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“That’s the third time...” she thinks to herself as she reaches into her purse on the counter for the loose money that was reserved for tipping the delivery boy every week. A small chuckle left her, and she reached for a pen as well. Once the writing implement was in hand, she scribbled out a note on a nearby notepad.
“Looks like we have the same weekend routine. Glad to know there’s someone else out there with good taste, haha. If this is a weekly thing though, next time you can nix the olives.”
The note and the tip were handed to the delivery boy at the door with the instructions to give the note to the actual owner of the food. After another apology, he left.
The whole situation was rather amusing. Saturdays have always been spent the same way for her: one pizza that was enough for one, a new movie or show, a shower, then bed. But over the last few weeks, one thing has been different. Her food was always slightly different than she ordered it. Today was the day that she finally spoke up to the delivery boy who always seemed a little nervous. He was relatively new, and that might be the reason for the mix-up. Their addresses only differed by two numbers and a street name, and both of their orders were always the same aside from one thing. Sausage, pineapple, and lots of veggies were the norm, but hers never had olives. The other order did.
One note wouldn’t amount to much. It was one simple, amusing gesture to show she wasn’t upset by the continued mix up of their eerily similar order. The only thing that would upset her is the idea that someone could actually choose to consume olives.
___
The weekend came again, and the routine was the same again. However, this time their orders were correct. With a wide, victorious grin the delivery boy handed her the correct order. There was also a note on top of the box.
“Sorry again about this… I got you your right order this time though! No olives and breadsticks!” The boy beamed and continued, “Oh! And I delivered your note too. The guy was really confused, but he took it well. He wanted to return the gesture.”
He received his payment and left.
Once the boy was gone and the door to her apartment was closed again she settled in the kitchen with her food. She grabbed some napkins, took a large bite of a breadstick, then opened the note.
The lettering wasn’t neat, but it was legible (aside from a word or two here and there). The writer seemed to have a pretty steady hand with their words despite the words being just a few steps above an incomprehensible scrawl.
“I do apologize for the constant mess up of your food order. It is amusing that our routines are similar, though. I do wonder if you don’t like the olives or if it is just a personal preference to not have them.”
Three things were gathered from all of this. One, the recipient of her note was male. Two, he seemed to have a good sense of humor since he also found their situation amusing. Three, there was an opportunity for further correspondence.
The following week she gave the delivery boy her response in a neatly written letter, and just like before he handed her the food in exchange for the carefully folded piece of paper on which was written:
“Olives are abhorrent to me. I don’t see how anyone eats them. I had to pick them all off of the pizza that was meant for you. However, I am glad though that you found this whole situation amusing rather than an annoyance.
I didn’t expect a response either. Does this mean that we’re pizza pen pals? (You don’t have to answer that.) I wouldn’t be opposed to it though.”
____
Knock knock!
It was 5:00 which meant the pizza is here. She didn’t expect an actual response to her slightly selfish request. It wasn’t exactly an outright request, but she couldn’t help the hopefulness that she had in her heart that this mystery man would say yes to her “pizza pen pals” idea. Truthfully, she felt a longing for something else to look forward to. Despite living in a city where she was almost constantly surrounded by people, she often felt alone. There was a pang in her gut that told her no matter how many people she saw walking the streets or riding the trains they all had their own lives and couldn’t be bothered with hers. She had co-workers and a few acquaintances, but having any sort of relationship beyond that (romantic or otherwise) felt impossible. Often she thought of getting a cat, but would that really make her apartment feel less empty on these weekend nights? At least she had the pizza boy (who she recently learned was named Atsushi) she could count on seeing. Atsushi, she also learned, took the delivery boy job on the weekends to make extra money. She understood and always made sure to tip him handsomely when she could.
After scrambling off of her couch and away from her favorite movie she managed to make it to the front door where she was greeted with a familiar smile.
“Am I your food delivery boy or messenger boy?” Atsushi huffed with a small pout. There was no actual annoyance in his voice. Instead, he just looked adorable with the boxes in hand and the pout on his lips.
“Hmm, you’re both… Well, you’re both if this guy wants to keep writing.” Just as she spoke she noticed a familiar piece of stationary atop the food boxes.
