The Receiving End

She dragged the giant brown cardboard box through the elevator and into her bedroom. It was not as heavy as it was big, and she struggled with her umbrella, long crackling raincoat, and jingling keys in one of her right-hand fingers. The outside was too cold, and the apartment was too hot- the wrong kind of hot- which makes you sticky around the neck and wants you to open the windows only to immediately find it freezing and shutting them off again.

She brought the bread knife from the kitchen. That's all she could find in the excitement of opening the box, and the contents of the box. She didn't know what was in it. She had been ordering so many unnecessary things online that she couldn't keep track anymore. She quickly slit open the translucent tape. Pried out the flaps and peeped inside. A set of duct tapes, a hair catcher, and a few other things she almost thought she needed when she was on the website selling fancy home decor and other essentials. They did not seem essential anymore.

This was not the first time she had ordered supernumerary items. She had been doing it for a while now, precisely since he had stopped writing to her. That was their thing- he would send her handwritten, or if he was busy, typed out and printed letters. One after the another, although the periods between those varied. Those letters had a distinct flavor about them. As if he was doing it all for her whims, only because she happened to mention to him, in their first meeting, that she was fond of writing letters.

She was at a salad takeout window then, and he was the only other person there, apart from the shrill-voiced woman behind the half-down window pane. He had such a curious smile looking into his phone that she assumed he was with someone. All the people with curious smiles looking into their phones were with someone, she had concluded. It made her wonder if she had a curious smile.

Here's yours- the woman said without looking at anyone in particular, and he grabbed it instantly as if he was entitled to everything first and good in the world. The woman looked at him, didn't let go of the bag, and nodded no. He looked around at her, surprised like he hadn’t seen her there all that time- the invisible woman behind him. He blushed and apologized.

She didn't mind the whole thing- he saw her. Isn’t it incredible to be seen? She cherished her existence being validated.

She felt at times that nobody could see her, as if she was transparent. Or worse, that just her outside was transparent and all her thoughts, wishes, and fears were clearly visible to the onlookers. She immediately regretted her wish to be seen.

He read her with his tilted head- are you gonna get it or should I- and laughed.

And that's how they met. Walked back together and realized they lived close to each other- only that it was a forever home for her, but he was there just for four months to take some course with quantum-y sounding words, at some university she couldn't really make out. He said a lot and her gauche self heard a lot. The only thing she said was about letters. She doesn't remember anymore what the context was. And they kept walking in the light snow that was making the weather warmer than it was before. Until the very end of the street, when the suddenness of parting ways dawned on her, and him too, she hoped.

Her pale skin reddened when he said that he would like her phone number. This short, brown man, whose ethnicity she didn't want to assume and whom she met at a takeout 15 minutes ago wanted her phone number.

Or I can just see you at the ice cream place right next to the takeout tomorrow evening?- he said and didn't wait for her response.

And that's how it started.

This brown box was stuffed with packing material, a lot of it. Five things that came out of the box did not make her happy- even remotely, and she knew that. It had happened before and she knew the feeling, but then she bought something again. Cheap and unnecessary things just to feel the excitement of getting something in the mail. Open it and see something worthwhile- she never did.

She looked around and knocked on the door of another bedroom- no answer. Her roommate was gone, she usually was. This comforted her strangely. She sighed and removed her stockings, the frilly dress she bought weeks ago, and her bra. She slipped into a long bright pink T-shirt that had a dinosaur in a room reading a book titled ‘there’s always a tomorrow’ and the window showed a meteorite blazing towards the earth. It was her favorite piece of clothing. Partially because he talked about dinosaurs a lot whenever she wore it.

She dumped everything back in the box and kicked it into the corner. She pulled her feet up on the bed. And crawled into the quilt to soak up the ever-fading smell. She hadn’t washed anything since he had left.

Everything reminded her of him, as they tell us in the movies. How his brown felt against her diaphanous skin, how his accent crossed borders of countries and never stuck anywhere, how he wrote for her, on little sticky notes, things no one would ever speak out loud, but everyone wanted to hear.

She had been alone most of her life having lost his mother when she was young, and then even lonelier when her father found solace in another woman's arms. The new woman tried her best to be her mother, but just couldn't. Relationships must be two-sided. He seemed to be on the other side of this new relationship. He seemed to complete her, her thoughts, and her days, and her nights. There was no silence, always words, some stolen kisses, and more words. She always had sounds when he was around. He never really complained that she didn't talk much. And he filled up every corner of her house and existence with himself. And she let him. She often thought if it was really two-sided.

And he left as fast as he came to her. He promised he would write-and she believed that he would because he did have a lot to say. Mail would come to her in colorful paper blackened or reddened with stamps of various ports. She would wait for his words, and they accompanied her in bed week after week.

But distance is a cruel master. His letters started becoming obscure, talking about things and people she didn't know of and felt like he made no effort of explaining things for her sake- after all, everything about him must be something of a general understanding, known, contextualized. While the letters were still of considerable length, the content of interest was just a couple of lines. The periods between his letters widened and so did the hole in her heart. She would read and reread everything and hold on to each alphabet as if there was another meaning to each of them. She would not complain, she would not ask, either on the phone or message or letter. She is not someone who thought of having a right on even an inch of someone else. But she had almost led herself to believe that she deserved his words or needed them.

Now the apartment felt empty, the sticky notes from her closet doors are gone, getting unstuck day after another and she would wake up to find one or two on the floor every morning. It settled in her that she was losing him. What is the point of all this anyway, she wondered.

With voices screaming in her head one day, she bought a pen and a pack of sticky notes online. And waited for it. Unlike his letters, the website mentioned when and what she would receive in her mail. So, she stopped looking at the shopping confirmation emails and would just delete them as soon as she saw a notification pop up on her phone. She still could tell what she was getting, which irritated her. So eventually she started ordering things after things so that she can't keep track of what she will be receiving in her mailbox and when and from whom. She would wait and wait and then would be disheartened when she saw three things in a cardboard box full of packed material.

Hungry, she got herself a huge muffin from the fridge, ultra-dark coffee loaded with sugar, and sat on the pink carpet with her legs splayed and her laptop on her thighs. She opened a website selling fast fashion clothing. She clicked on 'clothing' and sorted them according to price- low to high. And picked out the first five yellow items- as that was his favorite color. She added more things, and took a sip of coffee and then a bite of muffin. Her stomach growled angrily as this was her dinner.

She listened. She paused and listened to her belly.

She giggled at the weird sounds. Pushing the laptop away from a little, she put down the coffee mug. And grabbed hold of her fat around her belly. She bent ahead a little and gathered more fat. She looked like those piglets she had as a kid- bundles of pink folded skin. She clapped and laughed, quite literally rolling on the floor.

She got up, threw the coffee in the sink, and the muffin back in the fridge. She wore the dress she hadn't worn in a while. It was really tight around her torso. Put on a long parka, wore her hair in a bun, and walked out of the apartment to go to the salad takeout place.

As the elevator stopped for her, the person inside waited for her to come in- he might have had places to be.

But she thought of something. Went back to the apartment, closed the website on her laptop.

And then she took the stairs.