Plastic Promises // Leerens

3

"A-a duel? What for?" I asked, mostly to myself.

"Says it's because you are 'inexperienced and ruinous', therefore unfit to be second-in-command," Burr said, sitting across my tent. He held the duel offer and was reading it over.

"Is this about Monmouth? It's been months!" I complained. I would never let it show, but I was terrified. This was sudden too, I mean, I knew Hamilton had a thing against me being second-in-command, but this was Laurens who challenged me. Behind the terrified part, though, was a small part of me that was just willing to accept, maybe in hopes that I would be shot dead on the spot. Not many people would honestly care, maybe my dog, Spada, and even Sidney, in a weird sibling sense. I was only a mere acquaintance to Burr, despite myself seeing him as my closest friend.

"Ah, it also says that Hamilton is his chosen second, I'm sure I can talk at least a little sense into him to call off the duel," Burr replied, snapping me out of whatever daze I was in. He laid the note on my desk.

"Are you offering to be my second? I was thinking Edwards, but if you think you could..." I said, looking at the tent door as if Laurens would come back and call it off. But that wasn't happening.

"Of course, Hamilton can't be hard to convince as a friend," Burr said. I picked up the note and accepted the duel and wrote Burr in as my second. I am not going to have my name tarnished over one duel, I'd rather die than try to avoid that whole mess. I refolded the paper and went to deliver the note.

I stepped to the lieutenant colonel's tent and knocked on the post. This time, only Laurens answered, no sign of Hamilton nearby. Thank God. I passed Laurens the note and walked off without saying a thing. What was there to say? "Oh boy! I can't wait for you to try and shoot me dead soon!"? I might seem crazy saying that, the former British officer who had become an American general who was so willing to die out of the blue, no matter how "cowardly" he may seem on the field. The one who seemed terrified to do anything revolving around death, he could barely hold himself together at most funerals, no matter how close he was to the deceased. I'd rather not seem that way. But, I couldn't seem so willing to let my name be tarnished by some nobody from the middle of the Caribbean who never stops writing.

Maybe I could convince myself that dying at the shot of someone else would be fine. Or try to believe there's an afterlife. The kind where I could watch Spada and Sidney live nice lives without needing to "pay" for all the men I've killed on the battlefield.

I had gone in almost a circle around the camp, standing a few tents away from Laurens who leaned outside his tent, reading the duel offer over, almost as if it were his first read. I froze and went between the tents, into the adjacent woods to our camp. Thankfully, it had seemed as if Laurens didn't notice my pass and I wandered in the woods for almost an hour before heading back to camp.

Either no one had seemed to notice my 2-hour disappearance, or no one cared to bring it up as a concern, as they were all around the campfire, preparing some of our rations. I looked at the group as they laughed at some joke and decided to avoid the whole interaction and go to my tent early. Spada jumped up to greet me as I entered my tent and I patted his head softly. He looked at me expectantly and I remembered it was feeding time for him. I pulled out the usable food, but the kind no one would rather eat. Spada's tail wagged faster and I laughed a little.

"Spada, you need to sit before I feed you," I said, holding a dried piece of some mystery meat. Spada sat and I fed him the food while rubbing his back gently. I was a little sad that I couldn't bring any of my other dogs with me, but Spada was enough to keep me company in this tent when Burr wasn't letting out all of the judgments he makes of all the soldiers. Occasionally, he lets one or two slip about me, but I never told him. I liked hearing why people thought about me, as a form of constructive criticism, even if it wasn't meant to be that way. Like when Adams constantly made comments about my love for dogs to the extent of calling me a queer creature. I never made adjustments to that, as dogs are my main comfort, but I had talked less about my dogs and animals. Not by much, I still love to talk about my dogs, but I've also brought other topics of conversation to the table.

I took off my coat and folded it across my chair and leaned into my cot, relaxing, letting the sounds of the distant soldier laughs fill the silence. I kicked off my boots and Spada took it as a sign to hop up and lay with me. It was a comfortable silence until a soft knock came from the post outside my tent. Spada barked until I picked him up and carried him to the front. I looked at the person who ruined my relaxing night and groaned a bit.

"Lee-" Laurens started.

"Fuck off," I said, trying to stop Spada from jumping out of my arms to greet Laurens.

"But-" I cut Laurens off by closing the tent flap and tying the strings together. Peace at last.