America Interrupted

S.O.S. by Linda Pasca

I have a wonderful friend. A deep, seasoned, fine human. I knew her through the event business I was in for many years, but we never had a personal conversation. I owned a party rental company, and she was a stunning designer of invitations and such. After I sold the business, moved away, and then moved back, she contacted me and asked if we could have lunch. The rest is our history.

Lunches, just the two of us, always at the same place in the Hamptons. An Indian restaurant no one goes to on the outskirts of Southampton. We sit there for a couple of hours once a month and talk about nothing on the surface and everything underneath. All of it just between us.

I moved away during COVID, and we’ve kept in sporadic touch, but I know she thinks the same thing I do about what’s happening in our world. She reads my political column, and occasionally we text, reinforcing each other’s pain and wonder at this moment in time. Trying to stay sane, while not looking away. Trying not to become so embittered that these horrible humans end up with a place in our soul they don’t deserve. She’s probably better at that than I am. She’s a kinder human. And not prone to reactive anger.

Linda is a painter now, full time. I’ve always loved her work and knew that one day I’d hang one of her paintings in my home. But so far, I hadn’t made the plunge.

One of the things that sits on the periphery of my “I will not give up” list is my beloved flag, a constant, especially in my early life when nothing else was. On the back of my car is an upside down flag with America Interrupted above it. I have extras if you want one. The upside down flag, flown over a position in a battle was a signal of distress - a call for help. I feel that is the moment we are living in.

She posted this painting. S.O.S. a few days ago. I was filled with a sense of joy and relief. I texted her immediately. And now it’s mine. Thank you my friend.

I thought about it. Is it negative? I tend to be more comfortable in the dark rooms of life. There is safety in what you know best. And, I don’t want to feed that side of me. But it’s not. I needn’t confuse darkness and defiance. And defiance right now? Oh my God. It’s the best. It’s my super power. And, it’s quiet, sure-footed defiance that I call my own.

It’s the armor I wear to keep them out. It’s the sharpness I have that reminds me they will not succeed in the end. As long as I am defiant, they can’t win.

Where to hang it? Living room? So anyone who comes to my house can’t deny who I am? It’s okay with me to wear my patriotism on my wall. I can have conversations with people whose values, morals, and humanity don’t align with mine. I can even care about them. Maybe they care about me too.

But for Linda and me, the foundation of this country, that all men are created equal, and of course, women too, simply by virtue of being here, trying to make a better future for themselves and their families, deserves our respect and our protection. And they will always have it.

Linda sent me the picture that inspired her piece. We know that young woman. I am her. Ok, ok, yes, many, many years older. But she is me. And, millions of others. Strong and sure in her belief that there is right and there is wrong, and what it being done to good people across this country is wrong.

So while the America I believe in is interrupted, and the S.O.S. alarm is getting louder, that young woman in the painting, waving the flag, calling the rest of America to join her, defiantly standing up to the thugs who hold power in this brief, brittle moment in history, well she reminds me that we are always coming.

Around every corner, in every courtroom, in the dark of night and the light of day, in the fields, in the cities, in the schools, and anywhere else we are needed. We are always coming.