Short Story / The Undelivered Letters
Elise Peterson walked up the street to her house at 219 King St., stopped at the end of her sidewalk, and sighed. The winter’s first snowfall had arrived while she was at work, and a fluffy white rug now covered each step. It was unseasonably chilly for November, and she could feel a cold coming on. She glanced at the house of her former neighbors, the Smiths, across the street, two doors down. A thin ridge of snow clung to the top of the For Sale sign hanging in the front yard. A cheery yellow “SOLD” banner had been brightly emblazoned across it. Soon, she would have new neighbors.
It was almost a shame, she mused, to disturb this peaceful early winter scene, but soon she was by her door, leaving a single neat boot print in each of the steps behind her. Her suede-gloved hand swept snow off the mailbox before flipping it open and reaching inside. Four pieces of mail awaited her, and she browsed through them while standing there: a phone bill, a credit card application, a flyer from a new grocery store in the neighborhood. At the fourth piece, she stopped and frowned at the first two lines in the address:
Gary Clementis
219 King St.
Elise’s first thought was an obvious one: this must be a letter for a previous owner of her house. The house was not quite ancient, but often felt like it was. Its two stories were full of creaking floors, charming nooks and crannies, a couple of tiny, superfluous bathrooms and far too many doors. It was much too big for just her, it was drafty and expensive to heat, but she loved it just the same. Given its age, it presumably had many previous owners before it became hers. She rewound the years in her mind…how long had it been since she first moved here? Seven, eight, nine? Less than ten years, anyway. After all those years, mail for someone else was still arriving here? It struck her as very odd. The letter itself was unremarkable. The return address was a well-known life insurance company, so there was nothing strange about that.
The sun had nearly set as a cold breeze snapped Elise out of her thoughts. Realizing she was still standing out in the cold, she ducked inside, ending up in her kitchen, and shut the door behind her. She stepped out of her boots, hung up her coat and the mail ended up on the kitchen table.
The kitchen was Elise’s favorite room in the house. Western-facing windows allowed beautiful glimpses of summer sunsets, an angled counter formed a cozy breakfast nook, and there was plenty of cupboard space and handy kitchen gadgets all around. She couldn’t help but feel a bit bad at how she’d been neglecting it; eating too many greasy lunches in the university’s cafeteria, and just microwaving snacks after work. As soon as Elise opened the refrigerator, the soft thumping of footsteps, barely audible, approached from the hallway.
“Hi Scythie,” she said, pausing to bend over and run her fingers through the cat’s lush, grey fur. After a bit of poking around in the refrigerator, she emerged with a can of cat food for Scythia, and the rest of last night’s salad for herself.
It wasn’t until later, as she sat at her desk in the upstairs study, that Elise got around to looking at her mail again. No more credit cards, she had already decided. The long distance charges weren’t bad this month, just calls to her mom and sister who lived out west, and down south. The new grocery store had a few tempting items on sale, but it still seemed a bit on the pricey side. Filing these items away in her desk or the recycling bin, she returned to the odd fourth letter. She still hadn’t quite decided what to do with it. She could throw it away – how inconsiderate that would be. She could call the post office, and ask them what to do with it. Or, she mused; she could open it. The last option was certainly tempting, in a naughty sort of way, but since it was just from an insurance company, she concluded it would be dull anyway. Finally, she picked up a red pen off the desk, wrote “moved – return to sender” on it, and leaned back in her chair, content to have settled the matter. She’d drop it in a mailbox tomorrow. Surely this was all that could be expected of her. For now, she had to prepare for tomorrow’s first class – Greek and Roman society – and spent the rest of the evening looking over her lecture notes.
Elise woke with a start around two o’clock in the morning. Sitting up in bed, she could feel her heart racing. The bedroom was quiet. Scarcely any moonlight entered through the window. She looked around for Scythia, and found him curled up on his pillow, nearby on the floor, dozing contentedly. Puzzled, Elise stepped over to the window and looked out. She could see little in the dark, besides the tall, shadowy forms of her neighbors’ houses nearby. Large, fluffy flakes of snow were falling again. The room, the house, the neighborhood – it all seemed so peaceful. What was she doing awake in the middle of the night?
Then she remembered what had awakened her. She had been dreaming. In her dream, Elise had been sitting on her living room floor, with a huge bag of mail next to her. Every letter she pulled out of the bag had someone else’s name on it. None of them were for her. She continued pulling the letters from the bag, but the bag seemed to have no bottom. Soon, letters surrounded her; her whole living room was filled with them. Just as it seemed they were about to smother her, Elise finally woke up. Thinking about the dream again made her feel a little better, and a little worse. Going over the details of it in her mind again disturbed her, but now that she knew what woke her, she could put it out of her mind and forget about it.
But steady sleep eluded Elise for the rest of the night. At most, she slept for half an hour, after which something always seemed to disturb her. The air was dry, she felt itchy. The sheets were too wrinkled. At one point, she got up and completely re-made the bed. Around 4 AM, Scythia walked on top of her and poked one of his paws into the skin between her ribcage and her hip, which was rather painful. Elise picked up the cat and abruptly dumped him back on the floor, surprised at how angry she felt.
At 6 AM, her alarm went off, as it did every day. She reached over to the nightstand, smacked the clock with her hand and the alarm stopped. Usually Elise loved getting up early, savoring that fresh, peaceful feeling before the day really gets started. This morning, she barely felt like getting out of bed. She sat on the edge of her bed for quite a while, stretching and trying to work the kinks out of her stiff neck. Scythia rubbed up against the calf of her leg, and his luxurious fur reminded her of how pleasant it would be to snuggle back under a thick, fleece blanket.