“I don’t actually get to see too much of him when I deliver; he mostly stays inside. But, since this was handed to me I figure the answer to that is yes.” Atsushi saw very little of Poe when he arrived at his front door with his normal order of food. The most he saw was a figure looming from behind the door with his raccoon companion on his shoulder peeking out to see what was happening. The exchange was a little more awkward and a bit more uneasy for Atsushi who honestly had no idea how to approach any sort of conversation with the man. The most words that were spoken from Poe were “Thank you” before the front door shut with the only sound remaining of what Atsushi assumed was the raccoon jumping from his perch.
There was a small leap in her chest when she took the note. He wouldn’t have bothered to write if he didn’t want to keep this going… right? Maybe he did, and there was just a “No” written on it. She wouldn’t blame him. Keeping in contact with a total stranger this way was rather odd. Sure, people have been writing each other for centuries, but wouldn’t it make more sense to meet or even just to exchange a phone number? Even an email address would make more sense. Handwritten letters are personal, and most of the time just something to be forgotten anyway. Why would he take the time out of his day to physically write to someone he hadn’t even met?
Once again she paid Atsushi, and then he left.
She shut the door behind her and made her way to the couch. With her bottom lip between her teeth and an anxious feeling settling in her stomach, she set the boxes down then proceeded to open the letter.
“Pizza pen pals? Hmm, I like the alliteration. I don’t mind. It’s rather nice to have something to look forward to aside from just my usual reading or writing.
I suppose I do have to inquire as to if we’re going to share names or if this will remain anonymous. The anonymity could be nice, but it would also be nice to know to whom I could address these letters. From what our messenger said the only thing I can conclude is that you’re a woman of similar age to myself. Knowing that I shall leave it up to you.
Names aside, do you like books? My favorites are mystery novels. I always try to figure out the ending before I get there. I’ve always had an affinity for puzzles and challenges. It may be a weakness, but, I never like to leave a challenge unsolved. The harder the puzzle is to figure out, the more determined I get as to not be defeated. Do you like puzzles too?
Ah, I’ve rambled on about myself entirely too much. Please don’t feel pressured to share as much about yourself. Sometimes I just keep on until I’ve exhausted everything there is to say until there is nothing but silence.
Have a good week,
Edgar”
There it was. The worry she had crossed a line somewhere left, and now she has a name to go along with the words she found herself reading. Anonymity made sense in this case, but the opportunity to have another friend that she could write to was too great to not seize. Just being able to add one more thing to look forward to in her week was more than enough reason for her to give him her name. Besides, it’s just a first name right? There’s no harm in that. It wasn’t like she was handing him her entire life.
She breathed a contented sigh before decided to write back to him a little later when she could think of just the things to say. For now, she had her movie.
____
Another week passed, and it seemed that nothing particularly amazing happened. She went to work, came home, and went to bed. Every day the same mundane tasks. She didn’t dislike her receptionist job at a business nearby. It wasn’t hard, and the pay was decent. But, aside from the new chairs in the conference room, there wasn’t much to be excited about. The only thing that broke up the monotony was the pile of letters on her bedside table that she was starting to collect. There were only a few, but they were all from him. To someone else, there wasn’t anything in them to be particularly fond of, but she kept them because despite the odd circumstances she felt she made a friend. Now the only thing was to figure out what to write to him. He had asked a few questions that she most definitely could answer, but she feared he would find her boring soon.
Once home and settled on her bed she picked up her notebook and a pen off her bedside table where she kept his letters. After flipping to a blank page she began to write.
“ It’s okay to ramble about yourself. You seem interesting! And, I don’t mind sharing names. It might make this easier in the long run, right? I’m ____.
As for puzzles, I like them too! I think my weakness is that I get competitive. Though, that sounds similar to you as well. I hope we’re never in a battle of wits against each other. Even though I’m competitive I’m not very good at them, so I feel as if you might win.
As for books, I love to read!....”
She continued on about the books she enjoyed even though she only owned a few. However, those few she owned were very worn from much use. What she thought would be a hard letter to write turned out to be rather easy. She told him about some of the other things she enjoyed like the early months of spring and the sweets at the bakery near her apartment. She even told him of her favorite tea shop where they’ll give you a free cookie on Wednesdays if you buy one of their “signature” drinks. Writing to him was easy. The hard part was finding a point where she should stop. There was something relaxing and freeing about writing instead of having to deal with the face to face conversations that she always had to contribute to. When she wrote she didn’t have to fear of saying something she couldn’t take back or worry that she wasn’t articulating her thoughts well. On paper, she could rewrite as much as she wanted before anyone ever saw it. She wondered if that’s why people became writers.
