Municipal Building." He paused. "Question: Do you sell beet jam?"
"Yes! We do!" Pam said, reaching under the table to their storage unit, "Here."
He took the jar out of her hand, studying it. "Nice color, composition and clarity… Where did you get the beets?"
She bit her lip. "Um, Starbucks." Jim turned and stared at her.
"Uh, Pam, there is no way Starbucks can sell money beets like mine. Do you even know what a good beet is?"
Jim leaned toward her, whispering, "Yeah, Pam, do you even know what a good beet is?"
"Uhm no…" she replied, "I mean I never really had any formal lessons on beet picking…" Her face contorted in confusion. "How do you know…" she looked up, an embarrassed look overcoming her. "Umm, you know… What separates the good beets from the bad ones?"
He straightened up. "I'm going to tell you like I told Michael. First rule in roadside beet sales, put the most attractive beets on top. The ones that make you pull the car over and go, 'Wow, I need this beet right now.' Those are the money beets."
Pam stuttered, "Oh I think these…"
"These were in the back, weren't they?" Jim finished for her. Dwight's face paled.
"Oh, God."
Pam nodded, muttering a word of agreement under her breath before Jim continued. "We only paid, like, a nickel for them."
"A nickel for one beet?"
Words flew out of Pam's mouth. "Uhm, no… It was a penny per beet, or there was a 10 for five deal."
"Question: Did Jebediah Wilson sell these to you?" Dwight's face looked angry.
Jim leaned in. "No, his name wasn't Jebediah… Wait, does he have a son named Habakkuk?"
"Yeah," Pam chimed in. "I think his name was Habakkuk Wilson… And what was the little girl's name… Ra… Re…" Her voice stuttered.
"Rahab," Jim replied, and Dwight nodded, his face taking on a look of disgust.
"Rahab is fat. And a woman of ill repute."
Pam smiled, then quickly stopped. "Maybe she was eating beets with added lard or something? They didn't seem to be very good beets. They had like, white spots on them…"
Dwight shuddered. "Do you have the permits or not?"
Jim waited a moment before asking, "Dwight, would you like to buy some beet jam?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but Pam cut him off, "It's really good, I think you should get some jam."
"Uh, no," Dwight replied, shaking his head. "I have my own supply of beet jam. Mose and I made it when Y2K was about to hit. We have enough for 200 years."
"200? Wow, how long do Schrutes live?" Pam asked.
"Pam, they're immortal."
"That's not true, Jim," Dwight corrected. "We Schrutes live as long as we want to."
"Wouldn't you want to live forever?" Pam asked.
"No. I will live until my girlfriend dies. Then I will follow the path to Mordor and bravely fight the orcs for freedom and lose my life there, much like Gollum did."
"What girlfriend, Dwight?" Jim asked.
"Is it Kelly?" Pam smiled, and Jim nudged her under the table.
"Oh, yeah, you and Kelly would be great, Dwight…" Jim trailed.
Dwight's face turned red, "It's not Kelly, Jim!"
"Who is it, Dwight?" Pam asked, teasing him some more.
"Zip your lid, Pam!"
"I bet it's Rahab Wilson," Jim nodded.
"Damn it, Jim!"
The jam stand charade had only lasted for a half-hour or so. Jim had done his research and figured out when Dwight was 'off-duty', and then they'd set up the stand accordingly. It was a strange feeling, going on a jam stand date with Jim. Sometimes, their entire relationship was based on childish things, but she didn't really mind… Sometimes, it was nice to go back to childhood.
She'd always wanted to run a lemonade stand when she was younger. She'd see pictures of kids running ones, and sometimes, she'd even see a few kids outside on the sidewalk in her neighborhood. It was always two or three friends, laughing and giggling, dressed up and spilling lemonade everywhere. And it was funny, because she always said they were stupid. Why would she ever want to run a lemonade stand? But really, she just didn't want to run one alone.