Gradually, Elise forced herself up and wandered through the dark upstairs hallway in her nightgown. In the bathroom, she turned the light on, wincing, then splashed some cold water on her face. Staring into the familiar mirror, she ran her fingers through her hair, scrutinizing it carefully for greys. It was still enviable, she decided: fine, soft and naturally pale blonde…although how long it would take for pale blonde to turn pale silver, she wasn’t quite sure. Elise studied the corners of her lips and eyes. Was she smiling too much, or too little? Her face had character, she decided. But was “character” a euphemism for “aged?”
She headed downstairs, old, familiar stairs creaking under even her modest weight. In the kitchen, she sat at the angled breakfast counter, picked up the phone and started to dial. Then she hung it up again. She looked at her wrist – realized she forgot to put on her watch. The microwave’s clock said 6:34. Would David even be awake? She decided to take a chance, and dialed again.
“David?”
His voice was a little groggy. “Elise, dear. When we first started dating, I thought I made it clear that only one of us was a morning person?”
“Yes, but I keep forgetting which one. I’m sorry, I … well, I couldn’t sleep.”
“I slept wonderfully. So, I guess you called to make me feel guilty about that? You had to punish me for it by waking me up early?”
“No, I…” she began to protest, then realized she was being teased. “Stop that,” she said, forcing an awkward little laugh out of herself.
David sat up in bed, reaching for the light switch with his cell phone neatly pinned between his ear and shoulder. “So what’s on your mind?”
“Well, I had trouble sleeping.”
“Thanks for reminding me, although the fact that I’m awake is enough of a reminder,” he said lightly, adding a yawn for effect. In spite of the hour, his voice was still good-natured. “Any idea why?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had insomnia since I was a child. I hate to think of going through that again.”
“It’s probably best then,” he went on, “if you don’t think about it.”
“I know, I know, thinking about it only makes it worse!”
“Drink some warm milk tonight, go to bed early. And if that doesn’t work…well, you could always invite me over.”
“Oh could I? Well, I’ll keep that in mind.” It certainly wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, having David living with her in her “cavernous mansion,” as he called it, wasn’t an unappealing thought either. But he preferred his pricey little condo by the lakefront. Elise looked at the clock again.
“David I should really get going. I still have to get ready.”
“Great, and me with an extra hour to kill before going to work. First you wake me up, then you won’t even keep me entertained.”
“I’m sorry! I’ll make it up to you.” She paused and smiled, picturing him lying in bed, listening to her. “I love you best,” she added.
“And I love you worst.”
Elise put down the phone, went back upstairs, undressed and stepped into a hot shower. As the water ran down her skin, her mind seemed to clear, and her memories of the night began to wash away.
Elise was on stage – the classroom, her stage – giving the lecture, that was how she felt. It was a feeling she enjoyed. Had she not become a professor, her second choice would have been acting. No matter how rushed, no matter how unprepared she felt when the students piled in, she never let it show. In front of her students, Elise’s brilliance was unwavering. It had to be. She relished the challenge of keeping them interested. She loved the feeling that she was giving her own personal twist to facts and figures, people and places from so many centuries ago. She could punctuate the driest material with an unexpected glimmer of humor. Her students – most of them, anyway – adored her. She was quite sure of that.
It was a bit of a façade, this brilliance, this confidence – and one that had been particularly difficult to maintain this morning. As the students filed out, talking loudly amongst them, clattering clipboards and papers, Elise studied them carefully. Could they tell she wasn’t at her best? She would’ve liked to take one of them aside, ask her, “What did you think of the lecture?” But she knew this would result in nothing more than a baffled look, and an awkward response. Was she really that needy? No. But just once, it would’ve been nice to know what they were thinking.
Her other classes passed uneventfully, if not quite effortlessly. Elise had been tired all through the day, but there was something else on her mind. She felt distracted, like she couldn’t quite focus on something that was right in front of her. She didn’t realize what, exactly, was on her mind, until she was standing in front of her door again, at the end of the day.
Elise reached into her pocket to take out her keys, and felt something else. It was the letter – the letter that wasn’t hers. She had forgotten to drop it off in the mailbox.
“Oh damn,” she said quietly. She was annoyed with herself. It was so unlike her to be forgetful, or inconsiderate. Elise reached into the mailbox, withdrew the mail and stepped into her kitchen without looking at it. Still wearing her coat, she leaned back against the counter and sighed. Tired, she thought. I’m just tired. She stood there for a moment, trying to relax, listening to herself breathe and running trivial thoughts through her mind: what was there to eat, what was the cat doing? Finally, when she started to feel a bit too warm, Elise hung up her coat, and headed to the living room. Resolving to relax and get some rest, she stretched out on the couch, turned on the TV and browsed some of last week’s newspapers she hadn’t looked at yet.
There had been a murder last week. It was front-page news. Crime wasn’t a concern of Elise’s though. Her neighborhood was slightly remote, but at the same time, it was quite peaceful. The murder had taken place comfortably far away. Not much happened here, and she preferred it that way. The other headlines weren’t too appealing, but she read a little of everything anyway. After about an hour, she tossed the papers into a pile on the floor, turned the TV’s volume down, turned her face to the pillow, and drifted off.
When Elise woke, she had no idea how long she had slept or why she was sleeping on the couch. She massaged her temples slowly, somewhat rested but a little groggy. Elise bolted to a sitting position. She could hear the kitchen door moving.
She got up, quickly at first, but then rethought her actions. She decided to move as quietly as possible; if there was an intruder, it would be best if she could remain unnoticed for a while and get to the phone. Elise made it to the kitchen doorway, leaned through it, staying close to the wall, and tried to peek over at the door leading out of the kitchen. Then she sighed in relief.
