Dear Peter,
These three weeks at Oboe camp have been everything you said and more. All I can say is… “Thank you.” I owe it all to you, dear brother.
And please forgive my earlier hesitance. How silly I must’ve sounded resisting you! “I don’t want to switch to the Oboe! I love the violin!” How blasphemous it sounds now. You must understand, I’d played the violin my entire life. When you suggested switching to the Oboe, from strings to woodwind, well… I thought you, in an effort to have me follow in your footsteps, were simply pushing your instrument (your life) upon me. But you were merely trying to show me the way.
I curse myself for being so blind that I couldn’t see it then. But I see it now. It’s all so clear. It was always right in front of me. I… have accepted the Oboe, Peter.
I have accepted that the Oboe is the one true vehicle to create musical joy, or, as Counselor Todd puts it, “Seek all answers inside the double reed.” (I’m sure you heard that once or twice! Lol! Your stories were true. He’s a genius, Peter, and a joy to be around.)
We began the cleansing yesterday. It was difficult at first, but I’ve now trained my ear to only hear notes played by The One True Instrument. It’s amazing, too, how much you can really say with music when you give yourself over to finger position sign language! (F#, D, A, A, C!!! Ha ha ha!)
I feel so foolish having wasted all those years putting rosin on that ridiculous bow. And those few years of piano lessons! Ugh! Pounding my precious fingers on the grotesque keys of Satan’s tinderbox. For there is but one true means to create sound. It is the Oboe, and I am merely a puppet, strung up by the melodies it exists to create.
(Oboe. Omega. Omniscient. All begin with “o”. Coincidence? That’s neither here nor there, but my mind seems to race now, constantly finding such connections.)
I must go now. Our cabin is off to the morning prayer session and scales. Plus we have to rehearse our skit for the all-camp meeting. Ours is a parable in which a weary traveler hears the sound of a beautiful bird (represented by five harmonizing Oboes). He then captures the bird to put it into a show that he would sell tickets to. The bird then turns into a dragon, dismembers the man, and murders his entire bloodline. Then the dragon plays the Oboe.
Peter: thanks again. I have finally found meaning in an empty life. I am Oboe, as are we all. I will never question you again. We are brothers now, on a deeper level than we ever were before.
Also, tell mom to send some Rice Krispie Treats, for my roommate is a real dick and has stolen many of my snacks.
Peace be with you and may your keys never stick,
Janet