TearsstreakedChristophersdirtandbloodstainedface.

Thoughscreamsofchaosand
terrorsurroundedhim,ChristopherSolomonwasenvelopedbythesilenceofdespair.Bullets
slicedthroughthefleshofhisfriendsthatheservedwithinhisunit,endingallthehopesand
dreamstheyhadoftenlaughedaboutaroundafireside.Histhoughtsseemedtobestrikinghim
likelightningboltsyet,hecouldnotutteracry.Itwasasifhisthoughtsranatathousandpaces
permoment,buttheworldaroundhimspunatarateslowerthanasnail.Theyoungboysgaze
wasfixateduponthepaintwistedfaceoftheConfederatesoldierlyingdeadbeforehim.The
manseyeswereclosed,butinthemomentsbeforehehadfallen,Christopherhadseeneyesof
hazelthatwerefilledtothebrimwithpassionanddrive.Hisfacewascleanshaven,andhisskin
wasofatancoloring,likemanyofthesoldiersfromthesouthernstates.Thefatalwoundinhis
chestcontinuedtooozeblood,andhadnowcollectedinapoolaroundthefallenwarrior.
Chris!Wehavetogetoutofhere!Johnathanbarked,ashepulleduponhisfriends
arm.HesjustanoldSoutherner!Leavehim!Christopherssenseswerereawakenedby
JohnathansvoiceandherosetostandfacetofacewithhisfellowUnionsoldier.Theworldthat
centereduponsurvivalandtrustofacomradewasshatteredashechokedthewordsout,barely
audibletotheearsofhiscompanion,
Didyounotrealizehehadlaiddownhisgun?Hewasrunningtowardsus.Johnny.You.
YoumurderedhimJohnny.Youmurderedhimwithoutathought.
Chris,buddy,wedonthavetimeforthedebatesofethics!Dammitman,werestillon
thebattlefield!Andatthatmoment,astoemphasishispoint,anonslaughtofthesoundsand
smellswashedoverChristopherandthesluggishnessoftimeceased.Theworldbegantospin
oncemoreatanormalpace.Therewasnotimetogrievehereonthefieldforthisfallenman.
Theonlychanceforgriefwouldbeifhegraspedthecurrentoptionofsurvival.Heturnedback
formereseconds,cravingonelastlookupontheConfederatesoldierlayingathisfeetand
realizedthatinhisoutstretchedhandtherewasaletter.Ashereacheddowntoretrievetheletter,
hesawforwhomitwasaddressed.Scrawledacrossthetopofthenowbloodsoakedanddirt
stainedenvelopewasthename,ChristopherMatthewSolomon.Hisname.Hesnatcheditup
beforeJohnathancouldaskanyquestionsandbegantoretreat.Hestartedwalkingbriskly,then
begantojog,andfinallysprintedtowardsthesafetyoftheforestbehindthebattlefield.Sweat
pouredfromhisbrow,hiscanteenbangingagainsthisside,andhisunitlefttofightforthecause
oftheUnion.Therewouldbenostoppinghimnow.HeheardtheroarofoldJohnnyboysvoice,
whichwasdemandinghimtostandandfight.Butherefusedtoacknowledgehisfriendswords.
KnowingoldJohnny,hewouldsoonpursueChristopherintothewoodsbutfornow,theonly

desireinChristophersheartwastodisappearintothetrees,inorderforhimtoreadthelast
wordsfromhisfather,nowlyingdeadonthefield.

****
No son of mine will dare raise his voice in favor of abolition! How dare you speak of
such things Matthew!
I prefer to be called Christopher, oh dear and righteous father. How holy you deem
yourself merely because of the color of your skin.
That will be enough!
Therecollectionofoneoftheirfirstargumentsflashedthroughthewearymindof
Christopherwhilehecontinuedstumblingfurtherintothedenserportionofthewoods.Low
hangingbranchesthwackedhimdirectlyintheface,yetsomehowheremainedunfazed.Hehad
longsincedroppedhisrifleinordertoclingwithbothhandsthelastremnantsofhisfather.The
clatterofthebattlethathehadleftbehindnolongerseemedasfervent.Eithertheskirmishwas
drawingtoaclose,orhehadtraveledagreaterdistancethanhehadrealized.Heavingforair,he
finallystoppedtorestuponamassivefallenlog.Thoughitwasrough,itprovidedhimaplaceto
sitandlettherealityofthesituationenvelopehim.
BeforethestartoftheCivilWar,Christopherhadviewedhisfatherwiththeutmostlove
andrespect.TheirhomeinVirginiawasasimpleone,madecaringbyhishospitablemother,
RebeccaSolomon.Fiveyearspriorthestartofthewar,aroundthetimeofChristophersninth
birthday,hisbelovedmotherhadpassedawayfrompneumonia.Itwasinthattimethatheand
hisfatherdrewclosertooneanotherforcomfort.Thetwowerepracticallyinseparable
Christopheralwaysgluedathisfathersside.Itwasinthosedaysthathecarriedhismiddlename
withprideandoftenbeggedtobecalledMatthew,becauseitcarriedthesamemeaningashis
fathersmiddlename,Micah.Theirfamilyoftwothrivedonhardworkandrespect,and
Christopherthoughtthatnothingwouldeverwedgeitselfbetweenthelovehecarriedforhis
father.Buthewasterriblymistaken.Murmursbeganfloatingthroughthestatesofwarbetween
NorthandSouth.Ashesatontheloginthemiddleoftheforest,Christopherrecalledthelast
fightbetweenheandhisfather.
A man? Ha! You are but fifteen years old son. You are a mere boy. A child. What makes
you believe you have the right to speak of such political things?

