- Interlude: Jim -
Jim closed his bedroom door behind him, and stood for a second in the dim umbilical glow of the lava lamp. He had somehow made it home in a numb, disconnected daze, but now the rushing swirl of emotions started creeping in on him again. Dropping his keys on his desk, he sat on the edge of his bed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
What the hell had he gotten himself into?
Her kiss has been more wonderful than he had imagined, and just thinking about it made his heart race again.
Yet, at the same time, hadn't he gotten himself out of something? A situation that was tearing him apart?
Pam had become the fulcrum of his day-to-day existence, and he couldn't remember how to function without her light, without her smile. Considering how late at night it was, it was with amazing sobriety that he realized the world did not revolve around Pam, and that he could learn to survive on his own again.
The white LED on the front of his laptop glowed insistently at him.
The decision was made, and he flipped open his laptop and logged into his Dunder-Mifflin e-mail.
I would be happy to accept the transfer to Stamford as soon as possible. Please also let Michael know that I will be using my remaining available vacation time to make the move as quick and as smooth as possible. I will call you on Monday to work out the details.
Dunder-Mifflin Paper Company
He felt guilty, like he had done something wrong. But he had put this off for long enough. Almost too long, in fact. He had parked along the sidewalk across the street, rather than trying to maneuver the cumbersome U-Haul truck into the parking lot of the Scranton Business Park.
It was a brilliant and beautiful Saturday afternoon, and Jim felt very out of place in his t-shirt and jeans as he squeezed through the gap in the chain-link gate, two filing boxes in tow. He had called the security guard two days earlier, and managed to talk him into letting him on the premises just before the drive to Stamford.
Once inside, the silence was intimidating.
Flicking on the lights, Jim actually made it past her desk and towards his own. He quickly filled the two filing boxes with his personal effects and contact lists that he would need at the new position in Stamford, sorting through the various staplers and tape dispensers that actually did belong to the company.
He considered playing one last practical joke on Dwight, but realized that ultimately, he just wanted to get out of here.
Jim popped the lids on the filing boxes, and stacking them on top of each other, headed for the door, turning a cold shoulder to the chair she sat in every day.