The Press (Whamilton)

Ch. 34

When Alexander Hamilton first enlisted in the gulf war, there were no other friends enlisting with him. He didn't have a lot of friends back then except for one that was studying abroad in France, Lafayette. So he got his uniform, his hair cut, and had to go through several months of training and painful experiences.

Along those several months, Alexander met somebody that was at least half of a friend to him.

John Laurens.

John Laurens was some curly haired southern boy who smiled a lot and could do way more push-ups than Alex. He laughed like everything was the funniest thing he had ever heard and smiled at Alexander like he was the best thing in his life. Alex fell for him pretty quick.

They didn't really admit their feelings for each other until one day during shooting practice. Alex had been trying to hit the target as best as he could, but was the worst shot on the planet. Their supervisor thought he was drunk.

John teased, "Alex, you have a couple pints before drills or what?"

Alex glared at him. He tried shooting again and shot the tree behind the target. He huffed, "I don't know what's wrong with my aim!"

With a calm smile he walked over to Alex and stood behind him. He explained, "You're focusing on your goal and not your actions. Your holding your gun to loose and so the knock back is messing with your final shot." He reached around and adjusted Alexander's arms. "Try this: Move your feet apart so you have a more steady balance. Then, hold your gun tighter but not so tight that your knuckles are pale. Okay?" Alex's face was beet red.

After a few seconds, Alex shot his gun and hit the second to the middle ring of the target. He grinned and laughed, "I did it! I actually hit it!" John watched him grin and laugh like a kid on their birthday. Hamilton hugged him tightly and after a second of shock, John hugged back.

The two did everything together. They did battle strategy together, stayed up together, snuck out of their barrack together, and made sure they were always near each other during a fight. Almost every night after the lights went out, Alex and John would sneak off to a metal bunker nearby where nobody ever went to. They would sit on the cold stone floor and share a drink or two.

One night, when the weather was absolutely, unbearably hot, Alex and John had snuck down to the bunker again.

Alex messed with the dog tags around John's neck. They were shiny, freshly polished just last night. A battle was coming up, and John wanted them to look perfect when he went onto the field. Alexander sighed and muttered, "Why did you join the war? You always say you hate how America is turning out, so why fight for it?" John was silent, playing with locks of Alexander's hair. They were sitting side by side, leaning against the wall.

"Well," John replied, "When we win the war and go home, I want our kids to be able to know that we didn't lose and that we didn't give up. This country has awful people in it. Awful ideas in it. Racism, sexism, abuse, orphans... homophobia, transphobia... But... I'm fighting for freedom. Freedom of love. Freedom of race. Freedom of truth. Freedom of identification. In a hundred years when I'm dead and gone, I want our kids to be asked by their teacher, what's the 28th amendment? And I want them to say the freedom of love, race, freedom, and truth."

Alex was crying a little, tears welling in his eyes. He scooted closer to John, hugging him tightly. John and Alex were shirtless, trying to bear with the hot stuffiness of the bunker. Their chests were sticky and gross from the sweat, but they still held each other.

John whispered in his ear, "I can't wait for your hair to grow out again." Alex laughed a little and smiled. Carefully, Laurens reached back to his own hair, which was tied back into a messy bun. He pulled something out of his hair, and it all fell to his shoulders with it's usual bounce.