The Office: Ordinary People (Pam)
This show is so fantastic I feel like I shouldn't even post this, especially since it's just glorified meta-squee, but, um, too late.
Ordinary People
The Office, Pam, G, spoilers for Beach Games.
Summary: Listen: Ordinary people do extraordinary things all the time.
my losing streak is done. I said my losing streak is done (the eels)
Pam stays down in the water while everyone else packs up the coolers and blankets and lame tiki torches. Her pulse is starting to slow down but she still feels like there's helium in her chest. It's a good feeling.
"Andy what happened to you?" Kelly's voice rises out of the darkness. When Pam turns, cold lake water sloshing around her shins, she can see Andy, still in one of the sumo suits, at the very edge of the light from the fire.
"I fell--" Andy starts, sounding loud and strangled, before Michael cuts him off.
"God, Andy, you missed everything. We're not even doing wrestling anymore."
"Michael--" Andy starts.
"Just-- help Dwight put the leftover hot dogs on the bus," Michael says, and drops the armful of whatever he's carrying into Andy's puffy arms.
This seems like the kind of place where Pam should be able to see tons of stars, but there are just the same number as normal, thin and dim over the lake when she turns to look. Her feet really do hurt; she's not sure what you do for a hot coal foot burn.
She keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, to freak out, but she just feels light. All those things that were gnawing away at her, that she just said. It did suck that almost nobody came to her art show and after she told every single one of them about it, after they all said, "oh, yeah, maybe!" Saying it out loud helped, somehow. At least people know.
When she glances back again, she can see Jim and Karen up by the dying fire, standing close, his head down, her arms wrapped around herself. It seems like a really long time ago now since she felt happy around him instead of weird or awkward or... whatever. She doesn't know what he'll do now. Maybe he'll start talking to her like a normal person. Maybe he won't.
That's okay. She can't make him be her friend again, just like she couldn't make Roy be someone he wasn't, not back in February, not before; all she can control is herself. And she's doing that.
And she's all right. She's changing tires and putting together a portfolio and buying new coats and she's all right.
"Oookay," Michael yells out from somewhere up by the road. "Time to go. Everybody on the bus. Pam, we're leaving."
She takes her time. The sand stings her feet, and the cool air feels good on her face. She's the only person left on the beach when she stops by the coals to grab her shoes and socks. The coals are still glowing, and warm enough that she can feel them a few feet away. When they'd all been standing there, listening to Michael talk, she'd been glad for a minute that she wasn't one of the ones he was going to tell to walk on them, since of course she wasn't going to -- and then it occurred to her she could, if she wanted. There was no reason she couldn't. Why not?
And now her whole life she'll know that she did. It makes her smile all over again. It's been so long since she had a day where something happened.
She's the last one on the bus; from the corner of her eye she can see Ryan and Kevin giving her wary glances, as she walks past everyone.
This morning, Michael held her back when everyone else was shuffling on and told her she had to sit in the back so she could have the best vantage point for observation. ("Of what?" she said. "Things. People. Just do it, okay, Pam?" he said)
"Pamela," Andy had said, when she got on, "would you like to be my seat partner?" He was giving her his I'm-hopeful-but-only-a-normal-person-amount-not-hopeful-like-a-crazy-person look and the only other seat left was by Dwight, so she shrugged and sat.
Now she finds her own seat, in front of Andy, who looks damp and irritated.
"Goood day, everybody," Michael says from across the aisle. "Good beach day." The bus grumbles to life and they pull onto the road.
Michael falls asleep abruptly, head against the window, mouth hanging open. His cheeks are pink with sun. Everyone else slowly goes quiet. Pam can hear Kevin snoring up near the front of the bus.
She doesn't sleep. She rests her head against the glass and watches the headlights of cars flash by in the dark, eyes open the whole way home.
Ordinary People
The Office, Pam, G, spoilers for Beach Games.
Summary: Listen: Ordinary people do extraordinary things all the time.
my losing streak is done. I said my losing streak is done (the eels)
Pam stays down in the water while everyone else packs up the coolers and blankets and lame tiki torches. Her pulse is starting to slow down but she still feels like there's helium in her chest. It's a good feeling.
"Andy what happened to you?" Kelly's voice rises out of the darkness. When Pam turns, cold lake water sloshing around her shins, she can see Andy, still in one of the sumo suits, at the very edge of the light from the fire.
"I fell--" Andy starts, sounding loud and strangled, before Michael cuts him off.
"God, Andy, you missed everything. We're not even doing wrestling anymore."
"Michael--" Andy starts.
"Just-- help Dwight put the leftover hot dogs on the bus," Michael says, and drops the armful of whatever he's carrying into Andy's puffy arms.
This seems like the kind of place where Pam should be able to see tons of stars, but there are just the same number as normal, thin and dim over the lake when she turns to look. Her feet really do hurt; she's not sure what you do for a hot coal foot burn.
She keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, to freak out, but she just feels light. All those things that were gnawing away at her, that she just said. It did suck that almost nobody came to her art show and after she told every single one of them about it, after they all said, "oh, yeah, maybe!" Saying it out loud helped, somehow. At least people know.
When she glances back again, she can see Jim and Karen up by the dying fire, standing close, his head down, her arms wrapped around herself. It seems like a really long time ago now since she felt happy around him instead of weird or awkward or... whatever. She doesn't know what he'll do now. Maybe he'll start talking to her like a normal person. Maybe he won't.
That's okay. She can't make him be her friend again, just like she couldn't make Roy be someone he wasn't, not back in February, not before; all she can control is herself. And she's doing that.
And she's all right. She's changing tires and putting together a portfolio and buying new coats and she's all right.
"Oookay," Michael yells out from somewhere up by the road. "Time to go. Everybody on the bus. Pam, we're leaving."
She takes her time. The sand stings her feet, and the cool air feels good on her face. She's the only person left on the beach when she stops by the coals to grab her shoes and socks. The coals are still glowing, and warm enough that she can feel them a few feet away. When they'd all been standing there, listening to Michael talk, she'd been glad for a minute that she wasn't one of the ones he was going to tell to walk on them, since of course she wasn't going to -- and then it occurred to her she could, if she wanted. There was no reason she couldn't. Why not?
And now her whole life she'll know that she did. It makes her smile all over again. It's been so long since she had a day where something happened.
She's the last one on the bus; from the corner of her eye she can see Ryan and Kevin giving her wary glances, as she walks past everyone.
This morning, Michael held her back when everyone else was shuffling on and told her she had to sit in the back so she could have the best vantage point for observation. ("Of what?" she said. "Things. People. Just do it, okay, Pam?" he said)
"Pamela," Andy had said, when she got on, "would you like to be my seat partner?" He was giving her his I'm-hopeful-but-only-a-normal-person-amount-not-hopeful-like-a-crazy-person look and the only other seat left was by Dwight, so she shrugged and sat.
Now she finds her own seat, in front of Andy, who looks damp and irritated.
"Goood day, everybody," Michael says from across the aisle. "Good beach day." The bus grumbles to life and they pull onto the road.
Michael falls asleep abruptly, head against the window, mouth hanging open. His cheeks are pink with sun. Everyone else slowly goes quiet. Pam can hear Kevin snoring up near the front of the bus.
She doesn't sleep. She rests her head against the glass and watches the headlights of cars flash by in the dark, eyes open the whole way home.