New York City had never felt so dead. Alek stared out the window, shocked at the lack of cars in Lower Manhattan. If he squinted closely enough, he could just make out powder-blue surgical masks on the poor essential souls who couldn’t find a taxi driver and had to hurry to work nonetheless because the world didn’t wait for cabs. He rested his head on glass and closed his eyes.
It had been ten days since the world screeched to a sudden halt.
The cramped apartment was the best thing a 20-year-old could buy. There was no scent of cigarettes and beets. Then the music began to play on his misplaced phone. He didn’t really like the Temptations or Franki Valli or the Beach Boys, but the lead singers sounded like his father. A candle was burning inside the room. His mother always had a scent of sweet cookies.
His parents were back home in Hawaii, too far away to even think about. So he didn’t.
He detached from the windowsill and moved into the kitchen. A blue light hung over the laptop. The company was expecting a new advertisement in the near future, but every time he tried to work, his stomach turned. Alek simply shut the laptop and poured himself a cup of black coffee. Just like the rest of the world, they could wait.
The beverage slipped and fell on the cracked linoleum because of a knock at the door. We are not supposed to see anyone, Alek thought, his frown deepening. I haven’t ordered anything. He approached the front door with the care of one tiptoeing around a sleeping bear. As his fingers brushed the handle, a folded piece of bright pink paper slipped under the door. He then looked through the peephole, but all he saw was a flash of brilliant red hair, and then an empty hallway.
It felt dangerous to bend to open the paper, afraid the COVID-19 would crawl up his arms like a hoard of tiny spiders. Fauci talked about the virus this way. He set down the coffee and discovered the cursive purple ink.
Dear Mr. 24C, Day 10
This might be the weirdest thing that I have ever done. I’m your neighbor to the
left. 22C. I moved to New York about a month ago. Not a good time to do so, apparently. You might remember all of the boxes, but you probably don’t remember me. I remember you, though. You had a kind face. I only saw you for a split second. You were running down the stairs like someone had lit fire to the back of your jacket. Or maybe you just saw an ice cream truck.
Anyway — I’M BORED, MR. 24C. AND LONELY.
If you’re half as bored and lonely as I am, wanna write back??? (If not, please
don’t look down on me whenever this fiasco is finally over. Ten days feels like a lifetime, doesn’t it? I have a new respect for animals at the zoo. Sometimes I think they have it better. They’re not all alone). Also, have you ever watched “You’ve Got Mail?”
Cheers,
Sadie, 22C
Alek read the note several times to see if he understood it properly. What did she want? A pen pal? He walked over to his kitchen to their shared wall and knocked five times, feeling dumber by the second.. Rap, rap, rap rap rap.
Rap rap.
A smile slowly spread across Alek’s face, the first true one since lockdown began. He stuck the bright pink note to his refrigerator door with an I LOVE NYC magnet and dug through his drawers for a spare piece of paper.
***
Sadie, Day 19
Would you like to hear a secret? I quit my job yesterday. No notice, no warning. Nothing. Nada. I’m free. I know this probably isn’t the best time to do it, but I’ve always hated working there. I got my degree to be a political journalist, not an ad writer for a second-rate company. I enrolled in an online MA program this morning. Got to do something with all this free time (besides slipping letters under your door, which is as fun as it is unproductive).
Unemployed,
Alek
***
Alek, Day 24
Listen, I don’t want to know what you look like. I think that sort of ruins the fun of this, don’t you? It’s more fun to imagine. Truthfully, I hardly remember that glimpse of you I got on moving day, so we’re even. I personally like imagining that I’m writing letters to Tom Holland, only you’re using the name “Alek” because you want me to treat you as a person, not a celebrity. I, of course, understand completely. I’m an understanding individual.
And as for me, I’ve been told I look like a really short Princess Fiona from Shrek. Whether that is her human form or her ogre form, I’m not sure. Make your own assumptions.
Layered like an onion,
Sadie
***
Sadie, Day 29
Can you believe the absolute clown show that is politics right now? Everyone in Washington’s scrambling around like chickens with their masked heads cut off. The presidential race is a joke. Why do we have to watch two old guys in ill-fitting suits amble up to the podiums and insult each other? If I wanted to do that, I’d turn on “Grumpy Old Men,” not Fox News. There’s no good outcome in the upcoming election. That’s starting to become a presidential trend. My MA program is infiltrating our letters, can you tell? I’m starting to become the Wall Street Journal.
Night,
Alek
***
Alek, Day 36
I don’t understand why I’m not considered an essential worker. Honestly, who deems what is “essential” to a person’s life?! I could argue that people need books just as much as they need anything else right now. I know I do!!! We’re all trapped inside: books allow us to escape. If only the governor would let the bookshop re-open. I’m worried about Mr. Mortimer. He lives all alone as well. Everyone there was sort of like his family. I miss him.
