During rehearsals for my annual Theatre Restaurant on Sunday, this story came to me. It's based on the song "Letters from War" by Mark Schultz. And an interesting fact about this story is that I wrote it out completely by hand before I started typing any of it up. I've dedicated a lot of hours to it, including some during which I should have been sleeping, so I hope you all like it.

Letters From War

Chapter 1

Eighteen years ago, I gave birth to a gorgeous little boy with brown eyes, tan skin and the most angelic head of brown curls anyone had ever seen. His smiles were like the sun shining straight from his face, and when he cried it was like being stabbed in the heart. I never would have thought that having children would affect me the way it did, but there I as, proud as a mother could be.

For six years, Elias was the light of my life. The planet around which I orbited. Then along came Chelsea. Right from the get go I could tell she took after her father. Serous and thoughtful, she'd inherited the Manoso gift of conveying all she needed to say in a limited number of syllables. Where her brother could talk under water, Chelsea was more likely to watch, contemplate, and only speak once she'd formulated an opinion. It kept her out of trouble for the most part, but every now and then, my side of her genes would shine and she'd snap out something at the wrong time. Poor child.

Not long after Chelsea came Sophie, our own little clown. Somehow she appears to have inherited something from the Santos branch of the family tree, or perhaps something straight from Grandma Mazur. There wasn't a topic known to man that she couldn't make funny. A stark contrast to her sister, she often attempted to draw Chelsea into her make believe games. With little success.

With three kids running about the place, Carlos and I had decided we were done with the procreation stuff. I mean, really, we'd intended to stop at one. So I got my tubes tied. It's the most effective form of female sterilisation. End of problem, right?

Wrong.

Apparently, there is still a very small – we're talking miniscule – chance that after having one's tubes tied they are able to conceive. Which is how I found myself pregnant six years after I quit the pregnancy game. It hit me like a semi-trailer on black ice. I was, quite literally, too old for this shit and my body was letting me know. The morning sickness, which had been blissfully absent with all the others, was debilitating and grossly miss-named. It wasn't morning sickness. It was all day sickness. For three months I lived on nothing but Ella's special apple sauce, protein bars, and ginger ale. Meat was the devil. I couldn't stand being in the house while it was cooking and I could barely tolerate being in the same room while the others were. To cut a long story short: I looked like hell. I felt like hell. And the day I could stomach a cinnamon donut again, I just about cried the rest of the day.

Carlos got a vasectomy then, just to be sure it wouldn't happen again. Four children was more than enough. But we loved them all: Elias, Chelsea, Sophie, and little Frankie.

They grew. Quickly. Too quickly at times, and before I knew it – before I was remotely ready – Elias was talking college. He brought it up at dinner one night out of the blue.

"So I've been thinking about college," he announced without so much as a breath following his tale about how he'd tricked his English teacher into agreeing to let the class out fifteen minutes early.

"Oh," I uttered, trying to mask my surprise. "Is that- it's a bit early for that, isn't it?" Calm down, Steph. He's not leaving tomorrow. He's just weighing his options.

Elias scoffed at my ignorance. "Now is the exact time to think about college," he assured me.

"Applications are due at the end of next month," Carlos chipped in, simultaneously attempting to get Frankie to eat his beans and stop the girls from hitting each other with their napkins.

"Oh," I repeated. Were they keeping secrets from me again?

"Uncle Tank's been nagging me about college since late last year." Elias pointed out, "He thinks I'm gonna leave it too late and then make some stupid decision that I'll regret the rest of my life." That did seem like something someone with my genes would do.

"It's still quite late," Carlos pointed out. "Are you just starting now?"

Elias shook his head and forked a brussel sprout into his mouth, like this conversation wasn't tearing out my heart. I wasn't ready for him to leave yet. He still forgot to brush his teeth at least once a fortnight. "I'm not starting, Dad," he sighed. "I'm pretty sure I've made my decision."

At this, Carlos's head snapped up. His eldest son now had his full and undivided attention. "Really?" It was unlike him to sound this surprised, perhaps it wasn't just me who had been knocked for six by this topic. I just kept picturing the first time I held Elias, he couldn't even support his own head. Surely he wasn't ready to make such big decisions on his own yet.

"I've been talking it over with Uncle Tank for weeks," Elias assured us. "Weighing up my options, analysing courses and all that shit."

"Language," Chelsea quipped around a mouthful of potatoes.

"Shut it, Pipsqueak," he retorted, flicking her hair – a surefire way to piss her off.

"Mom!" Chelsea whined. "El-"

"I know what he did," I cut her off. "Elias, leave your sister alone and get back to these secret meetings you've been having with Tank."

He rolled his eyes so hard I was almost proud of the action. "They're not secret meetings," he said.