Secretly, she loved the idea of a lemonade stand. She ached for somebody to come to her house, make best friends with her, and demand that they run a lemonade stand. She'd grunt and complain, but really, she'd be ecstatic that somebody wanted to run one with her. It was one of those things… she looked back on her childhood and wished she could put a check next to that item on one of the survey emails Kelly sent around.
It was just one of those things that she'd missed out in childhood, and until she sat down at the jam stand on Dwight's beet farm, she hadn't realized she'd felt that way. And then all of a sudden, there was Jim, demanding that she run a jam stand with him, even amidst her protests, and it was almost like all of the bad parts of her childhood suddenly evaporated and were replaced with all of the happy memories of the day.
It had only taken twenty minutes for Dwight to order jam and then promptly kick them off the premises, but even then, she couldn't help but smiling when she thought of it.
"Jim?" she questioned, climbing in his car. He climbed in next to her and raised his eyebrows, a quizzical expression. "What's your car's name?"
"My car's name," he repeated.
She bit her lip, smiling when he looked at her with a blank expression, "You know, the name of your car. You name your car, don't you? You have to!"
"I've never heard of naming an inanimate object," he replied, smirking.
"You didn't name your teddy bears in pre-school?" she teased, and he laughed, nodding and putting the car in drive.
"Okay, no making fun of Mr. Snuffles."
"I'm not making fun of Mr. Snuffles," she said with a straight face. Then a moment later, "I'm making fun of you."
"Hardy har har," he replied, a slight chuckle in his voice. "So, tell me about this naming of the car business."
"What do you mean?" she asked, laughing. "I guess I just feel like you should name your car. I mean, you spend a lot of time with the Corolla… Don't you think you should name her?"
"Her?"
"Jim, she's totally a her," Pam replied, rolling her eyes, a look of surprise on her face. "What makes you think this car could ever be a male?"
"I don't know…" he replied, following the dirt road. "I mean, I don't know what… parts a female has that a male doesn't."
Her eyes went wide, and even though she knew he was referring to automobiles, she couldn't help herself. "Well, Jim… A female has a vagina… Really? They never taught you this in fifth grade?"
"The Corolla does not have a vagina, Pam."
"It doesn't have a penis, either." She replied, looking out the window.
He chuckled, "So what is the Yaris' name? Harvey? Henry? Jack?"
She turned to him, a look of disgust on her face, "You're really bad at the whole car gender thing. Her name is Sylvia."
"Sylvia? I like that."
"Thanks, we have fun." Pam replied.
"Don't you have a friend named Sylvia?" he asked.
"No…"
"But, a few weeks ago, I called you and you said you were at the mall with Sylvia…" he trailed off, and she glared at him for a moment, before he finally got it. "Ohh…"
"Shut up," she said, smiling and crossing her arms over her chest. "So, what's your Corolla's name?"
"Umm… Leslie."
She arched an eyebrow at him, just as the car made a noise that sounded like a pig at the bacon factory.
"Okay, guess not. Um. Linda."
She shook her head, and the ride was all of a sudden a bit more rocky.
"Julie."
"Julia," she replied, and the ride suddenly went smooth. He looked over at her, raised his eyebrows and smiled.
"Julia, it is." She nodded, and he continued, "So, what's the advantage of naming your car?"
"Oh, Jim," she replied. "You have so much to learn."
She laughed to herself. How was it possible that Jim had never named any of his cars? She'd named all of hers, even Roy's truck when she hadn't had her own car. She'd bought her first car for twelve-hundred dollars three months after she turned sixteen, borrowing the money from her dad until she could find a job. It was a beat up Honda, about fifteen years old. It was originally blue, but so much of the paint had flaked off that now it was more like the color of rust. It held dirt easily, the air conditioning didn't work, and the passenger's side seatbelt only worked when certain people rode in the front seat.
