THE BOITE

The Boite

He stood behind the windowed door in the lobby. Patiently he awaited the woman to retrieve her mail and leave before entering the mailroom of the small apartment complex. Quickly opening his mailbox and grabbing out several letters, his hand brushed against something hard. Wallace stooped down to peer inside the metal box just big enough to fit flat parcels. In the back of the box, a key opened a larger container where large packages were delivered. Puzzled, he reached for the key and pondered a few moments, holding the key between his fingers. Looking around before moving to the numbered box the key specified and hoping no one was watching. He cautiously opened the box and took out the shoebox-size package. Quizzically gazing at the package. Then shaking the box, he could feel and hear the slightly loose items it contained. He looked at the label. The address read Wallace Hunter 555 Saint Laurent Suite 411 Paris France. There was no return address; the postage-paid stamp existed on the package. He exited the mailroom as his neighbor Mr. Schafer an older gentleman approached. Wallace exchanged the usual pleasant but quick pleasantries avoiding eye contact. Hurriedly he headed for his apartment, carefully avoiding anyone else along the way.

In the apartment, he sat the package and letters on his desk. Opening the first set of curtains letting the brilliant light shine through under a set of curtains that never came open during the day. It was only during the close of the day, with slight darkness looming and lights in his apartment off, that the under a set of blinds opened. A breathtaking view of France Seine River nightlights exposed. Wallace was single, very handsome, wealthy, and intelligent, forty-one years old. He Lived alone ad had never married. He had been diagnosed with Polyphobia, the fear of many things twenty-plus years previously that included Philophobia, Aphenposmophobia, and Scopophobia. Everything was difficult for Wallace; it seemed the older he got, the more intense his fears grew. His psychotherapy treatments were through medications as well as exposure therapy. Wallace removed his shirt, tossing it on the back of a chair, exposing his extremely svelte physique. He would have been the envy of any man half his age. He turned on the monitor before leaving the room and walking into the bathroom. He opened the cabinet to several bottles of pills. Picking out two bottles and retrieving pills from both before tossing his head back and swallowing them with a brief drink of water.

Wallace returned to the desk, sat down, and considered the contents of the letters. Turning his attention to the package, he began slowly removing the tape and wrapping off the covered box. There were no signs of where the box originated. It revealed a plain lidded box. With uncertainty, Wallace removed the lid while his nerves tingled with insecurity and a little apprehension. A faint flowery stale scent extended from the box. The contents revealed seven stacks of letters, seven letters in each stack. The letters were bound by two cross twisted rugged brown cords. Each letter had been addressed as the outside of the parcelle. No return address. No place of origin. The envelopes appeared to have faded as if written long ago and a hint of a flowery scent. Suddenly creeping feelings of uneasiness made a swarming sickness in the pit of his stomach arise. Without hesitation, as if by command, Wallace pushed the box and its contents to the middle of the desk and jumped to his feet. Just then, the phone rang, startling him further.

In a cold sweat, He allowed the phone to ring until the voice recorder picked up the call. It had been his mother. Mother’s voice was always cheerful, a bit concerning, and loving. Unfortunately, being in her presence caused him anxiety he’d rather not feel. She felt the strange need to touch him, rub the back of his hands, his back. It was too much and was easier to stay away from. He knew she loved him and felt sorry for her. He was her only child and a widow, but even love was strange to him. As a child, motherly affection caused him distress. Wallace decided to make a cup of tea before starting the day’s work. Soon he would feel the effect of his meds kick in. Later he would call his mother and apologize for being occupied. It wasn’t until midnight before he would turn his attention again to the Pandora’s Box.

Wallace sat down and drew the box towards him. Removed the lid and stared at the neatly arranged letters. That stale scent of flowery fragrance passed instantly through the air. A foreboding feeling had been in the recesses of his mind since retrieving the box earlier that day. Where had these come from? What were the contents? Would he regret the findings? Who could have so much to say to him? Each letter was addressed to him. This mysterious Pandora’s box had been most intriguing. It was calling out to him in a way nothing ever had. He was afraid but had to muster up the courage to find the secrets this box would contain.

Gently he pulled the letter out on the top bundle. Nervously fumbling around with the letter before unsealing it. Beads of sweat began to form above his brow. His dark wavy hair began to moisten as a panic attack set in. He pulled the two-page letter from the faded enclosure. Lifting the flap on the three-sectioned page, he saw his name neatly written across the top. The date on the letter across from his name made the letter twenty-one years old. That explained the old must smell and the fade. Wallace had never received a personal handwritten letter before. This was more conversation in this box than he had had in his lifetime.

Letter 1: Unrequited Love:

Dear Wallace,

This makes no sense at all. I can’t explain how it happened. It just did. I have never heard the sound of your voice. I have never witnessed your laughter. I remain invisible to you, yet my eyes search for you in a crowd. Of which I am convinced you will never appear. It hurts not to be loved back. It’s more hurtful to love someone and not have the courage to tell them. This is my courage. I have seen you, I have watched you.

At that, Wallace stopped reading. He began to hyperventilate. Sweat was dripping profusely from his forehead. The letter fell from his hands onto the table he got on his feet. No one had expressed such unrequited love to him before in so few words. He paced back and forth, rubbing the thick locks of his wavy hair. Pandora’s box was indeed a fearful curse to him. He couldn’t continue, not tonight. He turned off the lights and retreated to his bedroom. He walked into the bathroom and downed two pills before getting into bed. But restless, He tossed and turned anxious and afraid. Sleep was not coming. The box of letters continued to call out to him. Some hours later, he found himself in raw angst back at the table with the unfinished letter in hand.