I’m also starting to get concerned: my unread stack of books is getting dangerously low… Forget COVID. If I run out of books, THAT will be a nationwide emergency.
Cooped up like Maya Angelou’s caged bird,
Sadie
***
Sadie, Day 41
You asked about my real name. It’s a righteous mouthful — Alekanekelo. It’s Hawaiian (I’m from Hawaii — did I ever tell you that?) for “protector.” My mom picked it out. It was one of those names that teachers could never pronounce, my friends could never spell, and most tragically, there was never a little keychain or license plate in a gift shop with my name on it. It’s just easier to go by Alek. I’ve known my best friend, Paul, for going on eight years now. We were roommates at Columbia. He still can’t say it.
Missing the tropical surroundings of my youth,
Alek(anekelo)
***
Alek, Day 50
I ordered Chinese food today. The guy who delivered it was making eyes at me
again. He got sweet and sour soup all over his face for his troubles. I’m thinking about switching to pizza for a while. If you open your door a smidge, I left you an egg roll.
Pretty grossed out, but at least I have rice,
Sadie
***
Sadie, Day 61
I just started my third re-watch of “The Office.” That should tell you everything you need to know about today.
Season 1 is still trash,
Alek
***
Alek, Day 68
What do you think it’ll be like when we finally go back to normal life? When the masks come off? When there aren’t rules about being six feet apart? When we both emerge from these prisons of brownstone and are forced to confront the fact that we’ve never said a word to each other without ink, what happens?
If I can be honest, and I think I can, it’s the last one that scares me most of all.
Sadie
On Day 69, they wrote letters but didn’t send them.
Sadie would sit on her purple couch to pen for the first time since they started writing letters. She wanted the note to contain everything–from song lyrics from her quarantine playlist, quotes from her most treasured books, receipts from a Chinese restaurant with the creepy Door-Dash guy, a pressed flower from the bouquet of purple and white geraniums he’d left on her doorstep for her birthday.
In the end she put that lavender piece of paper in her copy of “Six of Crows”. His heart ached because he’d learned about her through ink. He already knew her favorite book and her favorite flower. But, she didn’t know his last name.
I think I might be falling in love with you.
***
Alek rumpled his brown curls as he sat down at the kitchen table, her last letter clutched tightly in his hand. Papers for his MA were scattered all over the place: quarantine had made him sloppy. When we both emerge from these prisons of brownstone and are forced to confront the fact that we’ve never said a word to each other, what happens?
Early in their letter-writing career, she’d asked him a question that kept him up all night. What do you want, Alek? Like, really want? Get as philosophical as you dare. I won’t judge. When he searched his mind for a way to answer her letter to her satisfaction, he decided five words needed to be written with force. It was painfully honest and was not philosophical.
I want you, Sadie. You.
On Day 69, they both wrote a letter they didn’t send.
Alek drew a deep breath as he jogged down the street in front of their building. He felt quite self conscious. Spending so much time without someone looking at him was what led him to lose his self-esteem. He hoped not.
It was June, and summer had struck New York City with vengeance. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck like a leaky faucet. If the threat of COVID in a bustling crowd wasn’t enough to drive people indoors, the ninety-degree weather dissuaded outdoor activity, but he had to get to Central Park.
And then he saw her, and all thoughts of pandemics and heatwaves and nerves melted away.
Sadie was sitting on the ground by the lake, her flaming red hair in a loose braid down her back. She wore a baby blue dress and she’d kicked her sandals off, opting to go barefoot. On the grass beside her was a worn copy of Six of Crows, a purple geranium sticking out from between its pages. Just like they’d agreed upon. It was her favorite book and favorite flower.
“22C?”
She looked up, and her smile was like a sunrise after spending years in the dark.
“Hi,” she replied, practically jumping up to meet him. There was no denying their height difference now: she barely reached his shoulders. “Thank you for not standing me up.”
He chuckled. “Was that likely?”
“It’s happened in every other iteration of this scenario. I thought you told me you watched the movie!” Sadie grinned, her freckled nose scrunching up as she did. “We, um… we left the brownstone, Alek.”
“Yeah,” he said, reaching to rub the back of his neck, searching for something to say. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “You’re much prettier than Princess Fiona.”
She laughed. The sound was as beautiful as a summer night. “You’re much taller than Tom Holland.”
The world came to a halt for the second time in 2020 as their lips met, and for the first time, neither minded.
Katherine Joyce is a first-year English major at Penn State Schuylkill from a middle-of-nowhere town in Schuylkill County. She has spent the last year and a half ignoring the world to write a YA fantasy adventure novel that she plans to self-publish in the future. On the off-chance that she’s not writing, she’s probably rereading Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings” trilogy and Bardugo’s “Six of Crows” duology, or participating in Lion Ambassadors and Schuylkill Benefitting THON.