It squeaked, and when she took the speed bumps too fast, the entire back of her car made a huge thunking sound, and for a moment, every time, she wondered if she still owned the back of her car. She'd gotten in an accident the week after she got it, forgetting to look at the car in front of her before moving when the light turned green. Her car had been only three hundred dollars away from being totaled, and as a result, the hood of the Honda looked much newer than the rest of the car ever had. She'd named her Allie, because she had an artsy, stubborn sort of a character to her, but she was a wise car. She kicked herself for ignoring the fact that every time Roy settled into the front seat, the seatbelt waited for three seconds before it deliberately hit into his neck. He always had red lines on his neck after riding in her car.
Her second car was a year into college, when Allie had to be sent to car heaven after Roy backed into it one day, forgetting to look behind him as he left late one night. He'd rammed straight into Allie, and although Pam had heard the sound of metal crunching up in her room rather loudly, she swore she could hear the sound of Allie crying louder. She knew she was somewhat delusional, but everyone said you fall in love with your first car, and she had. Until Roy had killed her.
She'd gotten a Honda civic as her replacement car, a red one with less character than Allie, and sometimes, it almost made her sad. She pretty much ran smoothly the entire time, all of her lights worked, and the air conditioning blasted out cold air on a moment's notice. She'd named her Hope, not really ever thinking the name suited her completely. When she'd found Allie, the name had just screamed out at her, but Hope wasn't that kind of car. She was bland; she had little personality, but unlike Allie, she was reliable. Everything worked, and on time. She got to where she needed to be. The quirks were gone, but they were traded for stability and reliability.
Roy had proposed to her in the middle of a sports bar one night, with Kenny passed out next to her. They'd gone to watch the Toronto Maple Leafs battle out the Philadelphia Flyers (it always annoyed her that Toronto was the Maple Leafs… Didn't they know proper English?) and just a few spilled beers and fifteen shots on goal into it, he'd proposed to her over a plate of loaded fries. He'd stumbled over the words, slurring lightly, and at first, she'd almost thought maybe he had just let it pop out without thinking, but he flashed the ring in front of her (and then he dropped it) and she knew it was for real. And she was in love with him, and even though he was drunk and vulgar and they were in the middle of watching a hockey game, she accepted. After all, who knew if he'd ever do it again?
After the ring had hit her finger and she'd graduated from college and gotten the job at Dunder Mifflin, she'd traded in Hope for some wedding cash. After all, what did she need a car for? Roy's truck worked just fine. She became very comfortable with the passenger seat of the beat up pickup truck—he never let her drive it anywhere, and even if he had, he was out with it most of the time anyway. She'd quickly named it Butch. It ran rugged, looked rugged, and hardly ever had a bath. And, of course, it went out drinking with Roy every night. What other name could it possibly have?
After everything had blown over with Roy and Butch, Pam had stabbed Butch in the tires, keeping Roy stranded at the house, which was actually probably best for him. She hadn't been in the mood to get a call from a police officer that night anyway. That week, Jim had let her drive his Corolla—even though she'd been a Honda girl all her life—and wanting to branch out from the world she'd encased herself in, she'd had him drive her out to the dealership that night. She'd signed her life away to get Sylvia the Yaris.
Sylvia had a personality. She was brand new, and Pam was proud to have her. Sylvia was a somewhat metallic blue, and she reminded Pam of her art in some strange way. The first time Pam had spotted Sylvia, she'd actually thought she was a great color to mix with a burnt orange and a bright, lime green in a painting. She'd naturally gravitated toward her. Sylvia was the kind of car that got 30 miles to the gallon and took you zero to sixty in no time at all, which was really good because Pam couldn't control herself when driving. She was a speed demon, not necessarily because she wanted to hit 100 or she had to hurry to be somewhere, she just didn't really like being in the car all the time. She got nervous on road trips that she'd forget which exit to get off at or how to get somewhere, so she always wanted to get everywhere early to save the time. Just in case. With Sylvia, she felt like she didn't need to be. Sylvia would get her where she needed to go, and if she didn't, well, that was okay, too.