Scythia stood pawing at the screen door, standing between it and the main wooden door. The door swung back and forth as his fluffy tail brushed against it. Elise walked briskly over to gather up her pet. Holding him in her arms, she petted him affectionately, as much for her pleasure as for his. Then a thought struck her: she hadn’t locked the door, as she usually would have. She hadn’t even closed it. What if someone else had come in?
She slammed the wooden door shut, locked it and then dead bolted it too. She went through the whole house, turning on lights as she went, first down into the basement, then through the entire main floor, then finally upstairs. She looked through four bedrooms, two large bathrooms, two half-bathrooms, the cold storage, the empty basement rec room, the dining room, nearly a dozen different closets and several dark nooks and crannies. She was definitely alone.
Elise gathered up Scythia again and returned to the living room. This time she flopped down in the huge recliner her mother had given her, years ago. She usually avoided it in favor of the couch; it was so large and plump and saggy it nearly swallowed her up. But she wasn’t feeling much like herself today anyway. Elise made herself comfortable, and tried to pinpoint the exact moment when she had turned into this complete nervous wreck.
Napping had left her a little less tired, and a little more hungry. With her faithful feline in tow, she headed back to the kitchen, where she opened some canned soup and picked up a banana from the bowl where they were ripening by the window. While waiting for the stove to heat up, Elise glanced at the table.
With an almost imperceptible shiver of trepidation, Elise realized she hadn’t yet looked at the day’s mail. She picked it up and sat down on one of the stools by the breakfast counter. There were two letters today, but only one of them was for her. She looked at the second letter.
Gary Clementis
219 King St.
Elise found this letter both more annoying, and more intriguing than the last one. The envelope was a very light cream color, soft, with a woven texture. It reminded her of cloth more so than paper. The addressing was more appealing also. It was written with a very fine, black pen, not an ordinary ballpoint. Written by hand, the script was elegant and distinctly feminine. Holding the letter in both hands, Elise raised it up to her nose and sniffed it. It smelled quite wonderful; sweet and slightly like cinnamon. Next, she read the return address.
Elizabeth Patterson
1024 Bloor St.
Toronto ON
Elise Peterson – Elizabeth Patterson. The woman’s name – whoever she was – was curiously similar to her own.
Elise took the soup off the stove, ladled some into a bowl. She sipped a little and burned the inside of her mouth. She put the spoon down, and picked up the letter again. She held it in both hands, studying it closely. Elise wanted to open it.
Wasn’t there some trick for this? Some method involving steam for opening letters? She had never tried it. She moved the pot of soup back onto the stove, turned the heat all the way up. Soon it was boiling again, and she held the letter over it.
Five minutes later, still holding the letter – now quite limp and damp, yet still stubbornly sealed – Elise felt ridiculous. She was disappointed with herself, disappointed that she had given in to temptation. But partly – or was it mostly? – disappointed because she hadn’t gotten the letter open. Her next thought was to head upstairs to her study, where a letter opener would be waiting on the desk. She could slice it open; find out just what exactly was inside it, and then…what? She could transfer it to a new envelope. She could substitute a typed address for the gorgeous – she had to admit that it was gorgeous – handwritten version. But the thought of sacrificing that beautiful envelope was disagreeable, to say the least. With a resigned sigh, she tossed it back down on the table and looked at her own boring letter. It was one of her monthly credit card bills. She tore it open unceremoniously, eyed the boxes marked “total balance”, “interest” – that one mercifully showed $0.00 – and “payment due date”. Then she tossed it aside as well.
Elise ate a little more soup, then wandered over to the kitchen closet. Inside, there was a mop, a broom, a bucket, and various boxes on shelves full of recyclables. She found what she was looking for: a small, cardboard box. Before returning to the table, she looked through her coat pockets until she found Gary’s letter of yesterday. She took the box and the letter back to the table, and then tossed both letters inside. She didn’t write, “return to sender” on the second one. She wasn’t going to. Elise was going to find out what was going on. And in the meantime, she had started a little file for Gary.
Today was only Tuesday, and that was comforting. For reasons unknown to Elise, most of the mail tended to arrive on Monday or Tuesday, then it tapered off toward the end of the week. Usually there was none at all on Friday. Hopefully she had seen the last of Gary’s mail, at least for a while.
After spending the evening tidying up the kitchen, reading and preparing notes for tomorrow, Elise remembered David’s advice and headed back to the kitchen for some milk. She microwaved it for a while and sat at the table, sipping it slowly, looking out the window. The sunset tonight was surprisingly pink and soothing, for winter. She started to think of David, sitting in his little place, watching the lake, while she sat in her huge house, watching the sunset. It seemed strange to her that the two of them were so far apart. Why were they only together on weekends, when they could be falling asleep together, and eating breakfast together every day?
Thoughts like these wafted through her mind, until Elise felt sleepy enough to head upstairs to bed.
*
Elise was sitting up in bed, in the middle of the night, with an awful cramp in her stomach. Exactly how old was that milk she drank? She resolved to make grocery shopping a higher priority. She rummaged through the nightstand drawer in the dark, looking for something to take. She found a bottle of some kind of pills, anti-nausea or something. She couldn’t quite see it, but knew that she only kept harmless things next to the bed. Eventually – it was one of those irritating child-resistant bottles – she got it open and swallowed one of whatever was inside.
Soon, Elise was dreaming again. She was walking through her neighborhood. It was snowing again, still snowing, relentlessly. Thick, soft white flakes were all around her. She was catching a few on her tongue, but they tasted terrible, bitter. Elise was walking towards her house. She kept walking and walking, but no matter how far she walked, she never seemed to come to her house. She couldn’t see it anywhere. The same houses kept reappearing, over and over. She looked at the houses more closely, trying to find a number. Then she would know how far she had to keep walking to get to her house. But none of the houses had numbers on them. She would ask someone, anyone. She picked a house at random, walked up to the door, and knocked. She would ask them where her house had gone. An old man answered the door.
