The Mailman

Chris peered out the little peephole in the door of his first-story apartment. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. It was almost time.

The television was on in the background, but Chris payed it no attention. He was too focused on the door.

After standing totally still for a few minutes, legs burning with the itch to move, Chris finally saw what he was looking for. The main door to the apartment building swung open and a man walked inside. He was dressed in a tan button-up short-sleeve shirt, tan shorts, and he carried a messenger bag at his side. Just as he stopped in front of the numbered boxes built into the wall, Chris opened his door.

“Hey!” the man heard as he pulled a few envelopes from his bag.

“Hello,” he uninterestedly replied without looking up.

There was silence for a few minutes- apart from the dull sound of Chris's television leaking through his door, which was still partially open- as the man began to open some of the boxes with his fancy keys and Chris watched him.

“It's a nice day out, isn't it?” Chris casually asked.

“Yeah,” the man boringly answered. “Lots of sun.”

“Maybe I should get out there once in a while, then I wouldn't be so pasty!” Chris laughed. The man looked up at him and smiled kindly.

“Yeah, maybe.” Chris didn't even notice the sarcastic bite, too distracted by the man's vibrant green eyes.

The man went back to his work and Chris fidgeted around, trying to think of better things to say.

“Anything good today?” he said of the envelopes. He was really desperate now.

“I wouldn't know.”

“Oh, right.” Chris sighed and frowned a little. The man turned to him and held out a few envelopes.

“Have a nice day,” the man told Chris as he took the envelopes.

“You too!” Chris chirped and cheerfully waved as he watched the man leave. He spun around and returned to his apartment, already counting down the hours until the next day.

Briefly he looked at the mail; it was just junk. And a letter from his mother.

Chris, it read, Don't forget we're visiting Friday.

He would have indeed forgotten had it not been for the reminder, though why his mother felt the need to write instead of call was a mystery.

Chris was making himself some lunch when the knocking came. He answered the door and let his parents in, offering them something to eat.

“Nothing for me, dear,” his mother said. “I've had a large breakfast this morning.”

“Dad?”

“I'm fine, thanks.”

“Well, all right. Just have a seat over there,” Chris pointed to his rather small sofa in the middle of the living room, “and I'll be right back.”

For a few hours the three sat and chatted, discussing mostly the goings-on of Chris's parents' lives. His father was retiring soon, and his mother's hair salon was taking off very nicely.

Suddenly Chris became aware of the clock ticking in the background. It grew louder and louder with every second that passed, until finally Chris could take no more. In the middle of his mother's story, he promptly snapped out of his trance and asked for the time.

“Nearly three,” his father said as he observed the watch on his wrist.

Chris quickly and remorselessly abandoned his parents, bolting to the door.

“So, Chris, you don't have a girlfriend?” his mother asked, having seemingly forgotten about continuing her story. Or maybe she just didn't care anymore.

“No,” Chris replied as he pressed his eye to the hole in the door. Any second now.

“Oh, well, don't you worry. I'm sure one day you'll find a girl who-”

Chris threw open the door and clumsily tried to close it as he slipped outside.

“Geez, you're eager today,” the man said, characteristically staring at the mail he held in his hands.

“Well, my parents are here,” Chris defensively said. “Spending hours with them has made me remember that I don't care for them all that much.”

The man laughed, actually laughed, and looked up at Chris. “Yeah, I know how that goes. My parents are dreadfully boring company. Always asking me if I'm married yet, like it's some sort of imperative thing that I get hitched as soon as I can.”

“My mum just asked me if I have a girlfriend,” Chris enthusiastically replied. It was the first time he felt he had something in common with the mailman.

“Do you?”

Chris shook his head. “No.”

“Neither do I.” The man quickly returned to his job, leaving Chris behind to look a bit stunned. It had sounded way less conversational than Chris thought it should have; for a minute he wondered if maybe the man was hinting at something.

And Chris thought the man's green eyes lingered a fraction longer than they normally would have when he gave Chris his mail. As he left, Chris had to really try hard to pull himself together, and he almost forgot that his parents were still there. He acted like everything was cool and calmly walked back into his apartment.