A child? I am merely two years younger than you when you married mother. If you
could decide for yourself whom you would love, why can I not decide for myself what I will fight
for?
Do you dare bring your mother into this conversation boy? Oh, you are quite keen of
bringing matters unrelated to war into this. Leave out this talk of love. The point is that you are
too young to make the choice of what side in which you will place your belief. Yes, I made a
huge choice when I was not much older than you. But you are much different than I son.
Father, the only reason we differ is because I believe in the side that is right. I believe in
the Norths standing.
So help me Matthew, if you fight for the North, I will never speak to you again.
My name is Christopher. I will not be governed by your foolish ideals of clinging to the
past. I do not care if you no longer speak to me old man. I am no son of yours.
You are right boy. You are no son of mine; for I am no father of yours.
Christopherfelltohiskneesatthememoryofthedayofthatargument.Itwasafterthat
fighthepackedhisbagsandenlistedintheUnionarmy.Thetearscameforthhotandheavy
now.Whenheenlisted,herefusedtogiveamiddleorlastname,andaskedonlytobecalled
Christopher.Henolongerdesiredtoclaimanyconnectiontothemanhehadoncecalledfather.
Directlyafterenlisting,hewassenttofightintheBattleofGettysburg.Histendereyesbecame
usedtothesightoflimbsflying,andasicksenseofsatisfactionwasgiventohimwhenheknew
thatthesideforwhichhefoughtwasdefeatingthesideinwhichhisfatherbelieved.
Nowallhedesiredwasameremomentofconnectiontoapologizeforalltheotherfights
thathadbeenbetweenthem.Toregainthedaysbeforethewar,whenhefoundhonorinbeing
knownashisfathersson.Hewasremindedofallthemomentshehadpickedupapencilto
writehome,butstoppedbecauseoffoolisharroganceandpride.Painswelledwithinhimthat
wasdeeperandfarharsherthananyhehadknownbefore.AscreameruptedfromChristophers
lipsthathadbeensittingatthebrimofthisthroatfromthemomenthesawhisoldmanacross
thebattlelinesfallshotbyabulletfromhisbestfriend.Hethrewhimselfuponthegroundand
continuedtowailforthelossofalovethathesowillinglyhaddiscarded.Ifhewasfightingfor
thewinningside,thenwhyhadhelostsodearly?Afterwhatseemedlikeaneternityofsobs,
Christopherrememberedthelettercrumpledwithinthegraspofhislefthand.Hesatup,withhis
backagainstthelogandbegantoreadhisfatherswords,

DearMatthew,
OftendaysIhaveattemptedtoconveymythoughtstoyouonpaper,andtoday
isthedaythatIwillnotdiscardtheletteroutofmypride.TodayisthedaythatIwillseal
thisletterwithinanenvelope,andsomehowdeliverittoyou.Iwillnotaskhowyouare
faring,becausethereisawarrippingournationapart,andIhaveyettofindasoldier
thatwillanswerthatheisdoingwell.MeninmyUnitoftencomplainoflosingsleepin
thenightbecauseofthestateofwar.Howourarmyisfallingagainsttheforceofthe
Unionandsuppliesarelowerthaneverbefore.IfindthatIoftenlosesleepaswell,and
IsupposethereasonIshouldbelosingsleepinthenightisbecausetheoftheSouths
spiritfailingasyousaiditwould.ButIhavebeguntorealizethatthereasonIlose
sleepisnotbecauseofthepoliticalwellbeingofmystatebutoverworryofthe
physicalwellbeingofmyson.IamhauntedbythewordsIspoketoyou.Iam
particularlyhauntedbythewordsrenouncingclaimthatyouaremyson.HowfoolishI
wastoletyoupackyourbelongingsandleave.HowfoolishIwasthatpridehindered
mefromcryingouttoyouasIwatchedyouturnyourbackuponourhomeandwalk
towardsthecauseoftheNorth.Perhapsitwasbecauseoftheneedtoberightthatwe
bothshare.IoftenwonderwhatwouldhavehappenedifIhadbeenatruefathertoyou
andranouttostopyou.Wouldyouhavereturnedhome?Wouldwehavecontinuedto
fight?Orwouldwehavecometosomeformofagreementoftolerancebecausewe
couldnotbeartoloseoneanotheraswelostsodearamotherandwife?The
possibilitiesareendlessdearboy,andIcouldfillpageswithsituationsthatmighthave
been.Yet,Ithinkitofbetteruseofthispapertobegyourforgivenessmyson.Totell
youhowdeeplyIcherishyouasmyboy,andIwillalways,evenifwefightforseparate
sidesofthisnation.IlookforwardtothedaywhenIseeyouagain.Atrumpetisnow
sounding,andthatsignalsthatmyunitisabouttofightoncemore.Ishallhastilyfinish
thisletterandcarryitwithmeatalltimes,inhopesthatthereissomeblessedchance
thatIshallseeyouacrossthebattlelines.Iwilldropmyrifleandliftmyhandtowards
you.Maybeyouwillseetheloveinmyeyesforyouthatnofathereverlosesforhis
child.Youwillreadthisletterandwewillembraceaswedidinthetimebeforethewar.I
canonlypraythattherewillbeadaywhenyouwillonceagainbemyMatthew.Farwell
myboy.Mypreciousson.MydearMatthew.
JamesMicahSolomon

Christopherstaredatthepiecesofpaperwithinhishands.Thelastwishofhisfatherwas
toseehimashissononcemore.Painmixedwithlovefloodedhisheart,andhejumpedwhena
crackofabranchunderfootwasheard.HelookedupandsawtheconcernedfaceofJohnathan.
YouokaythereChrisboy?
PleasecallmeMatthew.