"Then how come I'm only just hearing about them now?" I shot back, perhaps getting a little hotter under the collar than was necessary. Making a concentrated effort to calm down, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and found Carlos's gaze across the table. He gave an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement. Elias had been stressing me out more and more in recent years, and I needed to not let every little thing get to me. "Sorry," I murmured. "So Tank's been helping with your decisions?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "He did up a spreadsheet to compare them all and whatever, we picked out a few really good ones and I've sent in some applications, but none of them are exactly what I'm looking for in a future."

"What is it you're looking for?" Carlos asked, effectively intercepting a flying pea before it could make contact with Sophie. "Eat it, don't play with it," he admonished Frankie, popping the projectile in his own mouth.

"I think I wanna join the army," Elias announced while we were slightly distracted.

"What!?" I exclaimed, turning my entire body to face my eldest son. He was only eighteen. He couldn't be making these decisions! I was going to kill Tank next time I saw him. In fact, maybe I should get that sorted right now.

I pushed back from the table and was rising to my feet when Carlos uttered a gently questioning, "Babe?"

Elias seemed confused. "Mom, where are you going?"

"To kill Tank," I said matter-of-factly.

"Why?" both men enquired in unison, identical expressions of concern crossing their faces.

"For putting these ridiculous notions in my baby's head," I raged. "For not warning me that this was coming. For having secret meetings with my son to convince him to join the army and go off to war to get killed and never come home to me again!" I was crying, I realised when Chelsea handed me a napkin. Tears were streaming down my face unchecked. I was a mess.

"Mom," Elias uttered quietly.

I fell back into my chair heavily, pushing my plate aside. My appetite was gone. All I could do was stare tearfully at my son.

"Girls, Frankie, go do your homework," Carlos instructed the younger three, shooing them out of the dining room and upstairs to their bedrooms. The likelihood of them actually doing homework was slim to none, but we didn't need them interrupting this very important conversation.

"How could he," I muttered under my breath, blowing my noise as I stared at Elias. He was all grown up now. I was painfully aware of that every time he stood next to his father. They were nearly the same height, and the hard planes of his face were chipping away any remaining baby fat.

"Mom," he said again, sounding exasperated this time. "Uncle Tank didn't encourage me to join the army. The whole concept was only mentioned once really early on as a side option that we didn't even bother considering."

"Why not?" Carlos questioned, moving around the table to sit closer to me now that his peace keeping duties were no longer needed.

"Tank said you'd both want me to do the college thing," El shrugged. "So that's what we focussed on."

Carlso shook his head. "We want you to do what makes you happy," he reminded him. "Follow your dreams."

"I know," Elias agreed. "But Uncle Tank wanted me to get my college applications in and the counsellor at school kept nagging us to do it, so I let him help me. But I've been thinking."

"Thinking about getting yourself killed," I interrupted.

"Babe," Carlos said, covering my hand where it rested on the table.

"Could you please let me finish, Mom?"

"Well, what do you think is going to happen when they ship you off to parts unknown with nothing but a gun?" I spat, my previous resolve for calm having vanished into thin air. "You'll be killed. Did you even stop to think how that would make us feel? You're my baby!"

"Mom!" Elias shouted, his temper rising. "You don't understa-"

"I UNDERSTAND JUST FINE!" I shouted back.

"Babe," Carlos said, yet again. "Maybe you should let me talk to Elias alone for a moment."

I shot my husband a glare that would have melted the skin of the faces of lesser men. "You'll only endorse his plans," I accused. "You'd just love for him to follow in your footsteps."

"You're being impossible!" Elias groused at the same moment that Carlos calmly explained, "If his reasoning is sound then of course I'll support his decisions."

"I knew it!" I stated.

"Mom, please. Just stop," Elias pleaded, his expression pained as he looked from me to his father. "I hate it when you fight. None of this is anyone's fault but my own, and if you'd let me explain, maybe we could discuss this like adults and come to a decision collectively and maturely. I'd really like your opinions on it, but not if you're going to toss everything aside, convinced I'll die." There was a beat of silence while he let that request sink in before adding under his breath, "And preferably without more tears."

"Babe?" Carlos prompted when I stayed quiet.

"Okay," I agreed. "Explain away."

Rather than start talking straight away, Elias busied himself with stacking and scraping the plates, gathering cutlery and generally tidying the table. As he started folding napkins, I gripped Carlos's hand tighter than was strictly necessary, digging my nails into his flesh as the tension in my body wound tighter and tighter.

"Son," Carlos said after a moment more. "Your mother's about to draw blood with her nails, could you put us out of our misery?"

