Our Ironic Serendipity (IM5)

Chapter 8

"Alright, they're fine. They'll be stuck at the Hudson's for a while, though, until they can figure something out," Rosetta says, standing up from the ground where the Morse machine is located. I lean on one side of the door frame, waiting for her to explain further.

"What happened?" I ask, wondering why her parents couldn't make it back from the neighbor's place.

"The boat floated away, I think. Or maybe it was something else about the boat, I don't know. All I know is that they don't have the boat anymore because something happened to it. My Morse code skills are getting rusty."

"How long do you think they'll be gone?"

She sighs, shrugging. I bite my bottom lip, thinking. They can't be gone for long, and if they are it'll probably be only until the storm ends so I'll be good to go either way.

"This has never happened before so I don't really know what to expect. I told them not to worry, though. We can take care of ourselves."

"We certainly can," I mumble under my breath, my mind flashing back to last night.

I just wanted to apologize to her and check on her, but I found her in a puddle of her own tears. I didn't really expect that, so I froze, but I quickly came to terms with the reality of the situation. At first, I thought it was my fault she was crying, but then she broke loose into a series of screeching sobs and I realized the fault was beyond me. I rushed to her side, hoping there was something I could do. I got her some water before she broke down, but she didn't take it, so I didn't know what else to do. I thought maybe holding her would help, so I wrapped my arms around her. At that very moment, I could feel her distress. It had spread through her body like a speed-killer virus. I knew at that very moment that she wasn't being mean to me for no reason. I knew at that very moment that she was struggling with agonizing pain. Of course I knew, it takes one anguished person to understand another. Then, I knew that I had made the right decision to hold her. She began to calm down, but I simply couldn't let go. She was the first person who seemed to truly understand what it feels like to be tortured from the inside, regardless of the reason. I figured if I held on to her long enough, maybe my pain would go away as well. Maybe it would at least ease inside my chest and let me breathe comfortably for the first time in months. Soon enough, I wasn't the one calming her, but she was the one calming me. And I think she understood by then that we were in the same boat, just on different ends. With that knowledge, she comforted me. I couldn't read what was going through her mind, all I knew was that I wasn't alone in this, and if I needed to, I could speak to her about it. I tried to speak later on, but she saw me struggling with the words, so she said we can save the conversation for another time. I was more than glad to know that someone else understood just what it felt like to be screaming on the inside.

Although I have no idea what has caused this suffering for Rosetta, after last night, I do understand one thing. Pain is a word thrown around easily, but it's really not that simple. Pain is a constant scream into the void. Sometimes your voice gets worn out and you have to sit for a minute to rest, but after so long you stand right back up and begin screaming again. You scream for as long as the pain forces you to, within that time just hoping and praying that someone or anyone has stepped into your void and heard you. Maybe that someone will even help you and lead you away from the pain, but the most you hope for is that he heard you, and he understood you. A scream sounds very simple, but it contains so much, and it's a damn miracle if someone actually understood it. I think that for the first time I've witnessed that miracle. It was something both Rosetta and I witnessed because it happened to both of us. We've taken a step into each other's void field, and we heard each other. We understood each other's screams, and I think that has tied us together. Our shared field in the void.