Word: Epistolary

epistolary

[ ih-pis-tl-er-ee ]

adjective

contained in or carried on by letters: an epistolary friendship.

of, relating to, or consisting of letters.

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               Julie entered the living room and saw her son, Tommy, laying face down on the floor.  The boy’s legs kicked in the air and he gripped a pencil that was currently busy making the large, crude letters of a boy who was just learning how to write.

               “What’re you doing?  Writing something?” Julie asked.

               “Yup.” Tommy answered.

               “What’re you writing?”

               “A letter.”

               “A letter?  Really?  Who is it to?”

               Maybe his grandparents?  The options were limited for a seven-year-old.  Maybe it was a school assignment of some kind.

               “I got a pen pal, and I’m writing to him.”

               “A pen pal?  Really?  That’s great.” She had not been aware that pen pals were back in style.  As far as she knew, they went away when email entered the scene.  But, it was good for Tommy to make friends, so she could not complain.  “Do you want some help mailing it when you’re done?”

               “No, I can do it myself.  I just gotta put it in the mailbox.”

               Julie smiled and chuckled quietly. 

               “I think there’s a bit more than that.  Tell you what, when you’re finished, I’ll show you everything you need to do to mail a letter, okay?”

               “It’s okay.  I’ve sent them before.”

               Julie had not seen any envelopes going out, let alone envelopes that lacked postage or had her son’s distinctive handwriting on it.  Nor had she seen any letters coming back.

               “You sure?”

               “Yup.”

               “Can you show me when you’re done?”

               “Kay.  I’m done now anyway.”

               Tommy added a few more lines and then stood.  He folded the letter and ran to his room, leaving Julie to scramble after him.  When she reached his dinosaur covered room, he was using a large sticker to seal the letter.  He then went to one of the few non-dinosaur themed items in Tommy’s room.  An old mailbox.

               It was something Julie had bought on a whim from a yard sale a few months ago.  It was not quite old enough to be considered an antique, but it was still older than she was.  From the forties or fifties, at least.  She had gotten it as a conversation starter, but Tommy had latched onto it, and so in his room it went.

               Tommy slipped the letter in the box and turned the flag up.  Then he backed up and looked at the box expectantly.

               “Hey, Tommy, baby, you know that nobody comes to pick up the mail from that, right?”

               Jus then, the flag dropped.  Julie thought that it had simply fallen due to being worn out, but Tommy went and opened the box.  Inside was a letter.  And it was different than the one her son had put in.  The paper was much different, it was folded differently, and it lacked the sticker her son had used. 

               Tommy opened it and started reading with a big smile on his face.

               “Tommy, where did you say your pen pal is from?”

               Tommy shrugged.  “Don’t know.  We don’t say that stuff.  But he says some funny stuff.  Like, he says he doesn’t know what a computer is, and that TVs don’t have colors.  His name is Sam and he’s a little older than me.”

               Julie’s mind was racing.  Could it be?  It should be impossible, right?  That sort of thing simply did not happen in real life.  But she had seen it with her own eyes.  She needed to test it.  She told Tommy to wait for her to come back, then she ran to write a quick note.  It was just asking for his name and the date, but it would do.  She did exactly what Tommy had done, putting the letter in the mailbox and raising her flag.

               A moment later, the flag fell and Julie retrieved a much different sheet of paper.  On it was a letter written by a person who was just getting a handle on his handwriting.

               Good evening, ma’am.  It is a great pleasure to be pen pals with your son.  He is very funny, and says a lot of odd things.  But to answer your questions, my name is Samuel Lee Thompson, and it is the 9^th of June, 1948.  I am not sure why you wish to know this, but I hope it is helpful.  I look forward to your son’s next letter.

                                                                                        Sincerely,

Sam

               “Mommy?  Is there something wrong?  Did I do something bad?” Tommy asked.

               “Huh?  Oh, no, no.  Of course not, sweetie.  No, Mommy just needs to think about some things.”

               “Can I still send letters to Sam?”

               “Uh, yes.  Sure, that’s fine.”

               Julie left her son’s room and went to the living room, where she sat on the couch and stared at the wall.  She looked back at the letter in wonder.  A time traveling mailbox.  There was so much she could do with that.  She needed to figure out how to use it, and what it was capable of.  This was going to make one hell of a conversation starter.  

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Time travel is complicated.  Best to avoid it entirely, if at all possible.  Even something simple like a letter could do some serious damage if the wrong thing is said.