My Dear Laurens (Lams)

A. Hamilton

Not far from the meeting place of a Mr. Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton, stood a tavern hosting lively characters where the ratio of a pint of ale to a man or woman was one to one. Three men took to a long, wooden table in the middle of the cramped bar room. One man had two empty pints of Sam Adams sitting in front of him, and a third clutched in his hand. Another, sitting to the right of the previous fellow, also held a pint in his hand and let his eyes follow the female company placed sporadically through the crowd. The final man shared the expected similarity of alcohol in his hand, and the overwhelming tendency to tip every which way with almost no concern for the possibility of his head meeting the hardwood floor. Other than the common usage of alcohol, the trio captured another commonality among them: a body clothed in a soldier's uniform. The color considered to be the most calming was the dye that had been chosen for these uniforms, for these men, for all soldiers fighting for the United States of America.

The three men conversed thoroughly and deeply about all of life's greatest questions and ever so problematic issues. Some that may seem familiar, like: how many women can I take into bed in one night? And, what would be the best way to abolish slavery? And, if this ale doesn't make me blackout, could you?

These questions were answered in the best way they could be answered. Later.

While drinks refilled and singing struck, two men stood just before the entrance of the alcohol-infused mass. Those two men, who had been previously mentioned as Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton, had their attention grasped by the three soldiers. One soldier drunkenly strung words together in quick succession in a type of rhythm uncommon in the music of that time.

His words rang just a little louder than the crowds' collective conversation.

He began with an inquiry, "What time is it?"

Which the appropriate reply chosen by his two friends was, "Showtime!"

Burr cut into Alexander's curiosity of the shouting group with three words, "Like I said."

A slightly bothered sigh fell through Burr's lips. He had formed an acquaintanceship with the trio, but nothing more than that which caused him to neither walk away nor step closer to the inebriated singers.

On a different note of a contrasting nature, Alexander's mind yearned for a taste of their energy. At the very least his feet desired a step closer. Nevertheless, his body remained. Next to Aaron Burr and his less than anticipated, insightful conversation.

Alexander was caught off guard by the man once asking about the time as he recognized Burr standing no more than two yards in front of him.

The dark-haired, freckle-adorned soldier spoke, "Well, if it ain't the prodigy of Princeton college."

The other two men turned their heads in a synchronized motion, and said, "Aaron Burr?"

"Laurens, Lafayette, Mulligan." Burr dipped his head in greeting,

Alexander watched how Burr matched a name to the slightest movement in his chin and his gaze. Alexander wanted to take advantage of every opportunity of this first impression. This is most likely why those minuscule twitches in Burr's eye contact were enough for Alexander to learn the names of the three men. Mulligan, a broad-chested, dark-skinned, cropped haired man whose head loomed over Alexander's. Lafayette, a slimmer, but just as tall man, with a complexion closer to that of bronze and thick, curly hair pulled into a ponytail.

Like mine, Alexander thought.

The final man was one that before he could not make out as well in the dim light, until now. The proximity between the men lessened, and as such Alexander's eyes studied Laurens' face with an intensity he would usually not apply in such a situation. Laurens had medium-brown eyes. One could describe them in a simple way, like so, or they could delve deeper into their details. Alexander chose the latter.