Late-night call
It’s been at least eight minutes of staring at the phone screen, clicking the ‘up’ arrow to keep it from going black.
Pam sits on the edge of her secondhand loveseat in the living room, unmoving except for the rise and fall of her silent breaths. Her flip phone is open in her hand, contact list displayed on the screen.
Jim Halpert in pixelated font taunts her.
She swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry with nerves.
It’s been a long time coming—finally picking up the phone to call Jim. She wonders if he’s still in Australia, probably to avoid her wedding. Did he meet someone there? Did he even end up going? What if he moved there?
Pam would know, had she mustered the courage to update him on what happened since they last spoke. Or, rather, what didn’t happen.
She’s not sure whether he’d even want to speak with her, but the voice inside her head—now that she’s all alone—won’t subside. She no longer has the excuse of talking to Roy to quiet her thoughts, or of watching a football game with him to tune out the memories of her first kiss with Jim.
Without those distractions, she’s consumed by thoughts of Jim, by memories of him. She knows that if she doesn’t break this silence, she may never have the chance to see him again—or to tell him how she feels. He doesn’t deserve that, she thinks.
In a moment of panic, she forcefully presses the green phone icon and hears the ringback tone. She thinks she might’ve made a huge mistake and almost presses the red phone icon to end the call—until she hears the line pick up.
She manages a weak, “Um—hey?”
@haelpert