~The First Letter~

November 2009

I walked half asleep across the beige carpet of my bedroom, tripping over that darn grape lip gloss that I lost three weeks ago, and running nose first into the wall, missing the door by a good two feet.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit!" I cursed with a hand cupping my now bleeding nose.

And this is how I start my mornings.

I grab the box of tissues on my desk, more awake than I was a few minutes ago, and practically stuff the whole 4-ply up my throbbing nose. I run into the bathroom, almost slipping on one of Joe's dirty socks. Usually I would be snickering knowing Abby would give him hell about his 'old college day habits needing to die fast'; however, considering my bloody nose and the fact that school starts in twenty minutes, I needed to work like Speedracer on crack.

I turn up the hot water in my shower, letting the steam clear my sinuses-after it stopped bleeding-and letting it fill up the bathroom. I stepped under the jets and scrubbed my coconut shampoo into my hair and rubbed all the sweat off-from piling under three comforters and two layers of clothing at night-with my favorite strawberry scented soap.

Rushing out of the shower and drying my hair, I threw some clothes on and raced downstairs with my bag slung over one shoulder and one of Abby's blueberry muffins in the other. I raced down the wet steps that would be freezing over pretty soon with another cold winter in Connecticut heading our way.

Truthfully, though, I loved this weather. I loved the numbness in my toes and fingers and the soft snowflakes that fell late December, maybe earlier. I loved to breathe in the cool, crisp air and feel like once it melted away that I started a fresh clean slate.

Of course, I also loved the fact that it brought our community together. Being stuck in snow storms, not being able to do much outside enabled all of us to group together and get to really know one another.

I remember living in New York City, where you never even saw the person living next to you or the people on the top floor penthouse. My biological mother could barely afford to live in that expensive city. The stress of having to provide for me after my biological father left us is probably what drove her to her stroke.

Needless to say, I was scared out of my mind as an eleven-year-old orphan girl. Not knowing where I was going to live the next day, a Foster Home, Orphanage, trashcan, I never knew, had me petrified. But when I first met Abby at the Home Security Center, I knew I would be okay.

She brought me home after signing adoption forms and cooked a huge dinner, that I learned was her famous culinary skills at work, since she did own her own up-scale restaurant. When Joe Solomon first walked through that door, he intimidated the hell out of me. He had his own Architect Firm and was cursing out his Executive Assistant when he spotted me at the dining room table.

His eyes immediately brightened, and he smiled wide with his perfect teeth and dark disheveled hair. He walked around to his wife and kissed her cheek, squeezing her shoulders a bit, and they locked eyes. I could very easily tell that they loved each other very much from that single look and it thawed a bit of my unease.

He strode over to my chair and kneeled on one knee before sticking out one hand and said, "Hello, I'm Joseph Solomon, and you are?"

I cleared my throat before taking his hand, "C-Cammie Morgan?"

He chuckled lightly before saying, "Well, Cammie. You're family now, right?"

"If you want me to be..." I replied, tucking a strand of dirty blond hair behind my ear.

"Then from now on, you're name is Cammie Solomon," he said with another brilliant smile and ruffled my hair, "Kay' kid?"

I grinned back at him," Kay."

I was brought back to the present when I came up to my high school.

I was met with a bunch of 'Hey Cammie's or wolf calls as I passed the parking lot and waved and mumbled greetings at the right places. Usually, I was a bit more social in the mornings, especially when I actually drove my car to school-though I couldn't this morning because of the whole 'nose fiasco' that put me in a funk. A funk that wouldn't be safe on the road-not that it was really safe with me on it before.

I wasn't extremely popular, nor was I unknown. I actually had a good amount of people that I was able to consider friends, but I only had one best friend. I was considered the smart, athletic, semi-popular girl. Barbie's best friend, you could say.

"Ey Loser!" I heard right when I walked through the door.

Ah, and there's Barbie now.

"Ey Bitch," I grinned as Macey McHenry strode up to me in those Heels of Death of hers. How she could walk like she was on a runway in 20 degree weather in heels was beyond me.

Outsiders that didn't go to school would've been confused as to why we were friends. We were polar opposites, right down to the hair. I'm a dark blond, almost a brunette, but still a blond. I was know for being innocent with all of my virtues still intact, kind when spoken too, and athletic playing for the track, basketball, and swim team. Then there was Macey. Where I was Plain Jane, she was Megan Fox without the plastic. She wasn't exactly a virtuous person, yet she was one of the smartest in our class. If it weren't for basketball, we probably would have never talked to each other. And if I never met her in the eighth grade, I would still be the socially awkward girl no one notices.

