Morse Code Messages

Key West wasn’t known for a lot of things. It was a small town, thrown into the mixes of the deep south and the Florida terrain; not many people visited Key West just to visit Key West ⎯ fishermen docked their boats for the night, hunters strayed across the abandoned land from time to time, and the lost travel would ask for directions to the Miami or Ocala area (which were hundreds of miles away), but once a year, hundreds and hundreds of people gathered to Key West for one special occasion: the annual fishing festival.

If there was one thing Key West was known for, it was the fishing.

During middle part of May, the small town of Key West is overcrowded with families from neighboring counties or states; the smell of live bait, new tack, and the thawing of iced fish attaches to the clothing of one person and mingles with the rest; arguments arouse, depending on who caught the biggest fish, where to catch the biggest fish, and what, exactly, was the biggest fish.

Me and the gang would often sit atop the roof of the abandoned car shop and watch as the newcomers made their way throughout town, quirking their eyebrows at hastily scrawled directions, mouthing out the names of odd sounding words, and stopping at the local deli for a quick bite to eat.

Davie would stretch out along the outer part of the tin roof, the rusted metal digging into the pasty skin of her thigh and point out all of the new, old, or foreign people. “He was here last year,” she would say, “his mama makes good oatmeal cookies” or “that girl doesn’t know how to swim; don’t know what she’s doin’ here.”

Louie would nod along with Davie’s antics, pointing out which ones were the better kissers or the ones that smelt funny or the ones that were mama’s boys. “Him ⎯” Louie had once pointed to a boy that stood tall, his skin looking like condensed milk against his light blue shirt and his light red hair blazing in the sun. “⎯ He’s from Georgia. His daddy is a big time fisherman; he actually does it for a living. His voice sounds funny, kinda like he’s not from here... or from Georgia.”

I never pointed anyone out; I hadn’t ever built up the courage to meet someone new ⎯ I would watch the people, yeah, but I never had any intentions of becoming friends with them. At the time, all I needed were Louie and Davie and Braille and Fanny.

This year, I fought my way through the crowds alone, eyes slanted downwards and curiosity shot. I’d never faired this time of year alone. I wouldn’t have even braved that time of year if it hadn’t been for my mom pleading for me to go out and buy her some baking soda and flour.

There were two “major” grocers in Key West: Brusters and Williams Grocery. Williams Grocery had been around ever since the mid eighteen hundreds, passed down from generation to generation. Williams Grocery smelt like stale saltines and freshly brewed moonshine, the countertops were sticky, and everything you bought was moldy and mushy. Brusters opened two years after I was born and was considered the “younger generations food store” because everyone under the age of sixty shopped there; they had freshly baked goods, soda in a barrel, and cheap libations. Whenever you walked into Brusters, the sound of gossip and the smell of bleach smacked you right in the face.

I didn’t like Brusters, but Williams Grocery was closed during every Fish Festival, because they didn’t much like catering to outsiders and the owners were pretty big fishers themselves. Winding my way into Brusters was a difficult task, but once I did, the smell became nauseating.

“Welcome to Brusters! Is there anything I can help you with?” Chirped the young girl at the front of the store. Turning to the girl to ask her where the breads section was, I’d noticed that it was Braille. Standing in front of the door pathetically, a tried to give her my best attentive look as possible. “What are you doing here?” I’d asked, hoping that it didn’t seem like I cared too much.

Braille evened my look, the reflection of distaste mirroring out of her eyes and into my own. “I work here now.” She paused, as if weighing whether or not to go. “I needed the money,” chirping the same words she spoke to me, Braille acknowledged the family that stalked in and away. Turning from their departing backs, she shot me an aggravated expression. “For stuff, y’know?”

I nodded, acting like I knew what exactly she was talking about. “Um,” I began, “how have you been?”

“Fine,” Braille snapped, smiling as one of the boy’s from her complex shuffled in. “Yourself?”

“I’ve been okay,” I stated in confidence. I had been okay, yes. Had I been great, no, but she didn’t need to know that ⎯ even if she, most likely, did know. Braille’s eyes shifted across my body, her lips forming into a cross between a scowl and a frown.

“You’re getting kind of fat, y’know.”

“Oh,” I deadpanned, “I know.” I stared past Braille’s gaze, acting as if I was interested in the group of families oohing and awing at the large fish tacked against the far wall. “It’s just bloating,” I lied, “mom says it happens to the best of us.”

“Uh huh,” Braille nodded, “only if you’re on your monthly or somethin’...”

I blinked, “or somethin’...” Heaving a heavy sigh, I ran a hand through my hair. The look of utter amusement on Braille’s face made me uneasy. Shifting from one foot to the other, I darted a chance look at her. The same bemused expression sat on her face. “Well,” I stuttered out, “I’m gonna go and get... stuff.”

“Uh huh,” Braille repeated, “whatever.” Watching as she turned her back to me, I turned around and scanned the store. It was larger than Williams Grocery and the white against white blinded my peripheral vision. The green tile was the only form of color in the entire store and that was what caused severe migraines.

“Find what you’re lookin’ for?”

Turning to the face of James, I gave him a shy smile. “Wow,” I said a little too loudly. “You work everywhere.”

“Nah,” he smiled, “I just know everything about everywhere.”

Giving him a casual nod, I’d steadied my gaze on Braille’s prying eyes. Her body was positioned towards James and I, her face set in stone. Turning my attention back to James, I’d given him my best flirtatious smile ⎯ surely failing ⎯ and touched his shoulder. “Do you know where the bread section is?”

“Yeah,” James murmured, staring down at my arm. Dropping it back to my side, I’d motioned for him to show me the way. “Actually,” James had smiled lightly, walking into the aisle we stood before. “This is the bread section.”

Blushing, I’d eyed the shelves and picked up my needed necessities. “Thanks,” I’d drawled, “this should make my mom happy... er, happier, whatever.”

“Well, thanks,” I smiled mellifluously, holding up the baking soda, “for helping me find this stuff.”

“Yep,” James chuckled, his eyes had diverted to my legs. A look of horror had crossed his face before he looked back up at me, his eyebrows furrowed into a fine line and his lips all screwed up. “Um,” James pointed to my legs, “I think you’re... ugh,”

Glancing at the ground, a scarlet color taking up residency against my face, I blinked back the instant tears. Finishing off James’ thought, I forced myself to look back up and meet the uncomfortable expression that sat upon his face.

James stuttered some more before finishing his sentence: “bleeding.”