Elise screamed. His face was upside down.
Elise was sitting up in bed, shaking. She held her face in her hands and could feel sweat on her forehead. The bedroom seemed so huge, so dark.
Elise remembered something about dreams. She remembered reading that a person would only remember a dream if he or she wakes up in the middle, or at the end of it. She was wishing she had slept through this dream. She was wishing desperately that she could sleep through the night. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes.
Elise couldn’t stay in the room. She got out of bed, put on her slippers and housecoat, and walked out into the hall. As soon as she moved, Scythia scurried out of the darkness. He had been laying under the bed, for some reason. She gathered him up in her arms, then went back to the bedroom and pulled a thick comforter off the bed. With the cat curled up in her arm and the blanket dragging behind her, she went downstairs to the living room.
Elise curled up in her mother’s huge recliner with her cat in her lap. Then she pulled the blanket on top of them, and stayed there for the rest of the night.
*
Elise awoke with questions running through her mind. Why was she sleeping in the recliner? Why was so much light coming in through the living room windows? Usually it was dark when she woke. She tossed the blanket off. Scythia was long gone.
Elise had a bad feeling. She squinted at the clock on the VCR. It was 7:35. She had twenty minutes to get to her 8 AM class. For a moment, she couldn’t feel anything except her own mouth dropping open.
Elise darted upstairs. She didn’t eat, she didn’t shower. She looked in the mirror – once. She got dressed faster than she would’ve thought possible. Than she raced out the front door, in a hurry to give what she felt would be the worst lecture of her career.
All things considered, the rest of the week wasn’t nearly as bad as it might have been. Elise did make it through Wednesday morning, giving a lecture that, while not disastrous, certainly came across as uninspired, and perhaps a bit rushed. Undoubtedly, her students noticed something although, of course, none would ever express that to her. By lunchtime, she was reflecting on how her students could be counted on to never know how she was feeling. As this curious week drew to a close, she was certain that no one could be counted on to know.
Though they were mercifully uneventful, Elise was wrong about one detail of the last few days of the week. While her own mail trickled to nothing, as it usually did, the mail for Gary did not. By Friday afternoon, she had accumulated a small pile of it. There was even a parcel for him amidst the other letters; a small, unremarkable box wrapped in brown paper. She found herself wishing it had shipped from a country outside Canada – at least then the customs declaration would have given her a clue to its contents. She kept “Gary’s Mailbox” in a corner of her kitchen: out of sight, but not necessarily out of mind. Whenever her mood turned a bit dark, she thought of cruel things she could do to his mail: tearing it open, burning it, dropping it in the toilet. Thinking these strange thoughts had an almost therapeutic effect on Elise.
Seeing David tonight – a date with him was implied every Friday night – would be a pleasant distraction. But before he arrived, there was something she needed to do. She had grown tired of doing nothing, and resolved to finally take some action. Soon, she was on the phone with a young, female customer service representative at Canada Post.
“I’ve been getting mail that I don’t want.”
“You mean, unsolicited advertising materials?”
“No, not junk mail. I mean, mail that isn’t for me. Mail with someone else’s name on it.” Elise hadn’t really considered beforehand how she was going to explain her situation.
“That could be mail for someone who used to live at your address.”
“Yes, but I’ve lived here for almost ten years, and the mail for this person just started arriving now.”
“In that case, someone has probably changed their mailing address so that it goes to your address.”
“But how can they do that? Don’t they need my…permission…or something?” She didn’t realize quite how ridiculous it sounded until after she had said it.
“We have no means to confirm whether or not someone actually lives at the address that they’re using for their mail.”
“So, are you saying that I could just have my mail sent to anyone else’s address?” It seemed like such a strange way of harassing a person.
“Yes…but why would you want to?”
Why indeed? Elise thanked her and hung up the phone. Why would Gary want his mail sent to Elise’s address?
Once again, she tried to dismiss these thoughts from her mind. David would be here soon enough, and she needed to get ready. She hadn’t quite decided what, if anything, to tell him about the curious mail.
The phone rang while Elise was on her way back upstairs. David’s smooth, familiar voice greeted her.
“So where are we going tonight?” she asked.
“Hm, I don’t know, Paradise?”
“Oh. Okay.” Paradise was an Italian place they used to frequent when they started dating. But why did they always go to the same old restaurants now?
“Are you alright? You sound so tired.”
“Yes, fine. I’m just glad the week’s over.”
“Pick you up at seven then?”
“Sure.” She hung up the phone and headed back upstairs.
What to wear? Too cold for a skirt. Suits of any kind were out, nothing that reminded her of work. Jeans, possibly. The trick was finding a pair that wasn’t too tight, or too loose. She knew at least one pair met these criteria, and Elise dug through her closet to find them.
She tossed the jeans onto the bed, then returned to her search for something to go with them. Maybe a sweater? No turtlenecks though, not unless she wanted to feel old. She pulled out one with a V-neck, wine-coloured. A bit chilly, though. She could wear a scarf.
She dressed slowly, methodically, watching herself in the full-length mirror standing in the corner. Elise didn’t consider herself vain. This was what she needed. Not clothing, no, but just to do something by herself, for herself. So much of what she did was for someone else: her students, her colleagues, David, even her cat. And now, just the simple act of watching herself in the mirror was curiously reassuring.
She finished dressing and stretched out on the bed. It was a comfortable outfit, she felt like curling up and taking a nap in it.