When she gave me the 'bitch look' and flashed her intimidating nose ring at me during basketball tryouts in eighth grade, and I ended up fowling her out by ramming her off the court during my drive for the basket, we were instantly best friends. Basketball was both our passion and we made good friends through the years on our Varsity team. We also made a reputations for ourselves as the Girls Basketball stars since we led our team three years in a row to State Champions. Plus, the Boys Basketball team sucks.

All in all, we make a good team and we can't wait for our last season to start.

"You look like crap, girly," Macey pulls on the ends of my scarf and smirks, "Your nose is purple."

"Yes, and you're still a slut," she grins and shrugs which, I admit, kind of disappoints me. She never talks to me about her love life, if you could call her past conquests that, and neither do I. It's our unspoken rule.

I don't really like to discuss my non-existent love life anyway.

"I was just gonna say that I have some coverup you could use, but I guess you're just so eager to go to History with Mr. Eagan, huh?" she says and turns to walk ahead of me into the halls.

"Nope. You're coming with me," I grab the hood of her black jacket and drag her into the girls bathroom. She laughs the whole time.

After covering my nose with makeup in the moldy bathrooms with cracks in the mirrors, I'm scared to know what I look like. Nevertheless, we're both rushing to our first period-our only class together-and made it to our seats in the back just before the tardy bell rang.

Mr. Eagan gives us a look over his reading glasses and rolls his eyes. He's one of my favorite teachers already this year, probably everyone's. He teaches U.S. History AP the best in our district and a good sense of humor to brighten my mornings. Well, all except this morning.

"I know that we were originally going to go over the Civil War today, but talking with some students and even my own son and daughter, it seems like none of you really know about what's going on in the Middle East," he waves a disk in his hands, "So, we'll be watching a documentary of some footage of different U.S bases," he says excitedly, "There's some video of crossfires and snipers and grenades, it's like freaking Modern Warfare 3!"

All the guys cheer while some of the girls sigh and prepare to fall asleep. I look over at Macey and she's talking excitedly with some of the guys, something about seeing stuff blow up.

I always knew there was something wrong with her.

I touch my nose delicately when Mr. Eagan turns off the lights and puts in the, most-likely, depressing movie. I don't care too much for depressing movie in the morning. I get queasy seeing people in the movies get fake shot. But this is different. This is real footage from what Mr. Eagan says, which means this stuff actually happened and is still going on.

I'm so busy thinking to myself that I don't notice the movie has started and everyone else has quieted down. I rest my head in my hand as the screen opens to an American flag waving in the wind. You hear sounds of men talking through static to each other, talking about their surroundings. The hot sun, dryness of the desert, when one of the starts to talk about his wife and kids back home in Louisiana. The last thing you hear the man say through the static is:

"Just two weeks until I get back to my family, man. *sigh* God, I miss them so much. *static in the background* I hate this war. I hate that I'm away from my family...But I do this to keep them safe. I do this because I love my country, even though our economy is crap. Even though our politicians are all- *static* ...I'm doing it for Judy, and my two boys...Just two more weeks, man...Two more weeks..."

The movie goes on, showing how our troops live. What they do everyday, their drills and precautions. Everything. The footage of crossfire with the enemy is the worst. The footage was taken by one of the men who was towards the back of the group. We were able to see the men that were shot down as he passed them, sometimes checking their pulses. Debris flew in front of the camera, obscuring our view at times.

By the time the movie was over, the classroom was silent, some were crying-including me. No one slept through the video, to enraptured by the terrible reality of war. Mr. Eagan turned off the projector and DVD player and leaned against his desk facing us.

"Makes you grateful for what you have, doesn't it," he clasps his hands together and clears his throat, "Well, you guys might not know this, but I used to be a Private First Class in the Marines back when they still had HBO instead of HD or whatever," the class snickers as he continues, "So, I contacted a friend who gave me a list of different Marines deployed out in the Middle East. Since it's coming close to the Holidays and all, I thought it might be a good chance for you all to write a 'Thank You' card or send a care package of Girl Scout cookies or something."

I lean forward in my seat. Maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea? Seeing how those men live gives me a new respect for them than I've ever had before. Inspired, I raise my hand.

"Yes Cammie?" Mr. Eagan nods his head towards me.

"Uh," I say blushing a bit, "Where would we get the information?"

He grins and nods, "Oh, yes, I put it on the website. Forgot to mention that."

I nod my head a bit, and when the bell rings, I rush out the door with Macey hot on my heels.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Macey asks from behind me, trying to keep up.

