LEFT AHEAD

Dear Chuck;
Long time no see. I miss our email debates, so I thought I'd write to you for old times' sake, even though I doubt you will ever read this. I assume my sister is with you since I've had no word from her, either. I'm sure you are both happy and have everything you could possibly want or need.
I'd like to start by apologizing. Clearly, you were right about everything. I want you to know that I never doubted your honesty and intentions; I only thought you were deluding yourself. If I'd been able to listen to you with an open heart when you first witnessed to me, I might be there with you and Christy now. What's passed is past, and there's no use dwelling on what put either of us where we are today.
The rest of us are well here and have mostly gotten back to normal, with some notable differences. When The Rapture occurred shortly after the election, it took some time for us to work out what had happened. My experience of it was almost mundane. I was setting up a new computer for a client in Beverly Hills and when I couldn't find her after I finished, I left an invoice on her desk, let myself out and headed home. On the way, I noticed several cars on the side of the freeway, but didn't think much of it. That evening, I overheard some of the neighbors gathered on the sidewalk discussing, in concerned tones, those who seemed to be missing: Mrs. Latham, with her bad heart and Eastern Star meetings, Mr. Ochoa, the pastor of La Iglesia de los Santos, the Han family, of whom we knew little beyond their feud with the Kulyagins. When the network news didn't come on that night, we knew something big had happened.
Over the next several hours, then days, it became increasingly clear that a number of us were quite simply gone. It was a boy of 10 or 11, one of the Armenian children living next door, who finally provided the answer. As we all talked one night, his thin voice wafted up from near his mother's legs: "Maybe they're with Jesus.
We laughed at first, but the more we considered, the more sense it made. The Missing (as we would come to call you) were almost all church-goers. Often, they were those known for their Godly pursuits: the defense of marriage, support of school prayer, legislating the rabble from the streets. It became increasingly clear that God had called his Chosen to him.
It was not at all what we had been taught to expect; that's what threw us, initially. There was no heavenly trumpet, no rain of fire, no bodies rising into the firmament. There were not even the neat piles of abandoned clothing we had been given to expect by religious fiction. Cars didn't crash, driverless ' they simply pulled to the shoulder in orderly fashion with no one at the wheel. Passenger planes landed and taxied to their gates before amazed stewardesses realized that the cockpits were empty.
I don't know how the word spread, but we all came to know and accept that The Rapture had happened. It was not just local, or even national; the burning faithful of all stripes had been whisked away, across the globe. We learned this from the soldiers that gradually made their way back from the war. They told us that the devout of both sides had suddenly vanished from their tents and battlefields, and with no stomach left to fight, everyone else just went home.
In America, The Rapture had the effect of emptying whole states, like Oklahoma, my birth state, and Texas, your former home. In California, where I live now, or New York, the effect was less noticeable. I heard from a traveler recently that Europe is nearly unchanged.
There were some novelties we observed as time passed. For instance, while The Missing apparently got to take their journey clothed, heaven must have no use for man-made body parts. You can still occasionally walk into an abandoned public building and see a pair of gelatinous breast implants lying on the floor (especially here in Hollywood), and many a church pew sports toupees and false teeth next to the abandoned hymnals. No one seems to have much enthusiasm for gathering up these so-personal mementos. They remain where they fell, mute testaments to your virtues.
Public services went more or less unabated - I guess even we heathens want to feel productive - but the mass media disappeared overnight. There has only recently began a broadcast on channel 58 that I enjoy, a kindly-faced, middle-aged man reading classic novels, one after another. He's on several nights a week, around 7:30, but you have to just tune in and hope he's feeling up to it. He's in the middle of "Elmer Gantry" right now. The same goes for the radio; there's a pianist who plays standards from a popular song book and sometimes he and a woman (his wife, I think) sing along. They don't talk about themselves, and of course, I can't see them, so I only know them from their music.
Other things have changed since you left. There are no homeless now. Doesn't that seem odd? They all made use of what you left behind. The people who lived in boxes under the overpasses took up abandoned houses or apartments and for once, everyone has a decent car to drive. You'd think people would've fought over the nicest things, but that didn't happen. Since everything was split more or less equally, no one is what you would call wealthy, but no one's hurting, either.
There's no formal government. I guess most of the politicians are up there with you. There is a woman, a teacher named Betty, who seemed to make the most sense of things, so we started looking to her for guidance. We call her "mama, which she takes good-naturedly and doesn't seem to mind. When there's a dispute, she usually has something smart to say that resolves it to the general satisfaction of all parties. It's a good thing, too, because most of the police seem to be gone.
Some of us took it hard, at first, when we realized what had happened, that we hadn't made the cut; weren't good enough to be taken up, but now we've all gotten past that and live our lives. We still get up and go to work, although the jobs may be different than the ones we did before. Money is being used less and less, and most of us just trade with each other for what we need. Folks don't marry much, now that you church people are gone, but couples still fall in love and make homes together, and there are some babies now that will grow up never knowing a time before The Rapture.
From time to time, we imagine you all: strolling the streets of gold or lounging on the clouds, playing your harps and praising His name. We know that you are happy and finally have what you deserve, but we still miss you sometimes.
Well, I better wrap this up. A nice young woman I met at the street fair has offered to teach me the piano and I don't want to be late for my first lesson. I think we could use a classical station on the dial.
Take care and God Bless.
Your brother-in-law,
Bill