A Letter Away From You

Chapter 2

4 years ago

Tap tap. 

Tap Tap. 

Tap Tap. 

The repeated sound of fingers clashing the surface of the keyboard filled the walls of my room. Annoyance had started bubbling within me but as time progressed, it was starting to get addicting. Letters after letters, words after words- when will I ever get to see the end of this? I flicker my hair back and force myself to stare at the screen before me. It feels as though I've been stuck here for centuries now- even though in reality it's only been an hour or two. The bed deeps as I shift in my position. 

It was around mid day when I found myself perched comfortably in a place I call my bed room, surrounded by pillows and my thoughts in a haywire. Maybe it was the constant noises from the outside world that had me staying sane. It's not healthy to lock yourself up inside a room after all. It would be no different from a patient getting monitored within a mental hospital room. For the past hour, I had been consistently tapping on the keyboard with keen eyes eyeing the letters formed by my fingers. The screen displayed words but every now and then- I'd freeze as if I dunked in an ocean within the midst of Antarctica only to emerge as a human icicle. The constant mental block irritated me but I had no one else to blame but myself. I let out a sigh, allowing my fingers to dictate the screen in front of me. 

The sun had made its way up but as seconds continue to pass by, it was gradually sinking and drowning its hues beyond the valleys. The atmosphere had started to become cooler, the faint twinkling of the stars could probably be seen splattered in the sky. Every now and then, I'd pick up rushing cars in our usually quiet neighborhood. There were sounds of youngsters laughing as well- coming off strong as they pass the front of our house and moderately decreasing the further they advanced. I kept my eyes on the screen before me, gnawing the bottom of my lip in thought. 

‘… Every single night, I rest my frail body upon the slow rhythm of our birch rocking ch—’ This level of flattery isn’t enough to shackle butterflies even in a fly’s stomach. I rubbed the frustration out of my head. The strain on my back resounded, it may be from too much lying on my stomach. My position hobbled to a snug yoga pose, the laptop perching on my lap. I’m sure these little hands I endured with for sixteen years won’t fail me this time. 

Repeatedly, I rammed every button of our outdated MacBook Pro. In a whimsical means, of course. Although they would have muscle cramps right about now, after all being a punching bag of my teeny fingers isn’t an easy job. They pack quite the punch too. 

‘… Every single night and day, I rest my frail body upon the slow rhythm of our birch rocking chair. Counting the stars one by one, following each light with my eyes. As if they’d lead me right to you. I hope the day arrives when I see you, when the sun reaches the horizon when the night comes. – Love, Faye.’ In a jolted manner, I tapped the “Enter” button. “Email Sent”, it displayed.

I realized I was a romantic one myself. I handed a wink to my dear fellows around the corner. Without all of you, this dimwitted sixteen year old young lady wouldn’t have guys fall head over heels in love with her. Albeit only one of them wasn’t a part of my vivid imagination. The Notebook’s Nicholas Sparks, and Pride and Prejudice’s Jane Austen blinked back at me. 

I wished. 

Aren’t you all getting tired of just sitting here all day in this pigsty of a shelf? Let’s get you out of there.  

Mom used to nag me about the books disturbing my studies. 

If you’d just spent an hour or two with me, then my love of literature wouldn’t even be a problem. 

My brain refused to obey her. Well, the ten feet bookshelf was the outcome of that. It wasn’t a simple feat for my 5” frame. Riding the ergonomic chair my mother bought me, I extended my two short arms. 

One in an attempt to snatch the dusty old publications and the other having a fine grip on the peak of my study desk. 

But there was one factor I didn’t take note of before executing this grand mission. Wheels. There were wheels on my office chair. Slippery and slick wheels. And before I knew it, I was already in flight. Both hands clenching Jane Austen’s book, feet together, my life flashing in my eyes. I fulfilled my goal, but at what cost? This is the en—

The spongy billet of a bed I had, acted as my trampoline. Everything was twirling in front of me, Jane had four eyes. 

My unlit mahogany door multiplied, pondering where the other one might lead to. 

Until the billow of my comforter shortly enveloped around me. I was safe, or is this heaven? For my fourteen year old brain, the thin line between death and life was far from hefty. My eyelids gave in to the pressure. 

A clamorous rustling sound sent a bolt through my body, even my toenails felt alive. 

It was the hourly train. Sometime in my life, I wondered how they operated that enormous heap of a vehicle because it never stops. 

Wait, I’m alive? I took a glance at the wall clock, eleven thirty six. 

I shrugged the sweat from my temple. 

Ah. I realized. The tension was the first one to clutch me. My senses just overreacted. I fell, from reaching the remains of my beloved novels. What was just a night session of writing my love letters turned into a farcical clutter of a mess.