Elise heard the doorbell ring, faintly, downstairs. Was the door unlocked? David would be standing outside in the cold. She hurried downstairs.
David looked as precise as he always did. It was more than just neatness, he had a certain flawlessness; crisp was the word Elise would use. He had a beautiful profile, sharp like an etching in glass. Yet there was a certain coldness to him as well. Elise always found herself searching him for imperfections, as if a few unshaved whiskers or a loose thread on his coat would somehow make him warmer, and more human.
He was never much for small talk, and in the moment before he smiled, leaned in and kissed her, Elise took in his outfit. David had the curious habit of adding a small splash of bright colour to an otherwise neutral arrangement. This time, a lemon yellow shirt collar peeked out from under a charcoal sweater. Elise reasoned that this might be an attempt at whimsy, but invariably, it just wasn’t him. His long, black leather coat and navy blue slacks needed more than a lemon shirt collar to soften them.
“Ready to go ‘lise?” he said, when their lips parted. He said it like the word “please,” without the “p”.
She smiled. “Let me get my coat.”
It was a cold evening, but refreshing in a way. They drove to the restaurant mostly in silence. As usual, David had made a reservation – unnecessary, as it was a quiet night. They had a table in the corner, by the window, as they often did. Paradise was slightly expensive, and no longer considered trendy, so business was poor. This semi-exclusivity appealed to Elise when they first started coming here. Now it seemed tired, lonely and even a little sad.
What to order? The lasagna was a bit salty, the ravioli a little rubbery. Pasta in general seemed to be losing its appeal. Though she didn’t need to lose weight, the low-carb craze seemed to be seeping into her subconscious. Maybe she could get a salad.
David did order the lasagna. He seemed to like salty things in general; was he headed for heart disease? Elise ordered absent-mindedly, a spinach chicken salad.
“What’s on your mind?” David asked.
“What?” she replied.
“You’re so quiet tonight.”
“Oh.” Elise then realized she had said almost nothing since David had arrived at her house. “Well, I suppose there is something on my mind.”
“Did you want to tell me about it?”
“It’s nothing really.”
“Maybe you’d feel better.”
Elise thought for a moment about how to begin.
“I’ve just been getting mail that I don’t want.”
He looked a little confused. “You mean junk mail?”
“No, I mean, mail for someone else.” The immediate similarity to her earlier conversation with Canada Post was instantly annoying.
“Who?”
“It has my address on it, but it has a man’s name.”
“Oh. I see. I get that all the time. I get mail for the guy who lived there before me.”
“I know, but that’s different. You live in a condo.”
“Why is it different?”
“Because…you’ve…well, I’ve lived in my house for…years.”
“I’ve lived in my place for years too.”
Elise stopped. Was this really so hard to explain? Patiently, she said, “But this just started happening.”
“I see. Maybe you could just return it to sender?”
Elise nodded. “I thought of that, but…”
“But?”
She looked up, looked David in his eyes. For some reason, she had been avoiding his gaze. She felt slightly ridiculous. And she didn’t know how to answer him.
But what? But I’m intrigued. But I want answers. That was what she wanted to say. What she actually said was, “I don’t know.”
“You could call Canada Post and ask them what to do with it.”
Elise sighed. “I could,” she said.
David smiled at her. Good naturedly, or just patiently? She couldn’t quite tell. “Doesn’t sound too serious, in any case.”
“Well, there’s a little more.”
“Oh.” He sounded genuinely interested now.
“I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”
“Ah yes. You told me that. Did you try drinking some milk?” He seemed dismissive to her. “So what’s on your mind? Work, students?”
Elise looked around the nearly deserted restaurant. There were a few occupied tables. One couple, older than Elise and David, sat eating slowly and contentedly. Three women were at another table, talking, laughing and acting silly. For a brief, yet distinctly odd moment, she found herself wishing she were one of them.
“No,” Elise began again. She picked up a napkin and folded it slowly between her fingers, noticing her neglected nails. “It’s not work. It’s the mail.” David frowned slightly, but she continued anyway. “I’ve been having nightmares about it.”
David looked at her, fingers covering his mouth. Then he took them away to speak. “So you mean to tell me…” he paused. “You’ve been getting some strange man’s mail…and now you’re having nightmares about it…and you can’t sleep?”
Elise blushed and nodded. “Elise,” David opened his eyes wide, and let his mouth hang limply open. “You’re going insane!”
She giggled. “Alright, alright. I know it’s silly. Stop teasing me.”
Alone in her home, it hadn’t seemed silly at all. But here with David, it suddenly did, and she was grateful for the way he had trivialized her torment. He smiled, picked up her hand in his and, without really holding it completely, ran his thumb lightly over the tips of her fingers. It was an affectionate gesture, one that she enjoyed. Looking in his eyes for the moment, Elise wondered now if she had simply been spending too much time alone.
David did not ask about the details of the nightmares. Elise guessed that maybe he realized it would be better not to ask her to relive the details of something that troubled her. Either that, or he had already lost interest.
“Did you want to talk about something else now?” he asked.
“Yes.” And they did.
The evening passed in a comfortable, familiar way. They shared a dessert, sipped coffee and eventually wandered back out into the chilly evening.
In David’s car, Elise reached over suddenly and squeezed the back of David’s thigh. “Why don’t we go back to my place?” she said softly. It was an experiment, of sorts.
“Oh…ah…” he began.
“Never mind,” she said, sensing his response. It was strange seeing him caught off guard like that, and even a little disturbing. They never did spend any nights at her house. But she didn’t know exactly why.
Soon they were back at David’s place. It could have been any Friday night. The building was quiet; the lobby deserted. In the inner-mirrored walls of the elevator, the image of David and Elise repeated itself indefinitely.