Sylvia made her feel free. Alive. Like she was on the brink of something spectacular. Like she could do anything. Invincible and infinite. Sylvia brought back some sort of feeling of youthfulness to her… Like she was Allie incarnate, a feeling of freeness and vulnerability. She was stable, but she was a different kind of stable… She was free, and the world was within her grasp. And maybe that's the way she felt now, free and youthful… But yet, there was still that aching… The past. The memories of Hope and Butch that kept her from living out the freeness that was Sylvia. Sylvia was a great car, and she loved Sylvia, but Sylvia wasn't Allie. Parts of Allie were lost on Sylvia, and she wasn't sure if she could ever get them back.
She opened the door to the apartment, holding two cartons of Chinese food and flicking on the light. He came behind her, a plastic grocery bag in his hands. She sauntered over to the table, setting down the cartons and pulling out two plates and some silverware.
"What do you want to drink?" he asked, opening her refrigerator door after he set the bag down.
"I think there are some peach sodas in there," she said, pouring half of Jim's dinner on her own plate. She picked up her fork, looked over at him to make sure he wasn't watching her, and then stuck it in his carton. She chewed on his sesame chicken for a minute before going back to her own plate, convinced he would see her if she tried again. He brought her a glass of fizzling soda, and himself one, and opened her dinner and poured half of it on his plate.
"Ooh, Lo Mein. Good choice," he said, grinning.
"It's my safety Chinese food. I just eat whatever my date's having if I'm still hungry," she replied, her mouth half open from chewing. He laughed, and she pointed at the grocery bag with her chopstick, letting a piece of chicken fall into her lap. "What's in that?"
He grinned. "Sure you want to know?" She nodded, and he untied the bag after taking a large bite of food to tie him over. He pulled out Dwight's Dundie that they'd stolen over a month ago and set it on the table.
She smiled, rolling her eyes and shaking her head lightly. "Dundie, Elf… Dwight… Idiotic.."
"What are you doing?" he asked, laughing.
"Trying to figure out where the J is," she smiled, laughing lightly.
He pulled out four boxes of Lime jello, setting them in front of her, and she could make out the appearance of a word written on each box. She smiled as he rearranged them on the table, then pushed them toward her so she could read the sentence: Don't cross over, okay?
She laughed, got up out of her chair and picked up a sharpie, turning each box over and writing her message. She arranged the boxes so her message, "O-K-A-Y" and pushed it toward him. He smiled, and they both stuffed their faces a little bit more, before she got up and got a pan out of the cupboard.
"You ready to encase this thing?" She asked, winking at him. His eyes went wide, and he smiled.
"Oh, you know me so well."
She smiled, thinking of the jello mold that was in her refrigerator, the Dundie that was gooey with the surrounding greenness. She giggled at the thought of Dwight's face when he opened his desk drawer on Monday morning to find it in there. His prize possession.
They'd spent hours preparing the jello, as Jim was very particular about how the mold was made. She'd never made one before—Roy had always thought office pranks were silly and immature, and so she'd conformed to his beliefs, opting out of the jello molding every time Jim had asked for her help. She'd always regretted it, looking back on it and seeing how people reacted, and a small part of her had always resented Roy for doing it.
Roy had always held her back. He'd kept her from going to the big state school she'd wanted to after high school; he'd kept her from going overseas on an art fellowship that she'd gotten; he'd kept her from going to New York to really pursue her graphic design career. She wasn't the type that was going to do anything unless she was pushed and prodded. She was naturally pessimistic about her own work, and unless she had people banging down her door telling her how amazing her artwork was, she was going to believe her toughest critic, herself. It wasn't that he'd pushed her away from it completely—she'd admit that she was the one walking the other way, but he hadn't done anything to make her want to turn around. He'd just fed her little comments, like, "come on, Pammy, what about us?" when she'd mentioned going away, or "New York is so expensive… You probably won't even make it," when she'd told him about moving after graduation. And slowly, but surely, she'd learned to listen to those voices in her head. The tough critic ones. And she'd started to walk away from what she wanted, holding on to the safety net that was Roy, and clutching onto the railings of her life, afraid to let go of anything that might keep her from falling.
