I write this letter to you on my friend’s old and rusty 1926 typewriter sitting here in his private study on yet another rainy afternoon, hoping you won’t get bored of the complexity of my tale. I still recall the footsteps of a old man that used to shutter me with wonder on rainy afternoons like these. Every now and then I could hear him typing a few words in his typewriter for about an hour. He would type all throughout the day when there was nothing to do but sit inside and keep yourself dry from the sheets of rain. I still can recall the good old days when I was just a little kid who sat in this very room listening to the old man pressing his fingers against the keys of this typewriter and writing something for hours. It wasn’t until one April afternoon when I had discovered a deep and mysterious secret about this typewriter…

**35 Years Ago

On a cold and dark April afternoon, I sat in my grandfather’s study reading a book. This book was so intriguing that I read it all throughout the storm. My mom was sitting in our living room putting her finishing touches on a scarf she was crafting. My dad was out of town on an important business meeting in Texas where the weather was warm and delightful. Oh, how I wish I was there right now! To my surprise, the sun had rose up quicker than I had expected. I saw a rainbow emerge on the side of my front window and I immediately dropped my book and raced outside to witness the naturally compelling beauty. I sat on my porch and took out my camera to take pictures of the rainbow. As I was about to take a second click at the rainbow a shadowy figure crossed my camera and walked quickly to his house. I dropped my camera and yelled loudly to him:

“Mister! How would you like to join our family for dinner tonight?” 

The man simply gave a groan and opened the door to his house. I saw him carry in a brand new typewriter which looked as spotless and clean which was as bright as the rainbow in front of me. I yelled out something else:

“Do you need a hand on that typewriter?” I asked him.

The old man nodded his head and walked into his house. I sat on my porch for a bit involved in the quiet ambience of nature when it was disrupted by clicking noises that came from my neighbor’s house. I heard even more click noises and I wondered what the old man was up to in his house. I decided to walk there and peek through his window to get a sight at what he was doing so loudly and disturbingly. 

I stood up from my porch and walked over to his house. I peeked through the old man’s window and saw him at his study desk typing something on his new typewriter. His old hands slid the paper across the typewriter. I saw him write his words very slowly finding each key one at a time. Each time the old man had written a few words he would put his hands on his head like he was imagining something. I decided to leave the old man alone to his crazy passions and walked down the sidewalk and into my house. My mom was in the kitchen and called me over for some dinner. The picture of the old man placing his hands on his head couldn’t leave my mind. 

It was stuck there like super glue and I was so curious to know what he was doing that right after dinner I raced to his house and knocked on the door. The old man opened the door and saw me at the door and gave a groan. He rubbed his forehead in confusion and finally opened the door wider indicating that he wanted me to come in.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir. I was wondering what were you typing earlier today on your new typewriter.” I asked him.

The old man pointed at the typewriter and I smiled nodding my head in approval, wanting to know what he had to say. The old man just stared at me with his dark blue eyes and said nothing. I asked him the question again, but still no response. The old man took my hand with him and brought me to the typewriter. He wrote the words:

“I will tell you a secret.” I cannot speak or see you but certainly I can answer your question.” 

I was taken aback. I had no idea that the man was unable to speak or see and I felt very sorry for him.

The man sat on his chair and pulled a chair for me to sit on. He wrote a few words on the typewriter. “To learn this secret, type any word you wish to learn more about and hold your hands against your head.” 

I reached over to the typewriter and typed the word: “Love.” I held my hands at my head just like he told me to do, although it looked unusual and made me want to laugh. Before I could, I felt something within myself and I saw a vision in front of me. I saw all the things I loved to do from reading to fishing to me and my mom. The visions suddenly disappeared and I fell back in my chair in shock. The old man smiled at me and wrote:

Do you now believe?

I nodded my head and got out of my chair and headed straight for the door struck by the craziness of what I had just seen. The man stopped me and handed me the typewriter writing the words:

I am in no need of this typewriter. It only belongs to the person who can actually feel what it has to say. You are that person, neighbor. I may look a little overaged and creepy but this typewriter is to now be passed to the next generation.

 I took the typewriter still in shock from its power and went straight out the door back to my house and straight into the study. I invited my friends over to tell them all about the typewriter. They all tried to type words such as: Baseball, Fear, Hatred, Jackie Robinson but they saw nothing but blank visions. I soon realized the secret of this mysterious typewriter. Even if my neighbor couldn’t see what he was typing, he could feel the words come alive and that’s what made this typewriter unique and special different from any other typewriter.

Since that April afternoon, I have kept this typewriter safe in my study for the last thirty five years. I still remember the old dark blue eyes of the man and the sounds of him clicking on his typewriter every now and then.

 It has been years since I have went to his house. I have grown into an old man and in a few days of time the typewriter that once sat in the hands of its creator will be passed on to another generation. I have lost my sight but that doesn’t take away my feelings of happiness and hope. I am unable to stand on my feet but that doesn’t put me down on the ground. A small object that is old and rusty just like the rest of the other ones, holds value more than just price. 

I wrap up my letter, as now the sun is out again.