Dear Aunt Lydia

Dear Aunt Lydia,

I hope this letter finds you well. Heck, I hope this letter even finds you. With the bombing raids starting again, I'm not sure regular mail will get anywhere. Yeah, I know the government promises “normalcy” even with bombs and missiles raining down from the sky almost every day. But I don't see much normal going on, at least not in my town. Email would be better, but I know you are old school and don't even own a smartphone, much less a computer. (The problem with relying on our own TV, radio and newspapers is it's all pro-government propaganda now. I don't want to upset you so that's all I'll say about that.)

That's the problem, Aunt L. Everything that used to be normal for me before the war is topsy turvy now. It was already a hard path because of my religious beliefs (and political views). But after the military physical revealed that heart defect, I can't even be drafted into service. Lucky me, right?

Yes, I know you are the only family I have left, and you would be even more worried if you knew I was sitting in a foxhole or a tank somewhere waiting to be shot or blown up or burned to death or any of the other thousand ways to die in battle. (Hey, that's a good song title, I'll have to work on that. But it's like this: now I'm berated by people not just for what I believe, but because a defective body part means I can't “serve the Homeland” like I'm expected to.

They say my heart condition-I think it's called Tricuspid Stenosis (that sounds like a great name for a band)-prevents me from serving, but I don't think that is really the case. I mean, I told them I would be happy to be an orderly in the military hospital on the base nearby, and they still said no. I think it's really because of the songs I've written, along with my religion, that is the real reason.

Not that I'm going to change either my spiritual or political beliefs. Nor am I going to remain silent. I've written 3 new songs just this month. The problem is, not many people will get to hear them.

Before the war, even with my beliefs and the sort of songs I sang, I could at least get regular gigs. I wasn't getting rich, as you know, but I was able to make ends meet. Whether I was backing up a “more acceptable” singer, or playing at the 1 club in town that would let me headline, I got by.

When the war started, I was deemed a “security risk” and so the singers I played for let me go., Remember Darci? Yeah, Darci, the one you said was so cute and smart and we looked so good together you expected us to get married. (Aunt L, she's not into that you know). I'd been playing guitar for her for like 10 years, since we were in high school, and she up and hires someone else without even telling me. When I finally asked her why, she looked around like she was afraid of something and said the other guy had better chops than I did and was going to help her “move in a new direction musically”.

Well, a few months later I sat in on her “new show” and saw that “new direction”. All her songs were about serving the homeland and how evil the enemy is and how we are going to achieve the ultimate victory if we just pull together and remain patriots, yada yada yada. That's all the media division of Homeland Security approves right now, songs that either praise the government, stir up hatred for the enemy, or encourage people to sacrifice for the cause.

Didn't this war start because that sort of shit got out of hand? Didn't our government and so called “patriots” go too far in trying to get what they wanted?

I still had “Maxie's”, that little club I headlined at once a week. I pulled in a nice crowd too. Pay was decent, tips were better. I got free drinks and meals too. Helping out at the hardware store kept me on my feet. Those music students I had? I lost them all when the war started. Some of them were drafted, some of them just stopped taking lessons (at least from me). It seems that with the war there is no need for frivolous things like music lessons or art classes or dance recitals. Didn't some famous leader say that if they cut funding for the arts to help fund a war, what where they fighting for?

Well, with this last round of missile attacks, the hardware store was destroyed. They closed “Maxie's” down. No, it wasn't destroyed. It wasn't even damaged. Some government inspector said that the missile that did hit at the other end of the block caused structural undermining of all the buildings, so “Maxie's” was closed down until further notice for supposed safety reasons.

Interestingly enough, the shoe store 2 doors closer to where the missile hit isn't closed. (Before you ask, Aunt L, I already tried getting a job there. No go.) So I think they closed “Maxie's” because it was one of “those places” where undesirables of society met to discuss radical ideas like open elections and peace negotiations and valuing all human life and not trying to destroy the planet just to make a buck. You know, the sort of stuff most of my songs are about.

So, now I'm without any income. I don't qualify for government assistance because of that whole security risk thing. The non-government aid organizations in town won't help, despite their claim of having a religion meant to help people like me, who have an illness that keeps me from doing certain things, and are down on our luck. I guess that “help the needy” bit only means helping the needy of the right color and religion?

It's not like I'm not trying. As soon as they closed “Maxie's” I moved in with some friends who are happy to let me sleep on their sofa and feed me in exchange for doing chores. I try to play on the street for tips when I can, but if the security people show up I have to stop, since I don't have a panhandler license (and they won't issue me one...security risk, yada yada). But I feel bad that I can't really help pay bills for my friends, and besides, living on a sofa and doing laundry for someone else isn't a good gig anyway.

In another time, or another country, I could probably be a star. Someplace where they believe in real freedom and want to cherish life and diversity and choices and love and all the things that make life worth living. Someplace, some time where the world really is seen as a marvelous place, and differences are not a cause for fear.

But not now, not here.

Aunt Lydia, I started out this letter thinking I would ask for a bit of money, at least until I can get back on my feet. Now that I've read it over, I have a different idea.

May I come live with you?

I guess really doing housework and such just to have a place to sleep has humbled me. I would be happy to move in with you as your housekeeper, chauffeur, you know, all that domestic stuff that is getting a bit harder for you each year. (I know you won't admit how much your arthritis bothers you.) Plus it would be good to have a man around the house, what with the looter problem getting worse as he war progresses.

You don't even have to send me travel money. A friend of mine drives a delivery truck to your city every week, and said I could ride with him. If you vouch for me, I can stay with you, since you practice an approved religion and have the right connections in the city government.

And you could play piano, (do you still teach lessons? Is that allowed in your city?) and I guitar, and we could sing all those songs we used to love to sing together before the war. When Ma and Da were still alive and we live in the same town and were a family. Before we had to move here, where all of us of the same religion were herded up so the security people could keep an eye on us. Before the war took them away in an instant of flame and fury.

All we really have left is each other, and the music, and love. I want us to be a family, the musical family we once were, before the war takes that away from us completely.

Love,

C