Keys jingled, David unlocked the door and they stepped inside. Elise had to admit, it was beautiful. Even with each successive visit, David’s condo still made an impression on her.
It was all open space. The kitchen was surprisingly big, and had no walls to speak of, allowing an uninterrupted view into the slightly sunken living and dining area. The balcony doors were massive, making for spectacular views of the nearby waterfront. In one corner, and adorable little staircase wound its way up to the second floor bedroom. David had explained to her, more than once, how challenging the place was from a design perspective. Not that he had designed it himself, but being an architect, he apparently wished he had.
Sometimes the bachelor elements annoyed Elise. The monstrous leather sofa was hardly subtle, the TV and stereo were huge and annoyingly modern, while the kitchen had far too much chrome. In some ways, the place was the opposite of Elise’s home. David had bright, open areas; Elise had dark, winding hallways. David had glass, chrome and marble. Elise had creaky hardwood floors and ancient Victorian paneling.
She peeled off her coat, kicked off her boots and flopped down across the loveseat. Elise had given it to David as a gift, and as such, it was the only piece of furniture that looked completely out of place. She knew better than to try to give this bachelor’s paradise her “woman’s touch.” But David still needed something to remind him of her.
David was in the kitchen, pouring wine, while she stared out at the dark water. A few more weeks, and it would be frozen solid. Only the kitchen light was on, leaving the apartment bathed in murky blue shadows while moonlight glistened off the water outside.
He came in to join her, handing her a glass and easing himself into the loveseat with her. Elise slipped her legs down off the armrest, and stretched them out across his lap.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked her.
“Nothing.” And it was an honest answer.
They sat together, saying nothing, doing nothing, letting the seconds pass. At that moment, she felt very close to David. Doing nothing wasn’t something you could do with someone you weren’t close to.
Elise sat up, curling to meet him. She parted her lips and kissed David on his neck. He tilted his face down, into her hair.
“So,” he said. “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight?”
Elise leaned back, lifted her arms and slipped off her sweater. Her hand went to the front closure of her bra, which she snapped open, leaving it dangling in two halves.
“We don’t really have to sleep, do we?”
David shook his head. He slipped his arm under her knees, curled his other arm under her back, then carried her up the stairs.
*
She could never quite get used to all the sunlight in the morning.
Elise rolled out of bed. The bedroom window was curtained off, but the light was still pouring in. She walked over to it, looked out, and felt a chill as she watched the November morning begin to unfold. Seeing her clothes on the floor from last night made her aware of her nakedness, and she started the search for something fresh to put on.
David always joked that 25% of his closet space was hers. She dug through the bedroom closet to see if that was still true. Usually she brought something with her the night before, but in her sleep-deprived state, she had forgotten.
A lot of the clothes here hadn’t been worn in a long time – by either of them. That wasn’t a surprise, but something else was. As she moved things around, a fragrance wafted out. Perfume? But – she reached for the questionable garment, tucked away at the back: David’s sport jacket.
She paused for just an instant, and then searched the pockets. Her fingers closed around something – a lacy undergarment, and a wrinkled piece of paper.
Elise felt nauseous. Her stomach felt empty, hollow. Suddenly dizzy, she leaned back against the closet door.
Everyone has something they don’t want anyone else to know. Whose words were these? It took her a moment to remember: her mother’s.
Elise stood there, trying to calm her pounding heart. Then she gave in to her anger, and jerked the two items from David’s jacket. The first was a tiny pair of panties; the second was a folded-up note, seemingly saturated with the offending fragrance. She unfolded it, and read the words that were written in her own handwriting:
“There’s only one thing you need to do when I see you tonight: Me.
-The Naughty Professor”
Elise sat down on the corner of David’s bed and felt her eyes fill up with tears. How many seconds had it taken for her to think the worst about him? If she didn’t trust him yet, when would she?
She stared at the note and the flimsy piece of lingerie. Was that really her? How long ago was it that she had been so uninhibited? She didn’t remember any of it. She couldn’t possibly be getting that old.
Elise pulled herself together. She jammed the note and its unmentionable accessory back into the jacket, wiped her eyes, and pulled on an old flannel robe. Her toes were freezing and she slipped last night’s socks back on. Then she went downstairs to find David.
“How do you wake up looking so beautiful?” he was trying to make waffles, of all things. His kitchen seemed to contain many superfluous appliances.
“You’re just saying that because you got lucky last night.”
“Some men are born with luck. Others make their own.”
“The only thing you’re lucky about is that I have poor taste in men.”
“Yeah that must be it,” he said, giving up early. “How do you like your waffles: soggy or burned?”
“I don’t really care, just have some coffee ready when I get out of the shower.”
In the shower, she couldn’t help noticing again the stark contrast in their homes. David’s shower was beautiful; the walls and tub were all one smooth, ivory-coloured seamless piece. Meanwhile, Elise still had an antiquated claw foot bathtub.
She felt wonderful this morning. It was so relaxing here, and relaxed wasn’t something she had felt all week. No nightmares last night, she had slept wonderfully, although being exhausted had probably helped.
She had taken it for granted that she and David would always be together. She hadn’t realized before how much of a comfort he was. But after this last week, she felt she really needed him.
He wasn’t the least bit domestic, so it came as a surprise to Elise when she emerged from the bathroom to see David setting the table. There was coffee, a bowl of fruit, orange juice, and yes, even a few successfully finished waffles.
“Why do they call it a waffle ‘iron’ anyway? It’s not like I’m trying to take the wrinkles out of them,” David said nonchalantly, being silly for the sake of it.
She sat down, sipped some black coffee and poured syrup. “What’s gotten into you?” she wondered aloud.
