THE UNWRITTEN LETTER

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Dearest Keiji,

It’s funny to think that here I am and writing a letter to you I never thought I’d write. I was quite surprised that the words I’ve been longing to tell you had finally found their way out of my soul a week after you left to go back to Japan. I just still hope you remember me.

The day I met you was on my birthday, I remember, and we met at the Artists Convention here in Buffalo, New York. You were everything I thought you would be when I first read your profile in the packet we received a week in advance, and I was so happy to read that you knew English very well. I really did want to speak with you that day and I was afraid we’d be hindered by that language barrier known to man. And my second language would do no good since it was Italian.

Sure, I’m Japanese in heritage, but my parents were both born in America and neither of them learned Japanese. And I’ve always been inspired by the Italians and that’s were most of my paintings and my comic strips came from. So, you could guess why I took my time to learn that language rather than my own heritage’s tongue.

But getting back to the point, I saw you walking through the revolving door at the Hyatt Regency with a group of your fellows and I was able to point you out and say ‘that’s him’. I just knew who you were and it felt like I knew you before we ever set eyes on each other. And when you looked at me, there was this jolt I didn’t expect that left me with a feeling that wouldn’t be quelled unless I got to speak with you.

When the convention started, we sat on two complete opposites. You sat in the front on the left while I sat in the back on the right. I couldn’t help but steal looks at you through the massive group of assembled artists and think about what it was I had to do to get you to at least look at me again. I paid more attention to you than I did the guest speaker.

Afterwards was the ‘mingling party’ as I put it. You know when all the artists set up their most prized works and look upon others. I avoided you with a passion for fear of making myself look like a complete fool in front of you and your friends. I didn’t want to take the risk, but you came to me instead.

I can’t describe the feeling I had in my stomach when you pointed things out in my painting of a lonely angel overlooking the modern day Rome from a place on top of the Coliseum to your friends. It did all kinds of flips and turns and I ended up making myself a fool when you asked me a question in perfect English and I was so nervous I answered back in Italian. I felt like and idiot and I knew I blew the only chance I had with you while your group laughed and walked off with you in tow.

It wasn’t until that night when we were all packing up to head to our rooms was it that you approached me again. I was shocked to say the least when you told me that you really admired my work. I was steady enough to speak English then and hearing you laugh in relief threw me into my own world. I loved the sound of your laugh, so child-like and carefree, something I’m not.

The next day, I got up the courage to ask you to join me at Starbucks. You agreed and we spent hours in that coffee shop talking about art and our lives. Even when the sun had long since left the sky and our coffee had gone bone chilling cold, we stayed there in that small corner and talked. All the while I could feel your knee brushing up against mine. Whether it was deliberate or not, I wasn’t sure then. But I liked it all the same, though I brushed it aside as an accident because of the cramped space.

Two days later after the art raffle is when you asked me out on an actual date. You took me to this ridiculously overpriced restaurant called Baccus and we sipped wine and ate not so good eggplant something-or-other. I remember the look on your face when I said if you wanted to ditch that place and head over to the Galleria mall to change out of the uncomfortable formalwear into something we could stand. We did so at JC Pennies and we hit the food court for cheap, delicious chicken teriyaki and a movie.

Day five was a Friday and everyone went out after that days schedule and partied. That was the last day of the convention and it left us all the weekend to ourselves until it was time to pack up and leave on our early Monday morning flights back to wherever. Meaning that you had to leave in three days, leave this all behind, leaving behind the friendship that grew between us. I wasn’t ready for that.

I stayed in my room that night and read a book by Chris Wooding while listening to a Josh Groban CD. There was a knock at my door and I was slightly surprised to see you standing there with a deck of playing cards and a box of pizza. By this time we had known each other more than we would have if we started in preschool. I was happy to see you, but puzzled.

We ate the pizza and talked about our favorite foods. Then you challenged me to a game of ‘wits and bravery’ as you put it. When I asked you what it was, you were shuffling the deck of cards with an evil grin on your face.

Strip Poker.

I had to laugh. And you looked at me and told me that I was chicken and it was okay and we could play Go Fish instead. You knew that my ego was my downfall and I had accepted your challenge. Of course, you selected a game you were strong in, and I failed miserably at many of the hands. I had won twice, getting you to take off your boots and your shirt. But you had the major upper hand and won many more games than me and I was down to my black bra and underwear. My ego was crashing badly and I was struggling with myself on whether I should give up or continue playing, risking further destruction to my pride if you were to win two more games.

I think you saw my discomfort though, and you eased up on me and tossed the cards to the side. You commented on my lingerie and said something about me looking really good in revealing clothes. You also commented me by saying that I was probably really good in the love making department.

I was silent when you said that, thinking to myself whether or not I should say what I really wanted to say right then. And I got up the courage to ask you if you wanted to find out. The look you gave me discouraged me quickly and I turned my face away from you. I reached for my robe that was on the bed, but you grabbed me and brought me close to you.

You told me you did want to know, and then you kissed me. Our tongues battled for dominance as I pushed you down against the soft carpet, your arms around me, and your hands kneading my back and running through my ink black hair. My own hands ran up and down whatever exposed flesh there was and I felt you groan against my mouth as my hands traveled over your taut stomach.

We did that the whole night. We kissed, touched, loved. We did that well into the later part of the night and early morning, both of us finally falling asleep in my bed in each other’s arms.

