After Jim’s gaffe, Anne wasn’t returning his phone calls. He felt bad about it and wanted to apologize to her, but after a week it faded from his mind. It felt strange to him that he didn’t feel worse about it. He liked Anne well enough as a person and he felt like an idiot, but he wasn’t desperate to reach out to her. She just became another name that he could add to the ever-growing list of people that he just couldn’t connect with.

He spent his next Saturday night alone, sitting on his couch and eating a bowl of Cap’n Crunch cereal. A few people had invited him out (including the Castellanis) but he wasn’t in the mood.

When he got up to get himself a drink, he stopped in front of the desk. He knew that opening the drawer was like admitting that he believed something amazing was going to happen, like his life was going to be changed by some strange, otherworldly coincidence. The rational part of him told him to open the drawer so that he could just forget about this nonsense and snap out of the funk he was in.

He took a deep breath and grabbed the drawer’s handle. He opened it slowly, the old wood creaking as it went along. He peered inside in the drawer, wondering just what he’d find.

Nothing.

The only things in the drawer were the stationery, envelopes, stamps and pen, all just where he left them. There was nothing new or exciting for him to find.

He frowned, a little disappointed. Well, he thought, what did you expect? Seriously.

He went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. On the way back to the couch, the beer slipped from his hand and fell to the carpet.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

He picked up the bottle and set it on the desk. Thinking that he had left some cleaning supplies in the desk when he cleaned it, he opened the second drawer, hoping there would be some paper towel inside.

There was an envelope staring up at him. His name was written on it in a loopy, feminine scrawl.

Jim swallowed hard. It couldn’t be a coincidence. How many Jim Halperts were there in the world and how many of them could have possibly owned this desk? There were only two explanations for something like this: either he was dreaming or this was his first experience with magic. He couldn’t think straight.

He reached out slowly and picked up the envelope. It was definitely his name. There was no denying the fact that he was holding a slightly yellowed envelope with his name on it.

Carefully, he opened the envelope and plucked the letter from it.

March 16, 1924

Dear Jim (if that is your real name!),

Who are you? This seems all wet to me. How did you get my letter? It was in my desk drawer. I never mailed it and it hardly ever saw the light of day. If it’s you, Will, tell me! And stop going through my things! Some cousin you are! And you better not tell Roy what I said...

But if this isn’t Will and you really are “Jim Halpert,” who I don’t know... I still want to know how you got this letter. How could you find it in the desk drawer? Have you snuck into the house? Boy, if so you’ve got some nerve! A real gate crasher. I should put your name in to the police or OR tell my fiancé. I doubt he’d like some man rooting around my room. And my fiancé’s big six so I wouldn’t take that lightly.

But I also can’t get it out of my head that maybe you found my letter in an innocent way and you truly do have the same feelings as I do. I have to admit it was nice to find out that someone else isn’t sure about what’s “enough” either. I worry about love. I worry that I don’t have it. I worry that I’m going to get married under the pretense of infatuation. I look at my engagement ring every night before I go to sleep and I try to picture what my life will be like. Roy works in the mines, so every day will be filled with a lot of worry. What if one day we have children and then one day he doesn’t come home? Or worse, what if one day I go to get the morning paper and I find they’ve left his body on the front porch? I think I must love him a bit because the idea of that sends terrible chills down my spine. I try not to think of things like that because they may never happen and I hate to worry myself. When I think of things like that, I go and paint to get my mind off it.

So, are you real? If you are, please tell me who you are. I want to know you. If we’re both waiting for the same thing, then maybe we can help each other pass the time. Or maybe we’ve found what we’ve been looking for in each other. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with these sorts of things, especially when you’ve never met the person. You say you can’t reach me. But you did, with the letter. Where are you? Why do you think you’re so far from me?

I’ve been thinking, and I think I like the fact that you’re out there, wherever you are, thinking about me. I’m all balled up over things, but I can promise you that I’m doing my best. I hope you’re doing yours.

Please tell me about yourself, Jim. I want to know you.

Sincerely,
Pamela Morgan Beesly

Jim couldn’t think. He wasn’t even sure that he was still breathing. He slumped into the chair by the desk and carefully set the letter down. Maybe this was a prank someone was playing on him. Maybe Mr. Castellani thought things like this were hilarious. But, no, that didn’t make any sense. How would Mr. Castellani get into the apartment and how would he have gotten the letter addressed to Pam? Nobody had known about the letter. It couldn’t be a prank.

He thought for a long while before opening the first drawer again. He pulled out the pen and another piece of the stationery. He crossed out Pam’s name and address and wrote Jim Halpert - 2009.

He took a deep breath and wrote his reply.

Dear Pam,

I promise you this is no joke. I like to play pranks, but something like this is too incredible to be anything but real. It’s strange for me to say that because I’ve never believed that anything like this could happen, but I can’t explain it any other way. Pam, the reason I said that I couldn’t reach you and how I found your later are one and the same: I’m living in the year 2009. I bought this desk (your desk - OUR desk) at an antique store and found your letter in the first drawer. I decided to write you a reply because… well, I don’t know actually. Something in me told me that I had to, like it would help me get over this weird feeling I’ve had lately. I never expected this. I expected the letter to be returned back to me. By accident I looked in the second drawer of the desk and found your response.

Pam, you know this desk well (those are your initials carved in it, aren’t they), so you know that we have four more drawers. You’ve already put two letters in the first two drawers and I’ve already opened those drawers, so nothing new can reach me there. We can’t change what we’ve already done. But we have four more chances to get to know each other. I haven’t opened the other drawers yet.

You said you wanted to know me. Well. I’m not very interesting. Sorry about that. Too bad nobody famous bought the desk, right? You could be writing letters to a movie star. Instead you’re writing to me - a paper salesman. I live in a small apartment by myself, and I don’t even have a pet. I’m trying to get used to my own skin, I guess. Recently I feel like I’ve lost myself. I go on dates, but like I’ve said, I can’t connect to people. Nobody is “enough.” The last date I went on ended badly. I feel weird admitting this to you (especially knowing you’re engaged and everything), but when my date got out of the car, I accidentally called her by your name. I just couldn’t stop thinking about your letter. And the name just kind of slipped out. It was a dumb mistake, but... well, I don’t know. It happened. I guess that’s the kind of guy I am.

Anyway. Like I said, I sell paper. It’s more boring than you can even imagine. I never wanted this to be my life, but sometimes life takes over when you’re not expecting it. In high school I thought I wanted to be a writer. I was always good at English and the teachers said I had talent, but I don’t know. I guess I never thought about it because it’s not really a career, is it? I don’t think I could pay my bills with a poem. I guess sometimes you just give up on a dream.

I guess I can say that I’m just a man. A man who is in love... with love.

Who are you? I’ll check the next drawer in a week and hope you answered.

- Jim Halpert

Jim folded the letter carefully and placed it in one of the envelopes. He addressed it and stamped it, then slipped on his shoes and grabbed his keys.

He couldn’t wait until the morning to mail it out.