Evening came. Atsushi the ever vigilant one did his normal Saturday evening routine of delivering food to them both and relaying letters. He even had the passing thought of how he should get a generous tip for the extra leg work.
____
Every Saturday became the same routine. The two would order food and write letters, Atsushi would deliver the food and letters, and each time it was as if a new found happiness could be seen in both of them. Atsushi saw more of Poe when he made his deliveries. The older man would actually greet him, and though their conversations were still short, Poe seemed less intimidating. When Atsushi would bring her the food and letters he could hear her running to the door. She’d bounce on her feet and tell him of her day and how she was eager for the newest letter (even though she would never admit that in her correspondence).
With each passing letter, the two became more comfortable sharing thoughts and ideas. They would exchange likes and dislikes, and as things would progress the length of them became longer. The longer they wrote to each other the longer the contents became. Small talk became sharing funny stories. Questions of interests became more personal, and even small quips became what could be perceived as more flirtatious.
The flirtatiousness started when Edgar became bolder after she admitted to him she enjoyed the idea of small, intimate outings with others where conversations could be heard without having to shout at one another. She preferred the quieter places where you could be in close proximity to one another and still feel comfortable. Something about that small confession made Edgar feel bolder and at ease with her. He wrote how he felt the same. He told her that his favorite place to be is reading and that reading with someone nearby (perhaps even her) wouldn’t be all that bad. And then, he signed the newest letter with “ Sincerely yours, Edgar”.
Three words were all it took to solidify the pining she began to feel after around the fifth letter. Was he saying this as a jest or was he also feeling the same longing to meet? “Sincerely yours” shouldn’t mean that much, and she quite possibly was reading too far into his words. But, she couldn’t help that this man she’s written so many letters to had become someone she longed to see and feel. He was eloquent and sincere. He made the most mundane sound enthralling. She was convinced he could tell her about getting the mail or dusting his bookshelves and it would be the most captivating thing she’s ever read. The only thing she could think of to do to help ease this newly found uneasiness was sign hers the same way.
“Sincerely yours…”
____
Saturday came again bearing a new letter.
“What was once a dull, weekend routine has become a highlight of my week. My week was rather mundane, but despite that, your letters have left me something to look forward to.
Did you notice the buds beginning to form on the trees? I saw them just yesterday while out, and I wondered if you had seen them. I wondered if you liked flowers and possibly which you’d enjoy. May I make an assumption? From your letters, you seem like you’re the type to enjoy the blossoms forming in spring. If I recall you mentioned something about eagerly waiting for the warmer temperatures? Possibly you enjoy watching the cherry blossoms bloom in the early spring with their soft, pink petals. Yes, I believe that suits you the best. In the spring after everything thaws, we should go to see them.
Is it a horrible confession to admit that I wonder if your cheeks ever turn the same shade of pink as the cherry blossoms? Maybe I have said too much.
Even if all of this is a horribly false assumption, you have to admit that the blossoms are pretty.
I’m not sure what has made me feel comfortable writing to you in this way, but I dare not question it. Instead, you may have my thoughts and my feelings. I hope you take enjoyment out of them as I do yours. I doubt I will ever take such comfort with anyone else.
The thought has crossed my mind that we should exchange addresses and use the postal system as it was intended, but isn’t it better to make sure our delivery boy always has a job?
Until I hear from you again I will think of you often.
Sincerely yours,
Edgar
P.S.
Keep the book. I hope you enjoy it. It’s one of my favorites. However, I do apologize for the worn binding. I’ve read it at least a dozen times. “
The end of the letter was marked with what appeared to be a smudged paw print of sorts in ink. She would inquire about that later.
Her face flushed as she read over his letter. Cherry blossoms in spring? Why was he right? Why is it that this man whom she’s never even seen can know her so well just through her letters. Was it because she’s a hopeless sap for the romantic, and she’s horribly predictable? What gave him the right to make such assumptions and be right? She huffed at being so easily read. It really didn’t help the circumstances that he included a gift this time.
The book was a mystery novel that had been well worn. The front cover had a torn corner, and the binding was bent. The pages were intact, but they obviously had been flipped through multiple times. She held it carefully in her hands as she thumbed through the pages and even brought it to her face long enough to smell the worn pages. It was an inviting smell, and it reminded her of old bookshops full of second-hand books just waiting to be read.
