Charles and the Letter

Charles came home from work a little early on Monday. He opened the door to his apartment and found it exactly like he had left it in the morning, except for a different shade of light shining through the blinds. Strange, he thought, what a difference an hour makes. He sat down at his desk and mechanically pushed the button that started his computer. While the machine was waking up with little noises that reminded him of work he let out a deep sigh and examined the table in front of him. Nothing had changed, but suddenly all the items looked a bit different in the brighter light.

There was the scanner that he had bought many years ago to digitalise the photographs he had taken with his old Minolta, the printer that he couldn’t tell for sure if it was working or not, a set of speakers, a little paper bin. Charles rubbed his eyes and put pressure on them, he found comfort in the subtle pain. He opened his eyes again and continued, from left to right. A toothbrush, unused and still in its packaging, with a plastic cover for the head that had a smiley face on it. A hand full of cards - one of them a voucher for a clothing store that he liked to shop at, its validity long expired, a travel card for use in a country that he had visited a long time ago. An old light bulb, a few coins, a remote control he never used, a newspaper from January, a half pack of AA batteries, a golden ribbon that belonged to a present he didn’t remember, a name card that showed the opening hours of a health insurance office, a stamp, a ticket to a concert he didn’t attend, three empty mugs with coffee stains on their bottoms, and a train ticket to the city he once called home.

It’s been a while, Charles noticed, since he had taken a quiet break to observe his surroundings and think about the things he now overlooked so easily. Most of the time, he just functioned. Much like the tools he used at work. But that was the way he was now, simple and steady. As the computer screen lit up he found himself sighing. The visual journey across his desk brought up many memories. He used to travel a lot and take pictures with his film camera. He used to love the unbearable time that it took to get them developed. As a young man he had a strong belief in his creative abilities, but that too was a long time ago. A heavy lump of resentment formed in his throat.

The tired man opened his email program and clicked on the notice that let him know a new message had arrived. Ordinarily he didn’t receive any interesting mails anymore. Not since he had settled down and led a stable life. It was mostly some sort of advertisement for drugs that would keep his sexual stamina alive, or one for an ominous travel agency that promised paradise around the corner. He would delete them without even reading them. The page loaded and Charles couldn’t believe his eyes. In bold letters he saw E’s full name, and next to it he read, hello my friend. E was a more than interesting sender; E was a girl he had a crush on when he was twenty-five. Charles moved nervously around in his chair, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might break through his chest. He opened the email and scrolled down to check its length before he even started reading it. He liked to know its proportions, which determined his reading pace, his preparations, his moment of luck. Even though he had forbidden himself to, he couldn’t help but catch the first line. It said, Oh Charlie.

He closed his eyes and restrained himself from reading on. He was excited, more than he could remember ever having been before. He was awake now, wide awake. His fingertips were dancing on the keyboard without pressing the keys, asdf beneath his left hand and jkl; under his right. All of a sudden he got up from his stool. He ran to the bathroom, getting rid of his clothes before he reached the shower and stepped in the booth. The hot water felt good, he thought, freeing him from the remnants of work that were clinging to his hair and coating his body. It was a great relief, and when he walked out of the bathroom he felt a few years younger. He tiptoed into the kitchen and put water in the kettle. Until the water boiled he waltzed through his apartment, drying his hair with a towel. He suddenly felt alive, as if the click of the kettle had turned some kind of switch inside his mind. He searched the back of his wardrobe and found a pair of basketball shorts that used to be too big for him and a Guns N’Roses t-shirt from his college days. From the cupboard in the kitchen he fished a bag of chocolate bits and paired it with a cup of strong decaf instant coffee.

Then he sat down at his desk again. He positioned himself comfortably on his chair and put the mug right in front of him. He enjoyed the smell of coffee that arose from it. Next, he put on a quiet jazz album and adjusted the volume of his speakers to be just perfect. He took a deep breath and reopened the email. He started reading. 

      Oh Charlie.

      It feels strange to actually ...

Charles read the letter slowly, he paid attention to every word, every little punctuation. He finished it and went back to the beginning. He read and reread the mail again and again. He had prepared coffee and didn’t take a sip, he had prepared chocolate and didn’t try a little bit. He stopped the music and sat in silence. Tears were running down his cheeks, one after another. He blinked once and he blinked twice, they dropped on his t-shirt and his basketball shorts. Outside it grew darker now, and he was all alone. Oh Charlie.