Morse Code Messages

Louie was the only one of us that lived right beside the beach. She also had air conditioning in her house and was the result of reckless mating between an Italian immigrant named Pavlov and French mother who’s name was Ida, but preferred to go by Lesley.

She had bright red hair that was cut just before her shoulders and pasty skin that was cluttered with tiny freckles and bitten down nails and small brown eyes. She was the shortest of us all, standing at four foot nine. Regardless of her small stature she had large feet, and her father often joked that if the beaches were ever to flood she would have her own built-in lifejacket.

Her mother and father were still in lots and lots of love. It was beautiful to watch, really. It was like winding up a music box. You turned the key and the music would begin to play, allowing the little ballerina to dance and twirl. Then, the ballerina and the music would stop and you’d have to turn the key again. Only, Louie’s parents never stopped. They just kept dancing and dancing.

They were unofficial, too. Unlike everyone else’s parents, they didn’t believe in being called “Mr.” and “Mrs.” They were simply Pavlov and Lesley. They spoke of absurd things. Her mother often rambled on and on about how when she lived in France she frequented the brothels, because when she grew to be a youth she wanted to know how to pleasure her husband. Pavlov often told us outrageous stories about how men back in Italy would chop off the heads of their parents and wives and children and then run about like rabid dogs, holding up the head and cheering.

Pavlov and Lesley owned a sweets shop. They sold cakes and cookies and truffles and biscuits. Inside was homey, with cherry red booths and checkered flooring and a bar with cherry red swivel chairs. A jukebox was always streaming popular songs and root beer floats and drafts and odd soda concoctions traveled across the counter. It was something foreign, but it was what we were all used to and whoever wasn’t would grow accustom.

Louie was known for exaggerating things. Her mother once told us it was because Louie was a “modern girl who would catch herself an old-fashioned boy.” After her mom said that she flounced out of the room, muttering about how she was hot even though the air conditioning was blasting. We’d all crowded around, trying to figure out what she meant by that. It took us months and months, but we’d finally figured out that she meant Louie wanted big, flamboyant things and she would want someone who wasn’t about materialistic things -- she was right.

People often confused Davie for being the most outgoing of us all, but she was nothing compared to Louie. Louie would often climb through our bedroom windows, smelling of cigarette smoke and musk and something else none of us could quite put our fingers on. She would go on detailed explanations about all of the boys she had been with; that one guy could do fascinating things with his tongue while that other guy was more of a toucher.

None of us ever stopped her from her extravagant rambles. They were foreign lands none of us had set foot on before and even though we all wanted to we couldn’t, so we lived our fornicating through Louie instead.

She was bold and beautiful and biased. Louie wasn’t afraid of speaking her mind or asking boys if they’d be willing to pull down their slacks, because, to be quite honest, she wanted to see if their best bits were as inflated as their egos. If anyone else were to act in such a manner they would be considered the town tramp or county whore, but not Louie. She had this captivating personality that made everyone want to be her friend.

Louie often dressed in other people’s clothing. Not people, actually, boys. She spoke of how, as they were getting ready to departure, she would snatch up a garment of theirs. Whether it be a shirt or pants. Woman weren’t supposed to wear pants out, but of course Louie did. She would cut their jeans or slacks or bermudas and turn them into extremely short shorts. And she would wear their shirts as dresses and their caps as fedoras.

Louie could pull anything off and still not get into any trouble about it.


Despite Louie’s aggressive attitude she was also a very airy girl. She was practically a parody, being able to play the piano and the violin and many other things that really weren’t as fascinating. Louie had a loud voice and flounced around, pressing her bosom up in boys faces and pretending like she didn’t know what they were talking about when they asked if she would “like to go for an exploration.”

In a sense, Louie had a very adult-like attitude toward herself. While everyone liked Pavlov and Lesley, they weren’t meant to be parents. They acted more like her incestuous sister and brother instead of mother and father. It wasn’t rare for Louie not to come out for a few days because she was tending to a hungover mother or an unconscious father.

It never seemed to faze her, though. Louie was always strong and fast witted. That was what kept her going.

Due to parents slack way of life it was never odd to go to her house and having a glass of wine offered or a can of beer -- even though it wasn’t common for women to drink beer. So, when I found Davie leading me to Louie’s house it didn’t faze me much when we opened the door, as if it were our own homes, and were greeted with the thick overlay of cigarette smoke and the tangy smell of alcohol.