"I'm going to the Library for Study Hall. I want to write a letter," I say grinning at my friend who shrugs.

"You're actually writing a letter?" Macey asks walking in step beside me now.

I nod and she stops us both in the hallway, "Why?"

"Well why not? Don't you want to?" I ask.

"No. I don't want to write to a total stranger," she shrugs and we continue walking.

After a minute of walking in silence I mutter, "I would want someone to write to me...It feels like this is something I should do..."

Macey wraps an arm around me, "Well, if you really feel that way then...you should. Who knows? Maybe you'll get a reply."

I never thought of that. I always just saw myself writing a short note, maybe send some of Abby's delicious snickerdoodle cookies and that would be the end of it. The end of this thing compelling me to write a letter to a soldier in the Middle East. I never thought of the possibility of the soldier writing back. The thought excited and frightened me.

"I hope so..."

Sitting down at the library with my notebook I used for doodling, my pickle pen-the pen is really shaped like a pickle-and the list of contact information on each Marine along with profile pictures, I try to choose who I should write to.

Should I write to more than one? I shake my head immediately at that thought. Just one for now.

The contact information as the address to their base, phone number to their commanding officer, and their rank along with fuzzy photos of men in uniforms.

I scroll down the list, reading a bio of each person that lists what kind of foods, music, movies, they like along with where and how long they've been in service. I smile at a couple, realizing that these men are just regular people far away from home. I'm ready to just choose from random when I see a name that sticks out from all the other generic American names (like Brittany or Jason Smith).

Captain Zachary Shane Goode.

"Huh..." I squinted my eyes a bit to get a better look at his picture but to no avail.

So, I clicked on his profile.

Captain Goode has served in the Marines for five years, the youngest Captain in the Marines currently. As of October 2009, he is a Commander to his Community in Afghanistan.

Likes: the Killers, Muse, Indiebands, and other classical rock, Strawberries, Almond Joy, Peanut butter, LA Lakers.

Dislikes: raisins.

I laugh out loud and look around me to find everyone in the library staring at me. Shaking my head, I look back at the screen and grin at the similarities between us. Especially the raisin comment.

That's when I started writing the letter. I don't exactly know why I chose Captain Zachary Goode, but it would change my life in more way than one.

Dear Zachary Goode,

My name is Cameron Solomon. No, you don't know me, and I don't exactly know you either.

I do know what you do for our country, though, and me and everyone in my little town in Connecticut would like to thank you for your service.

You're probably wondering how I even got your information. Needless to say, I'm no stalker. My U.S. history teacher was telling us about the war in the Middle East, and I was inspired by him and the documentary we watched to write a letter and offer any help I can be to you and the others on your base.

I guess I should tell you something about me since I got a glimpse of your profile info our teacher linked us to.

I'm a senior in high school, in a small town in Connecticut. My adoptive parents are Joseph and Abby Solomon. Joe owns his own Architect firm and Abby owns her own restaurant and you can never find a better home cooked meal than at our house. My biological father left us when I was little, and my mother died when I was around eleven years old so Joe and Abby are the only ones I consider parents.

I play on Varsity Basketball and am Captain of the team. I'm also on the Swim and Track teams, although Basketball is by far my favorite. I'm even considering on taking up the scholarships to play in college. My best friend, Macey McHenry is also on the team and is already signed on to play for UCLA Girls Basketball.

Like you, my favorite candy is almond joy. I find it funny how everyone is disgusted by coconut. I guess they just don't have good taste like us. ;) I listen to all genre of music even though Pop and Techno aren't my favorites. I love to read on my free time, anywhere from Austen to Captain Underpants.

Actually, does anyone ever call you Captain Underpants? I mean...cause you're a Captain and all? Or Captain America? Or Captain Kirk?

I also like Marvel Comics and Star Trek...Can you tell?

Well, I know you're busy and all...but if you can, let me know if there's anything I can get for you guys out there in Afghanistan. The profile says you are stationed in Afghanistan but correct me if I'm wrong.

~Best regards

Cammie Solomon

I read through the letter several times, cringing at my lame attempt at humor. Sealing the envelope before I lost my nerve, I drove to the post office. The lady shipped it off, labeled as 'Priority Mail' to get there faster.

Breathing in a deep sigh, the anticipation started to build within me.

I would have to wait and see, for an unseeable amount of time, if I would ever get a reply from Captain Zachary Shane Goode.

I'll get out Chapter 2 as soon as I can...Reviews are appreciated!

~Akira