Writing for Anybody

     Later that day, Gene put an envelope into his father’s mailbox, addressed to a place that wasn’t Zygeist Media. The letter was picked up by a postal worker the next day, and was taken to a post office by the evening of that day. On Monday, the letter was sorted by a machine into a pile of mail that was destined for international travel. It was then sent into another truck that was taking it to an airport. By Tuesday, the letter was far away from the little town the Southwells lived in, being driven to San Antonio. In the hours just past midnight, when Tuesday had finished turning into Wednesday, a plane took off out of the San Antonio International Airport and began traveling towards New York. By the evening of Wednesday, the letter had crossed over into European waters.
     Thursday saw the letter being flown out of the European states on another plane. It soared over several countries and vast swathes of dry land as it flew. When it was Friday for Gene and Annabelle, it was already Saturday for Miya. The letter touched down onto a South Korean runway on Saturday for the Southwells—which was Sunday for Miya. On Monday, the letter was placed into the janitor’s mailbox, and that evening, when Miya trudged into her room, the letter was beneath her pillow.
     It had been two weeks since she’d last sent a letter to the Southwell siblings.
     She washed the makeup off her face slowly, contemplating what she was doing. The excitement of sending a letter to someone had worn off, and she didn’t want to send another one because she was afraid she’d look desperate. As she finished brushing her teeth, a thought crept into her mind that she hadn’t considered before.
     What if they didn’t want to send her—the real her—any letters?
     She shook her head, trying to make the doubt go away.
     She might have been too vulnerable. She had probably scared them off.
     The light to the bathroom turned off and she walked towards her bed slowly, trying to come up with normal reasons as to why they hadn’t sent her a letter in response.
     They were probably just busy; or maybe their letter had gotten lost in the mail. She sat down on the side of her bed and pulled out the pad of paper that had been sitting in the drawer of her bedside table. There were already five entire pages missing; they’d been thrown out by her after she’d tried and failed to come up with more things to say.
     She didn’t want to sound desperate.
     She stared at the empty pad of paper in silence and quietly wished that she had more time to think. As it was, she only had the brief span of time before she went to sleep to try and write about anything, and her thoughts were usually all jumbled from the events of the day prior. Her mind tried to calm itself down as she thought about what she’d done that Monday and what she wanted to say.
     The music video director had been polite, at least. More polite than most. The cameramen had been nice too. The other actors on the actual set had all been very well-trained, and Miya couldn’t have asked for a better makeup team.
     Then there had been Mukashi.
     She didn’t like how Mukashi made her feel.
     It had been two weeks since he'd stopped coming into her bedroom, and she’d long since stopped feeling upset and frustrated with him. Unfortunately, the emotion that had replaced the frustration was even worse.
     Because now, whenever she thought about Mukashi, she felt nothing.
     Miya was afraid of nothing.
     Nothing was what had made her forget her grandpa. Nothing was what had made her forget about her soul. Nothing, in Miya’s mind, was the absence of anything.
     She didn’t want to feel nothing.
     Yet now, whenever Mukashi spoke to her, or walked with her, or got her lucnh for her, that was what she felt.
     The part that made her the most scared was the fact that, as she stared at the pad of paper, she couldn’t think of anything to say. Minutes passed, and she felt an emptiness begin to fill her heart as she tried harder and harder to think of something—anything—of worth to say.
     But all she could think about were meaningless trifles; boring; uninteresting things that no one else would care about. Simple musings about the video shoot. Small wonderings about her outfit. A few scattered worries and thoughts she’d had while eating lunch.
     None of it was worth anybody’s time.
     The pad of paper ended up back in the bedside table, without a single word having been written on it. Miya sighed despondently as she walked over to her light switch and turned it off. The darkness in her room was all-encompassing, and Miya wondered what would happen if someone else opened the door.
     Would they see her?
     She slowly laid down on the bed, got herself under the covers, then put her hands under the pillow.
     She ran over to the light switch, tore open the envelope, then sat down on the side of her bed and started reading it as quickly as she could, her eyes greedily devouring each sentence.
     “Dear Ms. Miya. We wrote back as quickly as we could. My sister wants you to know that you can send us as many letters as you want to. She…”
     She could send as many letters to them as she wanted to. A smile appeared on her face as she realized what that meant. These two siblings weren’t only interested in her soul; they were interested in her. They wanted to hear what she had to say.
     She couldn’t help letting a few drops of saltwater land on the letter as she kept reading.
     “She really cares about you, and neither of us wants you to feel lonely. She also wants you to know that Jesus loves you. Anyway, about that Mukashi fellow; Annabelle says that you can’t force anybody to like you. She wants you to know that you should just keep doing the right thing, and then the people who care about that sort of thing will want to be your friend. Sincerely, Annabelle and Gene Southwell. P.S. If this Mukashi fellow is worth anything, then if you tell him how you feel, he’ll do his best to help you out. That’s what a gentleman oughta do. ~Gene Southwell.”
     Miya swallowed, her hands trembled, and her smile was fragile.
     She reached into the bedside table and pulled out the pad of paper, then wrote about everything that had happened to her that day.
~~~
     On Tuesday morning, Miya was standing outside her bedroom door and waiting for Mukashi to arrive. He turned the corner and stepped into the hallway that contained her bedroom exactly one minute before she needed to wake up. He stopped walking when he saw her standing there, already prepared for the day ahead. He glanced at her, then looked down at his phone, then spoke towards her calmly.
     "You should not cut into your sleep schedule. The three hours you receive every night are vital to your mental and physical health." 
     "I'll be fine, but thank you for your concern Mukashi." 
     Mukashi typed something into his phone in response to that, then motioned for her to follow him. She did as he had gestured, and followed him through the halls of Zygeist Media with a placid smile on her face.
     "Next week will be your last recording session for your new music videos. After that, we will return to your normal off-season schedule." 
     "Thank you for reminding me." She said pleasantly. 
     The two of them walked side-by-side until they reached the elevator. He pushed the button. There was silence between the two of them as the elevator slowly made its way towards them. Miya thought about what the postscript to the letter had said. She glanced up at Mukashi curiously, wondering how he would react if she told him about her feelings directly. 
     Once the two of them were in the elevator, she almost worked up the courage to ask him.
     Then her sense returned to her, and she clamped her mouth shut. 
     Mukashi had noticed her movements, but thought nothing of it. He convinced himself that it was a suppressed yawn. It was beneficial that her schedule would be relaxing soon. Extra sleep would do Miya well. The doors opened and the two of them stepped off on the first floor of Zygeist Media. They walked back towards the garage and stepped onto her tour bus once more. As Miya stepped onto it, she smelled kimchi and some soup. She stepped to the little table and sat down in front of her meal. 
     "Thank you for the food, Mukashi." She said politely, then began eating.
     Mukashi didn't react.
     Miya didn't care about whether or not he reacted.