“Sorry about that,” he untruthfully said, “I had to get the mail. It was... well, I was expecting an important letter, and-”

“Did he give it to you, then?”

Chris's composure faltered a little. “What?”

“The mailman,” his mother clarified, though not making the situation any better at first, “he gave you your important letter? You certainly look like something happened.”

“Yeah, I got the letter,” Chris quickly lied.

“What's the letter?” his father inquired.

“It's nothing.” Chris paused momentarily, then went to drop the mail into his room. When he returned he sat down with his parents and spaced out again, once more counting away the hours.

When Chris woke up, it was a lot later than he thought it was. The clock by his bed looked like it said 2:03, but as his vision became clearer he realized it said 3:03.

“Shit!” Chris jumped out of bed, ran as quickly as he could into the hallway, his socks sliding against the wooden floor nearly causing him to crash into the wall. He panted as he regained his balance, a little bit sad that his near-death experience had not made the mailman look up.

On the bright side, Chris figured that meant he hadn't exactly embarrassed himself. All he needed on top of being seen in his pajama pants with untamed hair was to make a fool of himself. But the mailman seemed to know everything that was going on around him anyway, without even needing to look.

“Are you expecting some big package or something?” he asked. “Why are you always running out here?”

Chris didn't have the confidence to tell him the truth, so he just kept his mouth shut altogether. The man rolled his eyes and sighed, still focused on the letters in his hand.

“Whatever it is, you're going to end up killing yourself one of these days. Then you won't get any mail at all.” He stuffed a few envelopes into one of the boxes then looked at Chris. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Don't you have a job? It's just that you're always out here...” Chris grew a little nervous at the sound of the man's voice; he sounded more uncomfortable than curious, which Chris took to be a bad thing.

“I work at night,” Chris quietly answered. He gazed down at his feet and scuffed the floor a bit. “I come out here to get the mail.”

“Oh. Well, there's no mail for you today. Sorry.”

Chris slowly nodded his head. “OK. I... I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

“No, you won't,” the man said.

Chris looked at him with sad, frowning eyes and asked, “Why not?”

“Tomorrow's Sunday.”

“Oh.” Chris hung his head and turned to leave, until the man called for him to wait. Then he looked back up.

“You... could see me tomorrow, if you wanted...” he said.

“What do you mean?” Chris asked.

“Well, you know,” the man nervously began. He shook his head. “Uh, never mind. I'll see you Monday. Just be careful not to die while you're doing all that running around.”

Chris felt his spirits lift a little at the man's concern, and he smiled. “I'll be careful.”

There was something wrong. Chris was quite certain that it was a mailman who delivered his mail everyday, and not a woman. Yet, standing right in front of him and clearly possessing female body parts was this person who was trying to hand him his mail.

“Where's, uh...?” Chris was too confused to remember how else to use the English language to speak.

“Jonny called out sick today,” the woman kindly replied, reinforcing that she was trying to give him his mail by holding her arm out further. “Said he's got the flu or something.”

Chris took the letters, but very absentmindedly; inside he was freaking out completely. His feelings for the mailman and his instinctual need to exaggerate the awfulness of situations put into his mind the image of poor Jonny, laying in bed dying. That's how messed up he was, but he couldn't control it. He wanted to control it, and reason that people get sick. It's nothing to fret over.

But he couldn't do it. He walked back into his apartment, shaking badly and nearly crying. He collapsed on his couch, and the only thing that might have kept him sane was that when he stared down at his letters just to have something to look at, he noticed that there was one that looked very different from the others. Mostly because this particular letter wasn't actually stamped or anything, it was just an envelope that said Chris on the front. It looked like it had been cleverly attached to the back of another letter in order to slip past the mail carrier.

Chris opened it, forgetting for a moment about the missing mailman. Whoever had written it had wonderful penmanship, not that it really added much to the letter. After all, if it was some sort of death threat, it wouldn't matter that it was beautifully scripted.

It wasn't a death threat, which Chris kinda figured. It was a letter from the mailman. He didn't really foresee that part.

Hey... I'm not actually sick today.

Well, I am. I do feel sick, at least. But it's not the flu, or any actual virus.