His eyes widened, then darted down to our hands on the table, giving a short nod. "Right," he said, swallowing hard. "Sorry." He took another second to organise his thoughts before words began tumbling from his lis, all of them directed to the dining room table.

"I've been thinking lately about the future," he started, stating the obvious. "About my future. And your future. And, well, everything." Still, he stared down at the dark woodgrain. "I know that Dad is't getting any younger, and while his age really has nothing to do with his ability to run Rangeman, and it hasn't even really affect his fitness level or whatever else goes into his captures. But I know you guys aren't gonna be around forever." He did look up then. Just for a to guage our reactions.

I was still confused.

Carlos had his blank mask in place.

"We do a lot of good work at Rangeman," he went on, once more making eye contact with the table. "I'd hat for that to stop one day if you – I don't know – died, or passed the company to some asshole. I know none of the men would want that either."

"Ellie," I interrupted softly, using the pet name I hadn't called him since he was four years old. "What does this have to do with joining the military?"

He raised his head to meet my eyes, and spoke to me as if his father weren't there at all. "I want to be able to help Rangeman keep up it's legacy," he informed me solemnly. "Dad's made off hand comments about 'one day when you run the company' a few times, and it got me thinking. I know I can run the company without ever serving, but I think what makes Dad such an effective leader is that confidence and practical know how he learned in the army. It's not just shooting and fighting and dying, Mom. It's more than that."

"You want to take over the company one day?" Carlos asked, sounding stunned. I knew the feeling. For the past eighteen years we'd been careful not to enforce our viewpoint and desires on our kids as my mother had done with me. We encouraged them to be individuals, to follow their own interests whether it was painting, or bike riding, or robotics, or wrestling, or reading or whatever else they could think of. Yet here was Elias laying out a plan to follow in his father's footsteps.

The hard way.

"You're sure the armed forces is the way you want to go?" I asked.

Elias shrugged and leaned his elbows on the table. "I thought I was sure, but now that I've seen how much it upsets you, I don't know anymore."

I wanted to kick myself. He just wanted to be happy. "Follow your heart," I reminded him.

He laughed at that. "My heart says chocolate ice-cream, right now," he said, grinning slightly.

"Excellent instincts," I praised, rising from the table and making my way to the freezer in the kitchen. "Always follow THAT part of your heart."

Our conversation was put on hold while I retrieved two bowls of ice cream and the men – my men – cleared the table, setting the dishwasher going. I think we all needed a little time to think and process and what better way to do that than with chocolate ice cream? While we were all up, we relocated to the living room, Carlos sinking into the recliner and Elias and I sitting side by side on the sofa.

There was silence as El and I devoured our dessert. Then Carlos spoke. "I understand your thinking," he started, holding his son's gaze. "And I'm proud of your for wanting to keep the company going when I no longer can, but joining the military is not a decision you should make lightly. You need to be sure. You need to be ready."

Elias nodded understanding while I tried to stifle a relieved sigh that Carlos was reasoning for more consideration on the matter. "What do you suggest?" Elias asked.

"You've applied to some colleges, yes?" Carlos questioned.

Another nod from Elias.

"Study for a year. Train with the guys here. Then we'll all sit down and re-evaluate. If you still want to join the army, we'll support your decision."

"Okay," he agreed.

"You're a smart kid," Carlos went on. "I don't want you to jump into the military feet first when you'd be better suited somewhere else." He must have read something in his son's expression, because he added, "I'm not saying you're not cut out for it. I'm saying you should experience the world without the weight of war and death on your shoulders first."

"Okay," Elias repeated, apparently placated by his father's explanation. "Thank you."

Carlos smiled a rare smile. "Whether you like it or not, it will always be my job to look out four your best interests."

"I know," he said. "I just – I don't want to disappoint you. I don't want the Merry Men to think I'm weak. I don't want you both to worry what's going to happen to the company when you… ya-know."

"Nonsense," I told him, wrapping my arm around his shoulders and pulling him in to my side. "Utter nonsense. All anyone in this family wants for you is for you to be who you were meant to be. If that means you invent self-toasting bread, or find the cure for menstrual cramps, brilliant! No one is going to think any less f you for not rushing head first into the army."

"Thanks, Mom."

"I'm still going to kill Tank, though," I assured them both, idly twining one of Elias's curls around my fingers. "He should have warned me the college conversation was coming up. I needed time to prepare. I'm not ready for my baby bird to leave the nest." I pressed a series of kisses to his head, ignoring the groans of protest and his swatting hands. In a few months' time he may well be off to college, but for now, he was my little boy and I was going to treasure him.

I'm hoping to get the subsequent chapters (of which there are three) out fairly quickly. It's just a matter of finding the time between rehearsals and work to type them up and post them.