by Leon Rapoport

How many lives does freedom cost?

How much sacrifice does liberty need?

How far will we go for peace?

The sound of a gunshot ricocheted between George’s ears, and the image of his friend falling dead before him replayed vividly in his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He would never be able to forget the things he had seen on the battlefield. How many times had he seen his brothers-in-arms lose their lives in valiant sacrifice? How many times had he seen their families weep over their graves, praying for and honoring the fallen heroes? How many times had he heard that it was his fault—his responsibility—that he had failed? 

A deafening sound jolted him out of his thoughts. George opened his eyes sluggishly as the source of the noise, an electric-yellow sports car, sped around a corner. He sighed, turned around, and began walking. Today, he had a specific goal: to visit a place that he’d never been to. It was a place that many would say was the most important in the entire nation, but a place that he deeply feared because that place represented what he had fought for. It represented what his brothers had lost their lives for. It represented everything that mattered to him.

This place, with its one-of-a-kind history and significance, was the White House.

George stepped out onto the street, only to come face to face with them: the very type of people he most feared…the very type of people that blamed people like him for the failures of the country. They ought to be grateful. They knew nothing of the sacrifices their lives were standing on—nothing of the courage and valiance that gave them the opportunity to live.

They strode by him with signs expressing words and images so vile that he couldn’t imagine anyone agreeing with them. Others waved around their megaphones, yelling curses and insults into the devices while their friends cheered them on and videotaped the commotion with their smartphones. George stood completely still and silent. They seemed to him like the violent waves washing around a lighthouse as they coasted down the street around him as if he wasn’t there at all. He squinted his eyes, but their vibrant colors and violent words still seeped into him from all directions as they crawled along the streets chanting their hellish slogans and cursed beliefs.

Sometimes he wondered if he had made the right choice all those years ago.

George sighed and stepped forward, leaving the angry mob behind. As he approached the famed building, he felt a wave of relief pass over him. He stopped at the entrance and looked up. The majestic work of art with its beautiful columns, elegant doors, gorgeous lawn, and regal walls shone in all its glory against the dark gray sky behind it, almost as if casting a light of its own onto the world.

He clenched his teeth, gazing at the building at the other end of the lawn. A cool breeze sailed across his skin, but he shivered—not at the cold, but at the thought of finally stepping foot inside the White House.

George was no longer a young man. It had been many years since he had chosen to fight for his country. But this was what he fought for all those years ago. This is what so many died for all those years ago. America. Freedom. Liberty. And the glowing building just a few hundred feet ahead of him represented all of that.

Yet, he was still afraid.

He closed his eyes and took a step forward.

Despite the troubles of the modern world, the White House stood steadfast and unaltered. To him, it was a symbol—a symbol of the good that he was fighting for. Yet, somehow, he felt that precisely by never entering the building in person, he had been closing his eyes on all of the horrible things going on in the country in recent times. He had seen the stability of the famed icon and secretly kept hoping that everything going wrong in the world was a farce, a temporary obstruction in the American dream of eternal liberty promised by the nation’s most famous and beautiful building.

Despite the reality of today’s world, the White House stood steadfast and unaltered. To him it was a symbol–a symbol of the good that he was fighting for.

He feared that as soon as he stepped through those doors, he would be forced to see the truth of today’s world and could no longer go back to his false dream. And once that happened, he would be forced to face the guilt of his choices.

George opened his eyes.

The building was directly in front of him. Lost in thought, he had crossed the front lawn until he had reached the top of the stairs and stopped in front of the doors without noticing.

This was what he was fighting for. This was America.

George put his hands on the door, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed forward. 

And then, as soon as he stepped inside, it hit him. A wave of nausea rushed over his body, sending him stumbling backwards. It was all for nothing. All the fighting, all the dying. The people didn’t care. All that he had seen…all that he had done…all his work all those years ago was worthless. The government was corrupt, the people were corrupt; everything had been for nothing.

George clasped his hands over his head.

In the beginning, it was the taxes. There was no better way for a government to show its people that it didn’t care about them in the slightest than to tax them relentlessly for no reason. Two hundred and fifty years ago, courageous patriots risked their lives to fight against the tyranny of taxation of the people without representation. And where did that bring the United States of America to hundreds of years later? Back to where it started?

George opened his eyes as a young man passed by. The man was wearing a jacket with a logo that George recognized as belonging to a university. Ah, colleges. Colleges too were originally meant for education—but today’s colleges had everything except for education. Unless, of course, one considers an unhealthy interest in critiquing religion and traditional family values fields of education.

He took a deep breath and began walking forward. Just as he turned a corner, a man in a red tie stormed out of the hallway, nearly colliding with him. George jumped back as the furious man trudged past him and walked around another corner. Dazed, George turned back around to a man with a blue collar sneering in the direction that the red-tied man had gone.

George bit his lip and kept walking forward.

