Billy Olson woke up and yawned. He was excited, because tomorrow was his fifth birthday. As he sat up in bed, Grandpa Joe slipped into his room.
"Tomorrow's a big day, Billy," Grandpa said, but his voice cracked just a little, and a furtive tear slid down his craggy face.
"Grandpa, what's wrong? Why are you so sad? I'll be five tomorrow, and that means I'll be a man!" Billy said, thrusting out his chest and beaming proudly.
Grandpa Joe sat down on the bed, and put his head in his hands. Did he dare? Stiffening his back and his resolve, he took Billy's hands in his own, and told him the truth.
"Billy, when I was your age, I was excited too, but it was because I was getting ready to go to school."
His grandson peered at him out of narrowed eyes. "But Grandpa Joe... you have the same last name as I do. And we're not part of the "Fortunate 500". How could you have gone to school??" Everyone knew that if you weren't one of the 500 richest families in the world, you didn't get an education. You had to work from your fifth birthday until the day you died. That was just how it was, and those who were under fifty didn't question it. Every child dreamed of being one of the Fortunate 500 - and every adult knew it wouldn't happen. That was a dream that died in every average person eventually - a cold, cruel death. The 500 were the elite, the "born rich"... a fact of life, and one that would never change.
Grandpa Joe wiped his eyes, and continued. "This is going to sound crazy, but when I was your age, all children went to school, regardless of their last names. They didn't go off to work in a factory on their fifth birthday. They were given parties, with ice cream and cake, and had fun... and then they went to school, to learn reading, writing, and so much more...." The old man's face went soft with remembrance, and his voice trailed off into nothingness. His eyes focused on a time long past, and for a moment both he and his grandson were silent.
He came back to the present to find his grandson scowling at him, arms crossed. Billy glared up at his grandfather. "Grandpa, that sounds like socialism." He spat out that last word. It was a word he knew well - one that had been drummed into his head from birth as something to be avoided and feared at all costs. "The Great Rove wouldn't have liked that."
Grandpa Joe averted his head for a moment, so that his expression wouldn't give him away. The Great Rove. He had been alive when the so-called Great Rove created the permanent Republican majority, and had watched as it destroyed everything he knew. He didn't dare tell his grandson that in those days, he had been a Democrat. There were still Democrats in existence, but you didn't talk about those things... and those few who were left hid their true beliefs from their neighbors, for their own safety. Rumor had it that Democrats were vile creatures that ate their own children at birth, and would sneak into homes to eat other people's children if they misbehaved. Joe knew better, but it was dangerous to say anything different.
Why, he thought, didn't anyone speak out in those days? Why didn't anyone stand up to the Great Rove and his vile plans? A very few tried... some showed up to work looking ashen and terrified, and never spoke out again - and others simply disappeared. Intimidation was the rule of the day, and it had been thus for these many years since the Great Rove began his reign of terror.
Joe gave his grandson a hug, and said simply "Things were different then, Billy... not wrong, just different. Someday you'll understand."
Joseph Olson was 75 years old. He was one of the lucky ones, and he knew it. Most didn't live to be 75 these days. He had paid into Social Security as a young man, but he would never see that money again. Social Security had been abolished, followed shortly by Medicare. Public libraries had ended some time later, along with public education, and so many other things. All because they smacked of that dirtiest of words - socialism. Capitalism was king, and as long as the permanent Republican majority existed, it would stay that way.
But there was no time to sit and think about the past. Joe had work to do... he had a 12 hour shift at the factory, and then he would have to put up the outdoor lights and get to work on their road. He and his son had put it off for too long, and had gotten threats from their neighbors about the quality of the road in front of their home. He longed for the days when the government fixed the roads, but didn't dare say that aloud.
Joe joined his son Thomas in the kitchen. They would walk to work together today, as there was safety in numbers. He holstered his gun, and they headed off to work. Walking out the door, Thomas stopped for a moment, and then returned for more ammunition. There had been a lot of public violence lately, and it paid to be prepared. Two of their neighbors had been robbed this week, and both had died in the carnage. Mickey Davis had left behind a widow and three children, but luckily all three of the children - ages 7, 9, and 11 - were old enough to work. Jim Morris - his whole family had died. Their house sat empty - at least until someone strong enough could claim it, either to keep or sell. It was all about power now... since the "socialist" police and fire departments had been shut down.
Thomas, walking next to Joe, was silent. His lungs were in bad shape, and he couldn't walk and talk at the same time. Both wore their surgical masks to protect them from the filthy air - they weren't stupid, after all - but Thomas needed to see a doctor. He had been coughing a lot lately, and it didn't sound good. Both men were storing up a few pennies here and there, trying to save enough for a visit to the doctor, but it would be a while yet before they had enough. Thomas's wife Sadie was also saving what she could, but their little garden barely produced enough for their own family, and she had little left over to sell. What she could grow was often sickly and bare, because of the filth in the soil, but it was better than what was available in the stores. Sure, their stuff looked good, but since regulations had gone by the wayside, you couldn't trust it. Three of their neighbors had died just in the last month from toxins or bacteria in the food supply. Sadie was smart, however, and she had rigged up a water filter that cleaned the water fairly well before they drank it or watered their garden with it. The small amount of money she made selling clean vegetables to her neighbors had helped to keep them afloat in these hard times.
Suddenly Grandpa Joe stopped dead in his tracks. Without even realizing it, he had come to a decision. It might get him killed, it might get him thrown out on the streets, but he would do it. He had to. Thomas stopped and asked "Dad, what is it?" before being racked by a violent fit of coughing. His mask was tinged pink with the blood from his lungs.
Joe looked at his son, and said "It was nothing... really. Let's get to work."
But it was something. It was. Someone had to stand up. Someone had to fight for his grandson's future, and it might as well be him. There had to be a way to overturn this dreadful vision of life, and return it to the way it was when he was younger. Sure, there had been recessions, and taxes (that dirty word), but it had been sane. It had been far better than this gritty, dirty life that most Americans lived now. For his grandson's sake, he would do this, even if it meant that his family and his country turned against him.
But first, he would plant a seed. Slipping into his grandson's bedroom the next few mornings, he sat on Billy's bed, gave him a hug, and started talking... telling him stories of the past, and of the truth of it all. How it had really been. How fear and intimidation could make good things seem bad. He didn't tell Billy all of the truth at once - his grandson wasn't quite ready for that - but he eased him into it bit by bit, preparing him to carry on the work that he himself would be doing quietly on the sidelines.
Could one man make a difference? He didn't know... but he was going to try. For his grandson. For all of them. It would take years, and might never bear fruit. But he had to try.
Because it was time for a change.