But the transmissions, Leilani would find, were always erratic. In fact she wasn't even sure if she'd tuned in to a radio station, or if she was picking up encrypted military transmissions that used a code that would sound gibberish to anyone listening to it, although she did find it too much of a coincidence that it would speak of something that was so deeply personal to her. She recognizes the voice on the other end all too well. Not the timber of it, to be sure, but the pain, the anguish, the uncertainty... she's heard words that had previously mostly only existed inside her head, words she'd eventually learn not to voice to others. There's a kinship there, and she feels the desire to reach out to this person and let him know he's not alone. But so far as she knows, these could be a hoax, or just the ramblings of a mad person, and it tugs at het heart for even thinking about it that way, because how many times was she called crazy herself? She feels that burning need to find out who this person is, but she doesn't even know where to begin. Sometimes the transmissions lapse into long moments of silence. She's sure she can hear him cry. There's such despair in his voice, and sometimes he'll get angry and yell, but it's an anger tinged with sadness. A couple of months after she first started to listen to these late night laments, her parents come over to stay with her for a week. She doesn't turn on the radio during that time, and every night she goes to sleep hoping that nothing happens to him - she sees in that voice an ache that she was all too familiar with, one that made her want to end her own life. But she knew she would never have the courage to do that. She hopes he doesn't, too.
While her father's there, he asks her what she's been up to, and she's mostly true in what she answers. She's been reading through the library her grandparents had, she goes for bike rides, sometimes she goes down to the town a few miles away from where she lives. She says she's been keeping herself busy, and that she feels better. It's not entirely a lie, but it's not the whole truth either. She mentions the radio, though not what she's been listening to. Her dad's surprised that old piece of junk is still functioning, and he goes to where the radio is, and turns it on. It's still tuned to his frequency, but only static comes through. Thank god for that. He fiddles with the knob, changing stations until he alights on something to his liking. It's 'In the mood', by The Glenn Miller Orchestra, and he takes her daughter by the hand and they dance on the small room. He looks at his daughter, this daughter he loves so much, and tells her that something in her reminds him of his own mother. He tells her how thankful he is for having her as his daughter, and they both embrace. When they leave, some days later, she already misses them, though she knows it won't be too long until they come back again. That first night, when she's alone again, she turns on the radio, searches for his voice, but nothing comes up. She feels sad, and lonely, as if something had been taken away from her.
She found out quite early on that there's a spot in the living room, where if she angles her laptop just right, she can get a little bit of connection going. It's not very stable, and nor is it fast, but she can do some basic stuff. She tries to find out if there are pages dedicated to shortwave radio transmissions in this area, and after quite a bit of searching she manages to find a forum where aficionados discuss everything about it, from the technicalities of it, to whatever they somehow stumble onto. She feels like a stranger in a strange land, and her first few tentative queries there don't seem to have that much engagement. Leilani doesn't feel dispirited, though. She feels she's on the path to something. She continues the posting, letting the others in the forum know more details about what she's looking for, the approximate location, the content of the transmission. Those who reply politely say they can't help her. And then one day she gets a message on her inbox from one of the members. He is straight to the point, and asks why she wants to know who's making those transmissions. As she types her answer she can't help but laugh. 'I am going to sound crazy.', she thinks. But she goes for the diplomatic approach first and says the feels a connection to those words. She says she's felt exactly how the voice she hears is describing. There's, naturally, doubts from the other user. He asks her how could she possibly know, and she looks at the screen, reads the message time and time again, and shakes her head. She lets her fingers do their work, and soon enough she's pressing send on a message that says everything she's gone through. The reply doesn't come quick, though. It takes days to arrive, and in the meantime there are no further transmissions. When she does get a reply, though, it's not what she expected. It tells her that the person she's been listening to is dead.
No comments:
Post a Comment