Political parties were supposed to work alongside each other, not against each other. But rather than working together, today’s political leaders cared more about their own piggy bank than the interests of the people—and it showed in their policies and decision making. How many innocent people were in prison? How many guilty roamed free? The criminal system was broken, and the people in charge were to blame.

Political parties were supposed to work alongside each other, not against each other. But rather than working together, today’s political leaders cared more about their own piggy bank than the interests of the people—and it showed in their policies and decision making.

George stopped. He was in an odd, secluded area of the house. He rubbed his eyes feverishly, trying to refocus his thoughts. Before he could, though, a familiar voice rang in his ears: “George!”

George spun around. Before him was a man he hadn’t encountered in years.

“James. Long time no see.”

The elderly man approached George and stopped a few feet away from him. “This is your first time, isn’t it?” James asked. “It’s beautiful, right? But I must ask—after all these years, why now? You served so long ago.”

George looked down.

“I felt as though I had to finally see it—to know if it really was all a dream of mine. I don’t know what I expected.”

James sighed. “Come on, George. He’s here. Let’s go.”

They continued together until they reached the door of the Oval Office. George stared at the locked door in silence, debating if he should abandon his planned meeting and vacate the building.

“You could knock,” James joked.

George smirked. “I’m sure that’ll do a lot.”

Then, the two of them stepped inside. The Oval Office looked exactly like George had envisioned it, with its glamorous tapestries and beautiful, sea-colored carpet, with one exception—the tall man standing in front of the window with his back to them.

The man slowly turned around and smiled.

“Abraham.” George nodded.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen.” The man tipped his top hat. “Mr. Washington, Mr. Madison. Wonderful to see you again. Please, please—sit down.”

^^^^^^^^^^^

As soon as they were seated, James laughed. “As cheerful as always, ey, Lincoln? Same mood, different generation, ha!”

“Abraham,” George nodded. “I am quite glad to see you as well. I hope that you have been well.”

“I have, I have,” Lincoln smiled. “I’m glad we could all make today as planned. It has come to my attention that you are quite dissatisfied with the current state of our nation. I see no need to ask why—to me, at least, the reasons are both numerous and clear, and no elaboration is needed.”

“I’m sure you, of all people, understand.” George lowered his head. “You know what it feels like to sacrifice everything for the future, only to have that future be terribly different from what you were fighting for.”

Lincoln smiled. “You see, your issue, my friend, is that you don’t understand the situation. Come, join me.” Lincoln walked over to the window overlooking the lawn. George stood up with a sigh, glanced at James, who shrugged his shoulders, and strode over to Lincoln, joining him at the window.

“If you could define the American people—the American spirit—in one word, what would you say?” Lincoln asked, thoughtfully gazing out of the window.

“Obnoxious?”

“Hope, Mr. Washington. Hope.”

“Oh.”

“I won’t try to deny your concerns with today’s world, but what I want you to see is that in addition to all that is bad, there is so much good.”

“I’m not sure I’m following,” George retorted, glancing at him. “We’re not doing very well these days.”

“Some, like you, have given up. They see the present time as the lowest point of the United States. But you have to remember, this isn’t nearly as difficult as when we were literally in a Civil War.”

“Or the time when we started an entire revolution,” James added from his chair.

“Or even the time when we barely survived our first winter here before the country was even formed,” George sighed. “I see what you’re saying.”

“And that’s not even mentioning the Great Depression or either of the World Wars!” Lincoln spread his arms. “My point is—this isn’t a terrible time for America. It’s quite the opposite. It’s a time of incredible potential. We’re a wonderful country. But we must keep fighting for the good—for virtue, for justice, and for truth. And although some have given up, others push forward. They might not know it yet, but the future is in their hands—if only they are brave enough to pursue it.” 

And although some have given up, others push forward. They might not know it yet, but the future is in their hands—if only they are brave enough to pursue it.

Lincoln turned to his friend. “It’s a difficult road up ahead, there’s no denying that. But with a powerful patriotic spirit, nothing is impossible. Little by little, step by step, the right people—no matter where they are right now—whether it be studying silently in their room, planning their next political piece, or campaigning from door to door—will restore our beautiful country to its former glory.”

“They will make America great again, one might say?” James quipped.

“One might,” Lincoln winked. “One might indeed. It’s in their hands.” He placed his arm around George’s shoulders, and the two turned toward the window illuminating the beautiful city before them.

“And it’s only possible because of you.” Lincoln patted his friend on his back. “This is your legacy. But now, it’s their turn. Have hope. If there’s anything the American people know how to do, it’s how to overcome any challenge this world throws at us, no matter the odds.”

This is your legacy. But now, it’s their turn. Have hope. If there’s anything the American people know how to do, it’s how to overcome any challenge this world throws at us, no matter the odds.

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Leon Rapoport is a freshman studying math.