One gift deserved another. If he would give her his favorite she would do the same. When Atsushi came by again on Saturday she would make sure he gives her fantasy, adventure novel to Edgar. It may not be his forte, but it was still the thought that count, right?
_____
“I know fantasy isn’t your thing, but I thought I’d return the gesture. If I don’t understand something in the book you gave me you’ll explain it, right? I’m sure that you’ll make it more easily understood. Sometimes the wording in those things is so confusing. I really don’t know how you read that stuff all the time.
Can I make another confession? (It seems like that’s all that’s been our letters recently.) I smelled the book. I know that probably sounds weird, but I did. Books always have different smells, ya know? Textbooks smell different than new books, and new books smell different than old books. The one you gave me smelled like old books, and it reminded me of those days when I was little when I’d spend hours in the library only to beg my parents to let me stay a little longer. You said you have a large collection, yes? Could you make a library with all of yours? I bet your collection would make any book lover swoon. I’d have more, but small apartments mean limited space. I always did envy those large collections I’d see in movies and on tv. Maybe one day I’ll live in a space large enough to accommodate my own library.
Also, yes, I do love the cherry blossoms that come in the spring. As for the color of my cheeks, that’s a secret. Maybe I’ll tell you one day, or maybe I’ll just take that to my grave.
If you’re comparing me to cherry blossoms and thinking of me often does this mean I can admit that I thought of you when I went to get tea the other day? It was a black tea with a sweetness to it, and it had a slightly spicy taste too like chai. I figured if you were a tea that one would be you.
When I read your book I’ll be sure to get that tea so I can think of you even more.
Sincerely yours,....”
This was the letter that broke the delivery boy. Unable to stand it any longer, Atsushi read the newest letter that was left in his care. He didn’t know what he expected, but what he found was more endearing than he thought. Had all of the letters been like this? He grinned widely and knew he had to tell someone of this new found knowledge. He couldn’t tell them because then they would know he knew the contents of their letters. Instead, he called his co-worker once he was out of earshot of her apartment.
"Dazai... You’ll never guess what I found out.”
“Oh my god! You’re pregnant!”
“......no.”
“Oh, so I’m not going to be an uncle? Unfortunate.”
“Dazai, listen… You remember Poe right? He’s got a ‘love pen pal’ thing going on.”
“A what?! Wait, as in he’s writing sappy love notes to someone?”
“Yeah.. only they’ve never met.”
“Atushi, that’s so hopelessly romantic. We’ve got to get them to meet!”
Atsushi thought the same thing. Two people with the opportunity for love have to meet, but how is the question. Neither of them would agree to it outright, and he can’t admit that he read one of their letters.
“Atsushi, I have an idea. Ranpo is here. He can write a letter saying it’s from Poe to get them to meet.”
A whine from Ranpo is heard in an obvious protest followed by a distant “Poe would rather die than meet anyone face-to-face.”
Knowing that was fully true was what pushed the younger forward with the idea. “If you do this we will fully admit you’re the world’s greatest detective, and we’ll both buy you dinner.”
Only silence was heard on the phone for a long moment until the detective was heard in a serious tone, “I have a sample of his handwriting from when sent me antagonistic letters. Pick it up tomorrow, and make sure it’s delivered.”
Click.
The phone hung up, and Atsushi took a shaky breath hoping and praying with everything he had that this wouldn’t backfire.
______
Edogawa Ranpo swore on his life that the letter was foolproof. The only one that could maybe see through the ruse was Edgar, but even that was just a maybe .
Atsushi gulped and took in a deep breath before knocking on her door. He greeted her with his (hopefully) normal smile and the food boxes in hand along with the newly fabricated note. After she paid him, she shut the door leaving him in the hallway. Carefully he put his ear to her door in hopes of hearing some sort of response and praying that she actually read the note first thing.
“Thank you for the book. I’m quite enjoying it so far, actually. It isn’t what I normally pick up to read, but I like it. We should discuss our thoughts on each other’s selections. In person perhaps?
I hope I’m not being too bold to request that, but I would love to meet you. I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time, and I’ve realized that my heart longs for a face to put with my thoughts of you. We could even go to that teashop you spoke so fondly of. I’d love to taste the tea you said reminded you of me.