Waking up to you was a jolt to my system, but you calmed me with another one of those searing kisses. We had to force ourselves away from each other that day. I had to leave that day to head back to New York City. You came with me to the bus depot and saw me away onto the Greyhound I’d be riding. Again you gave me that kiss I knew I was going to miss as long as I was away from you. You gave me a small piece of paper with your apartment address and a phone number. You told me to write to you whenever I could.

This is the first time in three months I’ve been able to sit down and write to you. Hopefully one of the details in this letter jogged your memory of me, and if not, I have also enclosed a picture we took the second day at the convention. The only thing now is whether or not I’ll send this to you. The address I have may not be inhabited by you at this time, so I don’t think there would be a point.

But there’s nothing for me to fear, is there? Why would I fear anything? You know my ego, and it would not like it if I admitted this life long trepidation of never seeing you or hearing from you. And I’m quite sure that you were susceptible to the Japanese way of an arranged marriage by now. That would do us no good. I am still single, as my luck would have it, but I’m American. I have a lot of heartache to go through before I find the next Mr. Right as my spouse.

But I’ll never find him if I continue to sit here and write to you about this aimless babbling. Just know that you’re always on my mind, and I’ll never forget that convention where we learned each other’s fears and strengths, where we talked well into the night and made love to each other in one of the best hotels in the city. Until next time, I hope to write to you again.

With all my love, your Japanese American Italian-Speaking Artist,

Akira Hiume

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As she signed the paper with her artist’s script, Akira folded the pages and placed them in an envelope with the picture of her and Keiji with their arms around each other. She sealed the envelope and addressed it along with the return address and several stamps to match the currency needed to ship it to Japan. She tucked it into her jacket pocket and headed outside into the bitter end of winter and made her way down the busy Buffalo streets.

She had gotten sick of the hustle in New York and decided to move into a small apartment in Buffalo on Virginia Street. She walked several blocks to the post office and stood several feet away from the large blue letter box. All she needed to do is slip it in and forget about it, but like she said in the letter, there was no point. It had been three months since they had been in contact with each other. She hadn’t heard from him since she got on the Greyhound.

She began to pace the area, but started to feel quite idiotic at the action and started walking down towards Clinton Street. She hopped on a William street Metro bus and sat in the back, wondering if she’d change her mind by the time she got to the Main Buffalo Post Office. But she didn’t, and she was now pacing in front of the automatic glass doors.

She went inside to the drop box, the letter in her hand and her mind buzzing with debate. She wanted to, but she didn’t. She felt like she needed to, but then she felt herself blanching. She did all she could to stay sane, but it was proving futile. She finally gave up and hurried towards the exit.

But there was someone already there and she rammed head first into the other person. They fell in a mess of limbs and envelopes, both clearly dazed at the sudden unexpected action. Akira was last to recover as the other man started gathering the fallen items around them.

“I’m so sorry!” he said. “I didn’t see you coming.”

Why did that voice sound familiar?

“That’s alright,” she said finally getting a hold of herself. She reached over and grabbed her letter right as he did and their hands grabbed each end.

“This is addressed to me,” she heard the guy say. Her heart stopped momentarily. Slowly, she lifted her head to level with her collision partner. He was Japanese, wearing black with those eyes she knew from somewhere. His hair had grown though, but it was still the same person she remembered from three months ago.

Keiji and Akira stared at each other for long moments, both of them not believing their eyes. After another few seconds, Keiji threw her a simple grin that he always used to throw at her. He helped her up and gathered all the mail that had fallen everywhere and went up to her.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” he said. “I thought I’d never see you or hear from you again.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve been busy ever since I got back to New York that day.”

The awkwardness in the room was unbearable but Keiji shook it with a gesture towards the envelope in her hand.

“It’s addressed to me,” he said. “And I’m right here.”

Akira glanced at the letter in her hand and hesitated. She looked back at Keiji and took him in, noting whatever she could that was different. The one thing she didn’t see was a ring on his finger, so she suspected he was still free. Keiji did the same to her, and came to the same conclusion.

“How about this,” he said breaking the silence. He pulled one of the envelopes from his pile and held it out to her. It was addressed to her old place in New York, with her name and apartment address. She looked at it and had a fair idea about what he intended to do. “I give you this since you’re here and you can give me that.”

She was still unsure, but she figured it couldn’t hurt. She took the letter from his hand and replaced it with hers. The two sat down after Keiji had mailed his other letters and read their own mail. While the room echoed with Akira’s giggles and laughter, she noticed that Keiji did nothing but smile here and there. It was only then she realized that her letter was something to help with her momentary loneliness. She never really expected to send it anyway.

But when he was finished with her three page letter, all he did was look down at the floor. Akira felt her heart ache for the possibility of being hurt. She knew she shouldn’t have given him the letter in the first place, but she looked down into the happy scrawling of his for strength for what was coming.

“So,” he said, dragging in a breath before he continued. “How about a rematch in the poker game?”

She turned her head to him and all she saw were his eyes looking at her from the side and a grin plastered on his face as if to say ‘I wonder what color undies you have on now’.

She grinned back at him defiantly.

“I’ve gotten better,” she said proudly.

“Oh really?” he challenged. “Prove it.”

And she did. And Keiji had his major blow. He never lost to poker, but being the looser wasn’t bad. After all, it came with a very nice reward.

Author's Note: I'm on wirter's block for my current story Pretty Kitty Bites. I was going though the other stories in my list and read some. I was appaled by the grammar so I edited this for lack of something better to do. I think it flows better than the last one now that I don't have any of the grammar mistakes. Read and review please!