The Message

Jack had noticed the intermittent flashing of the street light on a Tuesday night as he was driving home from work. It was early November, and full dark most evenings by the time he pulled into the driveway. The pulsing light caught his imagination. He thought about how people in the movies always seemed to know Morse code and somehow this arcane knowledge saved their lives. Even in recent movies. He wondered if a flickering street light might be like a hundred monkeys typing at a hundred keyboards on a hundred computers. Was the flickering halogen flashing some dada message to the world?
Jack didn’t know Morse code. He didn’t know when to expect a solar or lunar eclipse. He was nearsighted, overweight, and could not make fire. If transported back in time by some inconceivable plot device, he would surely die. Left in the present, however, he was more than capable of Googling "Morse Code" and hitting the print icon. Armed with his Rosetta stone, he pushed a chair over to the bay window in the living room and sat down with a notepad and paper.

"What are you doing?" Nina asked.

"You see the street light out there?" Jack asked.

"Yes."

"See how it’s flashing?"

"Yes."

"I’m going to see if it’s Morse Code. If a message is being broadcast."

"You’re going to see if the street light is trying to tell you something?" Nina asked, more bemused than disappointed. They had been married for twelve years and this moment was hardly something she could describe as unusual. She still loved him, but she was increasingly glad they had never had children. Jack, as they usually said of two-year olds, was a handful.

"Well, I don’t know if the message is for me, exactly."

"Good. The last thing I need is for you to start thinking God is talking to you through a street light."

"I haven’t eliminated any possibilities," he said with a slight grin.

"Right," Nina said. "Well, I’m going. I’ll grab something to eat after class. Try to eat some of those leftovers before I have to throw them out, okay?"

"Okay," Jack said absently. His attention was focused on the lamp. He began recording the flashes. A long flash. Four short flashes. Two short flashes. Short, long, short. He continued scribbling until suddenly the irregular pulsing stopped. The street light was steady and bright.

Jack waited. The light did not waver. Ten minutes passed.

He looked down at the page with its scribbled dots and dashes.

There wasn’t much. He started checking his pen and paper recording against the Morse code alphabet he had printed out. Surprised, he saw the words forming as he translated the message:

thirtx days to go

It had to be "thirty days to go", he realized. Thirty days to go… To what? Jack felt a twinge. He watched the now steady street light. Perhaps it was simply a coincidence. Still, it seemed a long shot that random flashes from a street light would spell out one word, let alone four.

And now it had stopped.

Jack got home early from work the next day, just after sundown. The street lights started coming on at 6:04pm. Jack checked his watch and recorded the time on the notepad he brought to the bay window. He had set up their video camera on its tripod and focused it on the street light. He had the small remote next to his notepad. He would start recording the moment the lamp started flashing. He ate his supper at the window, pushing the Christmas cactus aside to make room for his plate.

Nothing happened. The light shone uninterrupted. Jack watched until 9:30pm. It was well past the time when the flashing had stopped the night before. Jack felt disappointed. It had been a coincidence after all. A hundred monkeys, Jack thought.

Two nights later, Nina was standing at the bay window watering the plants when she noticed the street light. "Hey, Jack."

"Yes."

"Your street light is flashing again. Did you ever figure out what it was saying?"

"What?"

Jack hurried over to the window. He watched the flashing light for a moment then hurried away. From the next room, Nina heard papers being shuffled. "Did you see that notepad I had the other—never mind. Got it!" Jack hurried back to the window. He started transcribing the flashes.

The flashing stopped and once again the street light burned steadily.

enty-seven days now

It didn’t take long to do the math. Twenty-seven days now. This could not be a coincidence.

Nina was out in the kitchen cleaning up. "So, what’s your street light have to say for itself?"

Jack wasn’t sure what to say, but he chose to go with something that wouldn’t sound crazy. "Nothing," he said, doing his best to sound disappointed.

"That’s too bad," Nina said absently, sounding very much like someone putting plastic wrap on leftovers. "There’s no room in the fridge," she called out. "I’m going to throw out Sunday’s leftovers to make room for tonight’s leftovers, okay?"

"Sure. Okay."

Despite the fact that the street light had burned steadily for three nights, Jack was sure that tonight would be different. It was Tuesday again, the day he had first noticed the flashing. He had gotten home early. Nina had called him that afternoon to say she was going to work late and then go straight to her pottery class. She had encouraged him to eat some leftovers. The plate of microwaved food cooled now next to the Christmas cactus. Jack finished focusing the video camera and sat down. He smiled as the lamp began to flicker and flash. He reached for the remote and started the recording. He began transcribing.

He blinked reflexively. He looked for a car on the road below, thinking that it was probably headlights that had just swept across the front of the house. But there was no traffic. He sat back and he picked up the faint smudge of red on the glass pane in front of him.

He looked down and saw the red dot on his shirt.

—November 14, 2004