I was just really nervous, which made me feel like I wanted to vomit. So instead of seeing you today and telling you this, or having to see the look on your face when you read it, I thought I'd call out and just send it to you anyway. Yeah...

It seems that, in the time that I've noticed you coming to see me everyday, something has developed. Something that I didn't expect to develop, and that I'm not sure I really want, but I guess only time will tell.

This is very difficult for me to write. I'm glad I decided not to actually say it to you... yet. You'd probably have my lunch all over your shoes if I did.

This is probably really inappropriate for me to be telling you and stuff like that, but I think I like you. You know, more than I should. More than in a friendly mailman-mail acceptor relationship sort of way, or whatever.

I want to date you kind of like. I'm not sure that's appropriate. Or that you feel the same... You probably don't. That's cool with me.

Just thought I'd let you know. Uh, don't hate me, please? I promise I'm not a creeper or anything, if you tell me you're not interested, I'll go away. Well, not entirely, since I still have to deliver your mail, but you know what I mean. I won't bother you anymore if that's the case. I'll just stick to giving you your mail.

Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow, I guess... No, I still feel like I'm going to vomit.

-Jonny

Chris drew a sharp breath as his body realized that he hadn't been taking in any oxygen since he read the words, “I want to date you.” He really did start crying this time, but only because he was overwhelmed with happiness.

The hallway was quiet, which was scary and unusual. By now, he should have heard the soft creak of the door and quiet footsteps, but all Jonny was surrounded by was silence. It greatly unnerved him.

One by one he went through the mailboxes, taking out the outgoing mail and stuffing more envelopes in. He had desperately hoped that by the time he got to Chris's mailbox, the crazy curly-haired man would have shown up. But he didn't.

Jonny's hands trembled a little as he opened the box. There was only one thing inside. He grabbed it and was just about to drop it into the bag when he realized that it was a note addressed to him.

Jonny took a deep breath and held the paper up. Slowly he unfolded it, half-closing his eyes because he was honestly afraid to see what it said, even if it was good.

For such a large-sized sheet of paper, the actual note was miniscule. All it said, in small letters in the middle of the page, was I want to date you, too.

Jonny breathed a sigh of relief but was unsure of what to do afterward. Luckily, he didn't have to make a decision, because just then he heard that oh so familiar creaking noise. He was even more glad to see Chris's smiling face than he normally was.

“You have no idea how happy this makes me,” Jonny said, lifting up the paper in his hand.

“Actually, I think I do.” Chris stepped closer to Jonny, hands clasped behind his back and a wide grin plastered across his face. “But maybe other people might not.”

“Right. Well, uh... who cares about other people?” Jonny laughed and waited for Chris to say something else, because he was too excited to think of anything.

“Jonny, when do you get off work?”

“In a few hours.”

“Hmm. Then maybe you could stop by,” Chris said with a wink. “After all, you know where I live.”

Jonny laughed a little and smiled brightly at Chris. “That sounds perfect.”

“It's not... It's not, like, whorish to do this, right?”

“I think,” Jonny said, “it doesn't really matter once it's already been done. And believe me, it's already been done.”

Jonny leaned over and pressed his lips to Chris's. Then he laid his hand on Chris's side and slid it down to his unclad waist. Chris kissed him back with a furious passion, locking his fingers into Jonny's messy hair.

“You know what? It's not whorish,” Chris panted, “because I spent, like, weeks talking to you almost everyday. So it's not like I just met you or anything.”

“Right,” Jonny agreed. “Plus, I can't imagine anything that good could be deemed with such a negative term.”

“Yeah.” Their lips met again, but soon Chris was moving further down, kissing along Jonny's jawline and down his neck, stopping briefly at the crook where his neck and shoulder met. Jonny closed his eyes and reveled in the feel of Chris's tongue. When Chris pressed their bodies together, he could hardly control himself.

Chris stopped momentarily and shined his blue eyes in Jonny's face. “Jonny... is it whorish if we do it again?”

“Uh... maybe.”

Chris thought for a few moments. “Fuck it,” he said, and Jonny laughed.

“Yeah, that's what I'm talking about.”