Written in Morse Code

FLASHBACK

How could I be so stupid? For a brief moment, like a candlelight taken by the wind, was a flicker of hope that came back with a childish laugh of a grin and a clicking sound.

Could it be? A crumpled paper was left lying on the ground in the corner of the room, with what looked like - dots and dashes. Somehow, it wailed and tugged, itching to be picked up.

There, about two seconds in, two steps were taken. They were dragged and dreary, and set about with confusion.

This beautiful masterpiece of words laid there on the paper and was burnt to a crisp, because like many other beautiful things, it was wrapped under the demise of life.

It was then that one long porcelain tear hit the floor. This was the proof of the whispered deep written conversations that once existed.

One minute. Then two maybe, had passed, and the drawer to the clean lighter that laid dormant was opened. It would have the same fate as all the other notes from the little book I created with it.

Others were hot, and the torn papers experienced its severing touch as they were thrown into the fire to burn.

The lighter trembled as it neared its crunched-up state, and the windows slammed shut. This would be the last drink from the metaphorical savory wine glass with grape juice in it.

The light began to blink, and it was then that the storm was about to start.

The crumpled paper loosed itself from the hands that held it, then being tossed around by similar winds that closed the windows shut.

Then reaching out, it was grabbed from its ridiculed state. For so long it had laid there in its prison dust-ridden and full of impediments.

Again. It was held to the combustion of the bright orange and yellow flame. Yet, it did not touch.

The feel of its heavy burden gave rise to a struggling gaze of shock. Its crunchy squinched-up exterior needed a mother's touch to dismiss its edges and unravel the secrets held inside.

Then, not even realizing it, curiosity had begun to mix with caution. The paper began to unfold, not by itself, oh no, with the help of an old friend; my hand, who remembered pressing the handle of the old Morse code machine.

It was like it was putting an unrefusable offer on the table. Still, the stakes had to be weighed. This was not a game, neither was it a gamble, it needed a meticulous analysis as it would leave stinging dirty old wounds cracked ajar.

It would cause a war between two worlds; one of the past and one of the present, of mixed emotions, of love and hate.

The answer was finally there, and it came in the form of two heavy and hot kisses on each cheek; It was like he was there.

It was then that the tugging on the paper stopped, and like the little arms and legs of a baby to its mother, stretched out and kicked, laying out flat, bare and exposed; the note lay there for her to read.

The distressed cry began to fade and was replaced with a slight zinging that played through the air. The rain became more soothing as the atmosphere cooled.

Now, the note left on the lifeless paper spoke a language of its own. Each dot and dash was its instrument, each playing its tune, together developing a symphony that only could be heard by the trained eye.

Hello old friend, I love you.

PRESENT

It was this that led to a search for more. This experience had lit something alive that day.

A war of some sort? A battle maybe. Going on behind the dressers. Outside of its doors were no pretty scenes. Old pans had begun clinging. Rust-filled tools flung.

Even the eight-year-old book that was never touched lay smack down, split in the middle on the floor. It adequately mirrored the frantic frenzy of two feet stampeding about.

It was an absolute and chattering chaos; the darkness of the hollow inner cupboard crumbled and cowered at the sight of the brief flashing glimpses of the blinding light of an opened treasure chest.

Thank God, no one could see the inside of the little storage cabin.

Abruptly, the noise stopped. There it was. The mini treasure chest, brown and silver, is behind one the old bicycles from childhood days.

Now, although closed, the clanged cymbals of cupboard doors were slightly tilted and open. Its hinges are now worn and cracking at its seams. Nearby stood the box lit with golden dust from the morning's sun.

A grunt was exerted into the air like windy sea-storm breezes that rocked boats back and forth. Sweat had run from every crevasse. It was pulled from the years of nostalgia; from the cabinet now locked and shut.

Although hesitant, curiosity laid an opportunity that could not be refused. It was then that the paper was picked up off the floor, in a quick and gentle swoop and wrapped by hands of warmth. 

It was not unbelievable, but rather delightful that still, it could be found. Still, the paper was beaten and bruised.

Pong! Pong! Pong! That old treasure chest opened. Another cry exerted her opened mouth; gasping for air as it were. Tears of joy. Yet she couldn't forgive herself, she began to wipe away the tears.

Finally. A small creaking noise; an opening in its crevasses. It shut a tight lid that never sprung with dust swiveling around with a light energy at its feet. Within the box hid another treasure.

Chhh- chh- chh. A light sparked; a fire of recognition in her eyes. They removed the dust lying on the padded book as they swiped their hands back and forth from top to bottom. Lightly blowing off any dust left.

Slowly prying open its pages, she could feel goosebumps. Its edges; are rigid, sharp, and crisp. A contrast to its surface that had small enough bumps that could be felt.

The other pages were left blank and void. For the adventure that they had before them; was now gone withering with the wind.

This was their message that came back to life; a message waiting to be uncovered. The message is written in Morse code.

Then I read to myself what it said as though he was right there:

"Hello my old friend, I love you"

.... . .-.. .-.. --- / -- -.-- / --- .-.. -.. / ..-. .-. .. . -. -.. --..-- / .. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..-

"Yes, I'm still at sea, time is running out"

-.-- . ... --..-- / .. .----. -- / ... - .. .-.. .-.. / .- - / ... . .- --..-- / - .. -- . / .. ... / .-. ..- -. -. .. -. --. / --- ..- -

"Why do you say that?"

.-- .... -.-- / -.. --- / -.-- --- ..- / ... .- -.-- / - .... .- - ..--..

I remembered I had to check back in with him.

"Hello? Are you still there?"

.... . .-.. .-.. --- ..--.. / .- .-. . / -.-- --- ..- / ... - .. .-.. .-.. / - .... . .-. . ..--..

"Yes, yes I am."

-.-- . ... --..-- / -.-- . ... / .. / .- --

The whole experience that she had left her speechless and shaken; It left me wanting more but the pages were empty and the one anything was written on was teared.

How could I be so stupid?