She thought about Allie, and Hope, and Butch, and Sylvia. How Roy had killed Allie, killed the independence and freedom, the stubbornness and the spirit that came with her. How he'd rammed into her and sent her broken to the ground, unable to be repaired. She thought about Hope, the practical, safe one. How she'd taken her everywhere she was supposed to go, but there was no feeling the wind or being free associated with her. It was all prompt, neat and proper with Hope. And when she'd traded Hope in for wedding cash that had flown out of her hands like sand, she'd lost who she was. Her free, adventurous spirit had been replaced by the desire to be socially acceptable, which had, in turn, been muddied and ruined by the stains of dependence, until finally, she'd found herself struggling to find even a glimpse of who she used to be.
Tears fell down her cheeks and she sat up in bed, clutching her knees to her chest. When had she become this person? Who was this person? How had she let herself become so broken and fragile because of him? The tears turned into sobs. Breathless, numbing sobs, and she couldn't figure out how to turn them off. She reached shakily for the phone on the bedside table, unsure of anything in her life. Her world was shaken, beaten, and the only thing she could think to do was call him.
She dialed his number shakily, feeling emptier with each progressive ring. She was about to hang up, when she heard his voice, groggy on the other end. "Pam?"
She sobbed into the phone, unable to voice what was wrong, unable to tell him how she was feeling. She was trying. She wasn't sure if it was the words that wouldn't come or the thoughts, but something was blocked. The only sort of anything her body was letting out were tear soaked expressions of pain. She could hear him, sitting up in bed. "Pam, what's wrong?"
He sounded worried, and she wanted to reassure him, but she couldn't. The words stuck in her throat, pushing the sobs that had already lodged there out, and all of a sudden, she was gasping for air, unable to breathe. He could hear her wheezing into the phone, and she could hear his voice, constantly protruding into her ears, but she couldn't hear him. She had no idea what he was saying, and his voice was becoming more and more muffled the longer she tried.
She could hear rustling on the other end, but she didn't know what for. All she could think to do was cry, more and more. Like she'd never cried before. She'd shed a few tears for the fragments of she and Roy's relationship, but sitting on her bed, thinking of how stupid she'd been… Thinking of how many years she'd wasted on him… Well, it only brought more pain to the surface. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't find the sound. All she could find were the tears, and those moments when her lungs seemed to cave in and she was left starving for air.
She was in a ball on her bed, trying to catch her breath, hugging herself tight, her cheeks stained with the tears of regret, when she felt the bed shift and his hands on her back. She untangled herself from the ball and lunged into his arms, wrapping hers around him and crying, sobbing into his shoulder. His arms were hugging her so tight that under any other circumstances, she might have felt suffocated or sick, but today, they were just right. It was as if he was holding her so hard he was keeping her from spinning out of control.
He rubbed her back, whispering soothing sounds in her ears as the sobs lessened, and she learned to breathe again. She screamed into his shoulder twice, burying her nails into his back so hard that there was no doubt there would be a mark there the next morning. He kept rubbing her back, though, patting her head and as the cries became less intense and her heart felt lighter, she began to hear the words he was speaking to her. The soft and silent 'it's okay's and the 'i'm right here's, and all of the other normal smoothing words that had somehow taken on a new meaning for her.
When the last sob had escaped her and the force inside her that had pushed on every wall of her body so hard she wanted to explode had moved outside her body, she buried her head in the crook of his neck, breathing steadily against him. He was patting her head, and she could feel herself drifting off into sleepiness. She leaned her head up and whispered in his ear softly, "You're Sylvia…" and laid down, and finally fell asleep, leaving him to wonder what she'd meant.