“I don’t know. I felt like getting up early.”
“Not that I’m complaining.” They sat and ate together, soaking up an unusually sunny November morning.
“I think the snow might be melting a bit,” he mused.
Elise nodded, but something else was on her mind. After the first cup of coffee, she finally said it.
“David, why aren’t we living together?”
“What do you mean?” he looked so serious. It was a bit frightening.
“I mean,” she smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “You live here…and I live…downtown. We live separately. That’s the opposite of together.”
“Yeah. I get it.” He looked so unhappy.
“So, why is that?” She wasn’t ready to quit, although he might have been.
“Because,” he started. “I like it here. And you like it there.”
“But,” she went on. “Wouldn’t we like it better together?”
“I guess so,” he said quietly.
She got up, walked around, leaned against the furniture. She moved her hands as she spoke, like in one of her lectures.
“I’d like to wake up next to you every morning. I like…this.”
David was looking unhappily down at the table. She went on.
“We only see each other once a week.”
“We spend all weekend – every weekend – together.”
“And that’s all you want?”
“We’re both busy people. We’ve got our careers.”
Elise couldn’t believe it. Suddenly, she was furious. “Busy!? God, David, is that the best you can do? You’re busy, I’m busy – everyone’s busy!” She wanted an answer now. She had to know why he needed this space between them. “Are you seeing someone else?”
David was stunned. “Where did that come from?”
She didn’t answer. She was thinking about the note in his jacket pocket and how it had made her feel. The note she herself had written. Who was she jealous of, herself? Herself, a few years earlier?
“No,” he said, when she didn’t respond. “No, I’m not seeing anyone else. I’ve never even thought about it. Not since the first day I saw you. After that, all I could think about was how I could get to be with you.” He looked distinctly sad, and even a little hurt. It was a look that seemed so out of place on his crisp face.
“I’m sorry I said it.” She had to keep looking away from him. She couldn’t let him see her face.
“You’re upset.” That was all he said.
“How long has it been?”
“What?”
“How long have you been with me?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
“It’s been four years David. That’s one tenth of my entire life. Most people would be married by now.”
“You said you didn’t care about marriage!”
“I don’t.” At least, Elise didn’t think she did. “But I would like us to live together.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“I don’t understand.” Elise walked to the sofa and sank down in it. “I live in a big house. I have so much room. It doesn’t make sense to live like this.”
“I still like it here,” he said.
“You can’t keep living like this forever. You want to be a bachelor when you’re 40? When are you going to grow up David?” At 30, David was ten years her junior, and at times, it was a touchy subject between them.
His voice came out a little shaky, but he chose his words carefully.
“You can’t do that. You can’t make me feel like I’m immature just to get what you want.” Elise sat with her back to him, not saying anything.
“Look, do you really want to know why?” he asked.
“I do.” She said nothing else.
He paused. “I don’t like it.”
“What?”
“Your house. I don’t like it.”
She hadn’t expected this at all. David really couldn’t appreciate a beautiful old house like hers? When she didn’t say anything, he went on. “Don’t take it personally. It’s just a matter of…you know, style, taste.”
She turned around to look at him. “I have bad taste?”
“No.”
“Tell me,” she went on, “what’s wrong with my house?”
David sighed, on the edge of an explanation he didn’t want to give. “It’s too old, it’s too big. It’s a bit…creepy.”
Elise was having trouble absorbing this. “Let me get this straight…you’re afraid of my house?”
“No, of course not.”
“It sounds that way.”
“It’s just a bit…eccentric, isn’t it? It’s so big, so old. And you live there all alone.”
“What?” He didn’t say anything else. “I can’t believe this. You…think I’m crazy?”
“Of course not! I didn’t say that!”
“You’re trying to say it! You’re trying to tell me I’m a crazy old woman who lives in a creepy old house.”
“Elise!” She had already gotten up, she was climbing the stairs. Upstairs in the bedroom, she tossed off the robe and got dressed in last night’s clothes.
He had followed here up the stairs. “Why are you so mad? You know what I like. You know I like…modern…things.”
“Just shut up.” She didn’t seem to have words for how she felt. Insulted? Hurt? That was a start. But more than anything else, angry.
“You’re not leaving, are you?”
“I can’t be around someone who thinks I’m crazy.” She wanted to leave, and he was blocking the way. He held up his arms, and she pushed him, surprisingly hard, and he took a couple of steps back. It was the closest they had ever come to violence.
He followed her down the stairs. “How will you get home?”
“I’ll take the bus.”
“Elise, please don’t go.” She stormed out.
David followed her out into the street. She walked on, heading downtown, while he stood there calling her name.
So early on a Saturday, the bus was nearly empty, and Elise was grateful. She sat alone with her face turned toward the window, trying to hide the fact that she was crying. She tried to think about everything that had happened this last week. She tried to replay the events of the week in her mind, tried to pinpoint that spot where everything started falling apart. But thinking about it was painful. Actual physical pain, in her stomach, in her head, seemed to affect her when she went over those thoughts in her mind.
What she really wanted was to think about nothing at all. But as the bus wound its way through the city’s gloomy corridors, as the meaningless images of people, of traffic, passed her by, another thought found its way into her head and refused to leave.
Elise didn’t want to go home.
When the bus finally concluded its long, dreary journey Elise stepped out onto the street and started to walk. It seemed so odd for the day to be so sunny, so full of busy people and so generally pleasant. All in stark contrast, it seemed, to the way she felt right now.
Her walking felt so laboured, she seemed to be waiting for that moment when her legs would give out and she would topple over. She could picture herself lying there, watching from outside her body and seeing the life spilling out of her. The image seemed more prophetic than delusional.