Letter Cont’d:

With intense effort for many years, I have followed you. I am where you are constantly. Yet, I am invisible to you. I can feel your touch, your breath. Someday I want to tell you face to face how I feel. To be able to look you straight in the eyes and bare my naked soul to you. I'm clueless about how long it will take, but I will continue to wait. Why you, I ask? I know so little. Should I never see you again, I will still love you. I want what’s best for you, even if it doesn’t include me. Even though there is no communication, no relationship, no trust, I want to continue. After this letter, I wonder if we will ever think of each other at the same time. My one problem has been caring too much for people who don’t care at all for me. Not being loved has not destroyed me. And although I have nothing from you, there is something about you I can’t let go of. If you ever look at me, it will probably take my breath away. What’s worse than knowing you want something so badly than knowing you may never have it? Time will tell. This is my first penned letter to you. My only happiness is because you exist in my world. But my overwhelming sadness is I don’t exist in yours. How can you look at someone you love and tell yourself it’s time to walk away? Until I know for a certainty, I will still pretend you’ll love me one day.

Affectionately, Forever Yours

Wallace stumbled to the sofa and sat down. He began to suffer paranoia. He turned off every light in the apartment. He closed the blinds to the beauty of the Seine River nightlights. He had been so carefully through the years. The thought of being watched so closely was unnerving. The next day Wallace sat on the psychiatrist's sofa. Fretfully he responded to his touch therapy treatment. Getting to the office today was particularly difficult. His mother stopped by after not hearing from him. Her gentle touch didn’t appall him as much as before. The traffic was a nightmare. The deep-tinted windows of his car weren’t enough; he felt he was being watched. He blamed it on Pandora’s Box. In spite of his fears and uneasiness, he would face the box again. Pandora’s curse had to mean something for him and his life.

Wallace removed the box from his shelf. He felt the need to protect Pandora. It was all he could do for all she was going through and would have to endure. He could never return her love, and only time would tell her that. The box of letters had bought him tension, stress, and anxiety. It had already been more than twenty years since the letter he read had been written. Why the need to send it now, he pondered. He sat down and took out another letter. A random letter from another bundle was chosen. The sweats of trepidation returned the same manner as before. Slowly he opened and began to read. This time putting the letter to his nose in hopes of catching the fragrant stale flowery scent a moment. He unfolded the much shorter letter and began to read:

Dear Wallace,

Now you have a much broader picture of me. It has been fifteen years since my first penned letter to you. So much has been said between these two letters. I can’t help but think what you must be thinking of me now. I hope you haven’t minded that I bothered to keep in touch all these years. But it wasn’t until now that I have had the courage to mail each letter to you. Thoughts of you have given me the courage to trust love one more time. As thoughts of you continue ticking inside of me and I still dream of you more often than I don’t. It’s been said that people do incredible things for love, but even more so unrequited love. It makes one behave ridiculously. I have tried and have given my best. I have learned to be content with who I am, but it has not worked. It has not bought the ones I love into my life. Though not ready to give up. The time will come when I do. Until then, the flame of love burns endlessly in my heart for you.

Affectionately Forever Yours.

Wallace folded the letter and returned it to its place in the bundle. Over the next week, a crazy hunger drove him to the box of letters. He began to be consumed with the contents of the box. Some of them he read twice. Something different was happening to him. Wallace was beginning to feel a kindred spirit with the box. A desire he had never experienced before was awakening inside of him. New strengths were developing. Pandora’s box had not been the curse he once believed. It had been ten days since the arrival of the letters. Wallace made his way cautiously to the mailroom. He opened his box and removed the flat parcels. In his hand, one thin letter addressed the same as the others. Except this one bore its own postage-paid endorsement. He didn’t bother to look up. He couldn’t take his eyes off the envelope. Quickly he opened the door to his apartment. Throwing everything down except the letter, he felt an urgency to open it and read the contents.

Dear Wallace

I know you never felt it, but in my heart, it felt so real. Thank you for being part of a dream that was meant to be nothing more than that. All my life, I have fought the fight. Unfortunately, I was not able to win it. I wanted the one thing I couldn’t have. But the fear would not go away. When I focused on you, my troubles went away for a moment but returned. Your visits to the doctor were my opportunity to steal a fantasy. I saw you twice a week for twenty-two years. You never saw me once. Our eyes never met. I have been a victim of Anthropophobia. Those letters could not come to you before now. If you are reading this, I have said goodbye to this world. I no longer exist. But you do, Be brave with your life. Let go of your fears. Don’t expect anything; it’s the root of all heartache. If you want happiness, it will only come through the ability to love others. You have been the only love of my life all these years. It’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Farewell, my kindred spirit.

Affectionately Forever yours

Wallace dropped the letter and wept bitterly over the loss of someone he never had a chance to know. Pandora had returned with the curse she was known to bring. There would not be another parcel. She was gone forever. But somehow, he had changed for the better. She had encouraged and strengthened him. The letters proved She was real and not a part of his sick mentality. He could make it now.

She looked up as he walked into the restaurant. There was something different about him. A certain kind of confidence she had never seen in anyone before. This had been her first invite. He had come a long way in what seemed like overnight. Emotion overwhelmed her. When he came close, he bent to kiss his mother’s cheek. It didn’t frighten him like before. Wallace was determined to look in the eyes of those he loved. A chance had been given him, and he was forever grateful.