Come by when you get this? I’m sure you can accompany Atsushi when he makes his normal delivery here.
Sincerely yours,
Edgar”
A squeal was heard from her apartment, and Atsushi suddenly stood. He quickly made his way mostly down the hall before the door was flung open.
“Atsushi! Wait! Are you delivering to him next?!” She yelled after him slightly out of breath from the excitement.
“Uh, yeah?”
“Wait there! I’m coming with you! Just let me change!”
Luckily she hadn’t undone any of her makeup yet from earlier. All she had to do was change into something more appropriate than her loungewear and fix herself up a little.
A few moments later she met Atsushi in the hallway completely ready to go. She explained to him everything that happened, and he tried his best to act completely surprised by all of this. Mostly, he was surprised that the fake note worked.
____
Having Atsushi there was a comfort. If there was any chance this “Edgar” man was a creep she at least had a witness if he tried to murder her. Atsushi confirmed that Poe was mostly harmless. Edgar was a bit awkward and unsure about things sometimes, but he was a determined man with an endearing personality. All of this was a comfort to know.
She smoothed out her blouse as she shifted a little nervously. After giving her a comforting smile, Atsushi knocked on the door. They were greeted by someone other than the man to whom she had been writing. At the door stood a raccoon that Atsushi didn’t seem surprised by at all.
The raccoon chittered and looked behind the door to where his owner stood in fear. Both of them had seen her arrive with Atsushi, and both were rather taken aback as to why she came with him.
As if knowing the secrets to her desires were within the raccoon she stooped down to the fuzzy creature and spoke softly but formally.
“Hello there, sir. Atsushi said this is where Edgar lives. He sent me an invitation to meet him, and I couldn’t say no. Do you know where I can find him?”
While she spoke to the seemingly all-knowing animal Poe peaked his head out from behind the door.
“An invitation? What? Wait… Who - who are you?” There was a hesitancy in his voice that made her realize he had no idea what she looked like.
“The cherry blossoms will be blooming soon, and ‘ Possibly you enjoy watching the cherry blossoms bloom in the early spring with their soft, pink petals. Yes, I believe that suits you the best’.” She quoted his letter back to him, and when she was finished Poe emerged from behind the door with a dumbfounded look realizing who was standing in his doorway.
“I-... I didn’t realize…” The older man trailed off in his words as Karl his raccoon chittered again. “Oh, this is Karl…”, he continued.
Karl eagerly ran up to her and jumped onto her shoulder which made her giggle.
“Hello, Karl. I suppose this is the culprit of the smudge on my letter.” She gave him a pat. “Wait, did you not send me an invitation? Your last letter said to come… If I’m imposing I can go.”
“No!!” Poe quickly stood fully in front of her afraid she’d actually leave. As sudden as this was, and as unprepared as he felt, he truly didn’t want her to leave. If she left would she come back? “Please.. stay.”
This was the first time she was able to fully see the new object of her affections. He was taller than she pictured and timider in his actions. For someone so bold in their writing, she was a little surprised by the anxious man in front of her. It was endearing though. She stood and offered him a soft smile.
“Only if we can get tea at some point. I do wonder who wrote that letter though.”
Atsushi grinned a sheepish grin then interjected. “Sorry, that was me… I may have read one of your letters to Poe, and I couldn’t help it. Ranpo wrote it.”
Atsushi’s confession caused Poe to stiffen a bit. No doubt Ranpo was bribed. Nevertheless, Poe will find a way to not be indebted to the other detective. Owing Ranpo a favor was the worst scenario Edgar could think of.
Before either could add anything to the new information Atsushi left leaving them to themselves.
Poe shuffled a little still a little apprehensive at the whole situation until she took a step closer to him. With a hesitant hand, she carefully pushed a lock of shaggy hair from in front of his eyes. She grinned as he stood completely still.
”I’ll admit I didn't know fully what to expect, but I can't say I'm at all disappointed. You're as handsome as your words make you seem, and I should know. I've only read your letters every day since I received them.” Her cheeks flushed a little at her confession.
Edgar relaxed his stiff form and gave her a soft smile.
”Really? I read yours every day too. You are as pretty as your words make you seem too.” He chuckled as she continued to look him over and Karl climbed onto Edgar’s shoulder.
”I hope he likes me as well.”
”He does… Oh, and your cheeks really do match the cherry blossoms.”
She flushed again.