And there it was, suddenly: her house, looming just ahead. She remembered, briefly, a time when the sight of it alone was enough to put a smile on her face. The beauty, the intricacy of it, a reminder of an era that was long past, but still part of hers to keep. Strange how she had once felt that way. Strange that she didn’t now.
Elise rushed in, slammed the door shut behind her, and picked up the phone.
“Arlene?”
“Elise? Hi!”
“Hi…yes, it’s me.” Small talk. She tried to remember the conventions that normal people went through. “How…how have you been?” she asked, only wanting to say how she herself felt.
“Well, good! Gosh, it’s been a while though.”
Feeling like she was interrupting whatever was coming next, Elise blurted out, “I was hoping we could get together.” But now justification was suddenly needed. She needed to explain her sudden interest in reconnecting. “To, uh, get caught up.”
“Well sure. When…”
“Tonight? Do you remember that coffee shop we used to go to?”
“I…”
She hadn’t intended to be so abrupt. She hadn’t wanted to make it so readily apparent that something was obviously bothering her. But…too late. Elise was on the verge of apologizing and calling it off.
“Sure, I can make it by 8:30.”
“Oh, good.” The relief was so evident in her voice she felt ridiculous. But 8:30 was later than she was hoping for, and she prepared herself for an evening of watching the hours tick by.
“Arlene, I was wondering…can I stay with you tonight?”
“What? Me…why?”
“I just need to…not be home, for once.”
“This is a shock. I’m the one in a studio apartment. You’re the one with her own Gothic mansion.”
“It’s not…” Elise started, then filtered out her anger, and started again. “It’s not Gothic. It’s not a mansion.”
“I was kidding. You don’t have to explain to me…but…well…are you alright?” Elise looked down at the table. Instead of asking again, Arlene reached over and patted her friend’s hand.
“You don’t come to book club anymore.”
“I know. I’ve been busy. I haven’t read…whatever it is we’re reading.”
“It’s you and David?”
“Said I didn’t have to explain.”
“I don’t think I was even asking. I think I could just tell.”
“Yes…yes. We were fighting.”
“That’s so unlike you. You two never fight.”
“I know, and that’s why…”
“Why what?”
“I wish I was more like you.”
“What?”
“You and Dan.”
Arlene laughed. “We fight all the time.”
“I know. And that’s good.”
“How?”
“You don’t hold anything in.”
“I guess… I never thought about it.”
“I just feel like…like I can’t tell anyone how I feel.” Elise blinked, her eyelashes suddenly damp.
“Elise,” Arlene said quietly. “You don’t have to tell me. I already know.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“Hey…don’t do that. You want to stay with me? Sure. No problem.”
For the second morning in a row, Elise woke up in a home that wasn’t hers.
There was an old man standing on her steps. He was a stranger to Elise, even though the face was somehow familiar. As a greeting, Elise offered only, “Yes?” She was in no mood to be genial.
“Excuse me ma’am,” he began, with agonizing slowness. “My name is Gary Clementis.”
Elise felt her lips part and her mouth drop open. She started to back up, torn between darting back into the house, and flailing out to attack him.
“What? I mean, I…” The conventions associated with the meeting of someone new seemed to have escaped her thoughts. “What are you doing here? Oh! I’m sorry, I mean…”
“That’s alright. I’m just new to the neighbourhood, you see.”
“My name is Elise,” she said.
“I was afraid I might have made a mistake.”
It was strange actually seeing Gary in front of her, in the flesh. He looked unusually ancient, but perfectly ordinary in any other way. But Elise had been thinking of him as a specter, not a tangible person. For a moment, the hostility she felt toward him was startlingly intense. She held out a hand, anxious either to strike him, or simply to see if he felt real. She wasn’t sure which.
Thankfully, Gary interpreted this as a friendly gesture, engulfed her slender fingers in his large, leathery palm, bobbed his forearm up and down once, and then let go. And then she suddenly refocused on what he had just said.
“What do you mean, a mistake?”
“Well, I’m getting on a bit in the years,” he began. This was a fact so painfully evident, Elise nearly had to stifle a giggle. “And sometimes I don’t get my numbers straight.”
Elise nodded, not just to reassure him that she was following along, but also in the hope of spurring the conversation forward. Where was this going? She was growing impatient.
“Like I said, I just moved here. That little house, there, across the street.”
Elise looked over at the recently sold house. She hadn’t paid any attention to the fact that the sign was gone, or any attention to who had moved in.
Or any attention to the number on it: 216. What had Gary just said? Then suddenly, the pieces fell into place, and she guessed what he was about to say an instant before he said it.
“I’m not so good anymore with my nines and sixes. Sometimes I can’t tell ‘em apart. And when I changed my address, I think I told some people my house was 219, instead of 216.”
Elise looked down, smiled, and blinked back what felt like tears coming on. She lifted a hand to wipe her eyes, an action that disturbed Gary.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. Aren’t I just the old fool…”
“No it’s not that! It’s just…it’s a bit hard to explain. I’m just…” She looked up and smiled at him, took a deep breath, and exhaled. I’m just so relieved I could fall over, she thought.
“I’m just glad you’re here and I’m not crazy.” Gary looked at her, clearly puzzled. He started to speak, but she interrupted him.
“I’m sorry Mr. Clementis. I’ve kept you waiting long enough. Let me go get you your mail.”
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This 97 word review has not been unlocked.
As I read the story, it drew me in… You develope your charactor very well. The dialogue is wonderful and your descriptiam going to tag this on keeps the pace. I am going to tag this item, because stories with great flow deserve more attention than you get from a simple review such as this. When i am done. I will email you with more. I would like to see this story developed further. Good job…
Dawn
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