A loud laugh echoed throughout the medium-sized home, alerting Davie and I on where we needed to go.

Sitting in Pavlov and Lesley’s living room were Louie, Braille, Fanny and two boys I had never seen before.

Davie immediately smiled her big smile and shimmied her way toward the couch the two boys were seated upon. Louie sat on one boys lap and the other offered his lap to Davie, who sat in it eagerly. Braille was curled up in one of the plush chairs and Fanny lay sprawled out on the floor, smiling up at me. I stood in the doorway, looking awkward and plain and simply out of place.

Louie turned her head in my direction, smiling largely at me. “Come, sit!”

I bit down on my bottom lip, sitting down beside Fanny. She sat up, wrapping her dainty arm around my shoulder and resting her head on top of my own. The boy Davie was perched on glanced over at me, pulling out a pocket of cigarettes from the underlining of the couch.

“Care for one?” He’d asked.

Before I had a chance to decline his offer Davie laughed ten times too loud. “Please! 'Key is a prude, she doesn’t smoke.” And with that she snatched the carton from his slender fingers, tugging out a long white stick and placing it between her lips, leaning into the lit match that the other boy held between his thumb and middle finger.

I blushed, fixing my eyes on Braille. “I was going to yes, please.”

Braille raised her eyebrows at me, as if asking whether I’d lost my mind or not. When I didn’t answer her unasked question she stood, shaking her head. “You’re all going to die of some unknown disease because of those things, do you hear me?”

Fanny nodded her head, rubbing against my skull. “You’re such a downer, Braille, honestly.”

The young man Davie was sitting on pushed her off his lap, crawling onto the floor and handing me a cigarette. He smiled down at me, pulling out a packet of matches from his back pocket. His hair was short and brown, from what I could tell. A cap sat on top of his head, covering a majority of it. His hands were rough as they scraped across my own, from the exchange of matches. His eyes were a wide dark blue and light brown freckles sprinkled across his nose.

“Okay, lit up?” His voice was deep and southern, reminding me of Ms. Patty. I nodded my head, feeling no need to answer verbally. The boy motioned for me to put the cigarette between my lips. I did as I was told, feeling a blush creep up my neck because everyone was watching us.

“Breathe in lightly, but not too hard or nothin’ or else you’ll end up in a coughin’ fit.”

I followed his directions, staring at Louie and Davie out of the corner of my eye. They looked surprised and that made me feel as if I had gained some unspoken points in their books. I’d never felt the need to impress them, but at that moment, and many times after, I did.

The boy watched me intently for a few minutes, before nodding his approval. “You done this before?”

I shook my head, afraid that if I pulled the cigarette away from my lips I’d end up coughing. I could feel my chest expanding and the feel of smoke floating past my uvula and down my throat. It was odd, and even more strange when an unknown delight erupted in the pit of my stomach.

Davie stared down at me, frowning. “You gotta take that thing outta your mouth one of these days, ‘Key.”

I inhaled deeply, extracting the cigarette from my mouth. The boy snatched it from my fingers, eagerly placing it between his own lips. I watched as he made his way back to the couch, daintily placing Davie back on his lap.

“Your name is ‘Key?”

I shook my head, shifting uncomfortably beneath the weight of Fanny’s head. “It’s Mickey,”

The boy nodded, flicking the ash off the end of the cigarette. He smiled down at me, as if he knew something I didn’t know. “I’m known as Sock,” he’d said. His eyes bored into me, like he was looking for something or trying to tell me something. I’d felt utterly uncomfortable beneath his gaze, but I’d also felt like we were bonded then, by some unspoken spell.

“What’s your real name?” I asked shyly, wondering if his parents had actually named him Sock.

He simply winked at me, drumming his slender fingers against the inside of Davie’s thigh.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time.”

After that one innocent wink I’d seen many, many more. The ones that came after that one wink weren’t as innocent. They were filled with something, some unspoken warning that he’d tried desperately to get across. With each wink his warning became more and more serious and my stupidity grew and grew.

That one innocent wink, in the familiar green living room, told me that the summer of my fifteenth year would change everything.