“That’s a good one,” he whispered. “Shit buttis the greatest insult of all time. I hope all of Sammy’s dreams come true.”
“RIP Pinball,” I said solemnly.
Isaac and I passed letters back and forth. Some were gut-splittingly hilarious and others made me want to track down these kids and be their own personal Oprah. New houses, new toys, new family cars. Hell, even new parents in some cases.
Beside me, Isaac perched on a pallet of folded boxes as he read letter after letter, absolutely devouring every word. He’d hand me any that stood out to him and he’d reread over my shoulder. I had to resist the urge not to take a step back and leaninto his chest. We had a hot librarian double date coming up, and I couldn’t jeopardize his hunt for a muse—again.
“Got it!” Ian shouted triumphantly after about thirty minutes.
I shrieked with delight and threw my arms around his neck, catching the poor federal worker off guard. “Ian! I could kiss you!”
Beside me, Isaac stiffened, and I took a little too much pleasure in that.
I stepped back and patted Ian’s shoulders. “Sorry about that. I’m a hugger.”
Ian’s cheeks turned a deep shade of pink. “My girlfriend might frown upon a kiss, but I’m honored.” He gave me a deep bow and then handed me a Post-it with two names. “The only two postal workers employed by the Piney Notch Post Office in 1944, milady.”
I took the little yellow square from him and tucked it into my jacket. “Well, if it doesn’t work out with your girl, take a rain check for that kiss, but seriously, you’ve saved the day. And maybe my career.”
Isaac gave him a little salute. “Yeah, man. Thanks for the help.”
“I live to serve,” Ian said.
“I like the sound of that,” I said below my breath and Isaac elbowed me in the ribs.
Ian grabbed an empty basket like the kind the post office gives you when you have too much mail. “You know, all those letters are heading to the dead letter office tomorrow, so if you guys wanted to take some home... it looked like you were both really enjoying them.”
“Oh,” I said, “we don’t need you breaking the rules for—”
“Really?” Isaac asked. “You’d be cool with that?”
Ian handed Isaac one basket and me another. “Just promise not to stalk anyone with a return address and they’re yours.”
Isaac immediately began to shovel handfuls of letters into his basket. “I would never, but I can’t make any promises for this one here,” he said as he motioned to me.
“No stalking,” I promised. “Even though someone really should lay flowers on Pinball’s grave.”
The car ride home was nearly silent. I could feel both of us rotating in our own creative orbits.
I stared at the sticky note Ian had given me the whole ride home. I even took a picture of it on my phone in case I lost it.
James Dugan
Saul Wilshire Jr.
I had names. Real names. I had to be close. I wanted to know the whole story. I needed to know the whole story, but for the first time since I’d signed my Hope Channel contract on the dotted line, I felt like I had a spark of inspiration. And maybe that spark was bright enough to open my document and just see what words might pour out.
Back at the mansion, Isaac carried in both baskets stacked on top of each other and with only a glance over his shoulder to make sure I’d made it inside, he kicked off his boots and went straight to the formal living room (or drawing room or something fancy like that) where I heard him sit down at the creaky piano bench.
My thoughts were swirling as I grabbed my laptop from the kitchen, where I’d left it alongside a half drunk cup of coffee. I dumped the cup in the sink and made a beeline for the library, settling into my cozy nest of blankets and pillows on the velvet couch.
I had so many thoughts on different openings and whether I should have a narrator or start in the present day or... It was all bubbling in my head like the perfect kind of chaos.
First, I opened up my notes document and released the word vomit with every half-baked and even some fully formed idea I had. It was like rushing home and having to pee and then ahhhh, sweet release.
Note to self: no pissing metaphors in the Hope Channel movie.
As I opened a fresh document to attempt my opening scene, I reached beside me for Mr.Tumnus, but he wasn’t there in his usual spot curled into my thigh.
