Today, in Real Life things that happen in Real Life and not on the internet – a Mystery.
Last night after playing soccer with Jordan and Mike (which consisted largely of them impersonating what Wes thinks is a “header”), Jordan and I walked home and found a letter on my car, in a large Business Reply envelope, with the words, “please read me, stranger” scripted on the outside.
Now, as a girl that has experienced her fair share of Crazy, and once treated flowers on my doorstep like they were a bomb that needed diffusing, I do not react well to letters left on my car. Unless it’s the parking lot of Canyon High School and your name is Dan Orth. Well, I didn’t really react well to those either. Anyway – we go into the house to read the attached note, addressed to me as “Stranger” (capitalized consistently throughout, which makes me reconsider Dan’s criticism of my habit of Arbitrarily Capitalizing Words as an indication of crazy) from someone who is “writing out of desperation” to no one in particular, in an effort to reach out.
Highlights include, but are not limited to: “ I want to know your story, dear Stranger. I want to know your past transgressions, your broken hearts, your noble acts. I wish there was a way to correspond more directly. For now, dropped letters will have to do. I have such love for you, my Stranger, such sincere affection. You’re saving me in a way. Your simple act of reading my letter is instilling in me a small and flickering hope that maybe one day we can laugh about this over tea.”
“I love you, Stranger. In my own way I really do. I hope you feel something similar for me. Until Next Time, Your Stranger.”
Now.
Hmm.
Our first reaction to this was for me, Jordan and Mary to sit around like a remade, culturally diverse set of Boxcar Children at the beginning of a Summer Mystery Adventure using our respective skill sets (Mary diagnosing the person’s mental state, me immediately pulling up Gawker to see if this a Trend, Jordan offering to hook up with the Stranger if she was hot).
But then later, at Flying Saucer, Jordan and I asked our Beer Goddess what she thought of it – and her first suggestion (“notify the police immediately”) made us realize we may not be taking this seriously enough. And that Jordan’s idea, to leave a single red rose on my car windshield, may not be the best way to engage with this person.
So I did the only thing I could do. Took the letter to work, scanned it in, and blogged about it. Wait. Shit. I left the original in the copier.
PS Rick – the fact that my front door doesn’t actually lock just got triaged to the top of your list.
