My Dear Laurens (Lams)

J. Laurens

You know those sweet, simple moments where you have just woken up from a wet dream you "can't remember," or you walk through a particularly bland threshold, or any mundane moment interrupted by an epiphany?

To Laurens, it was like a shooting star fleeting through the night sky for only a second. Dropping in to say hello and deliver its message. A message, well, it was more like a mission.

On a partly cloudy morning, Laurens was located in the cafe of the inn, which was more accurately called a "bed and breakfast". In this bed and breakfast, a couple was sitting at a table a few yards away from Laurens, bickering about something particularly distressing. At least, distressing to the wife. And a woman in red sitting alone, with tears begging to escape from her eyes. The final person in this odd group was Laurens. Pouring coffee and contemplating nothing else, but the satisfaction he would experience when the bitter flavor reached his lips. He was a black coffee kind of fellow, and this harmless detail was the only bitter part of his character.

While the dark, caffeinated drink flowed from the spout of an exceptionally boorish metal pot into a small, porcelain cup held by the right hand of John Laurens, his routine was rudely disrupted. A slip of the hand, really. Or the mind. Whoever's fault it was, it didn't matter. What did matter was Laurens' left hand, holding the pot, moved an inch to the left. The drink expecting to fall into Laurens' cup was greeted not with more of itself, but a dirty, muddy, old wooden floor. The splash shocked Laurens into jumping back a step. He needed to, didn't he? Or else the bottom of his pants would have been soiled quite noticeably.

In a nasty turn of events, his chest was scorched. In a split-second of pure idiocy, the half-full, or half-empty, cup jumped back with Laurens. It was no longer half-full or half-empty, but completely empty. The contents of the cup flew onto his pristine, white shirt. He would have to change now. He would have to pour another cup of coffee for himself. He would have to clean the floor. He would have to do so many previously unintended tasks because a single thought startled him.

Laurens sighed. Of all the people, in all the world, it had to be me.

He could have gotten over the mishap with ease if it weren't for his two good friends, Lafayette and Mulligan, as a humble audience for the show, standing six feet behind him.

Violently laughing without any consideration for the other people in the room. They were definitely laughing too hard, but the only person aware of this fact was Laurens.

Laurens spun on his heel and narrowed his eyes at the duo.

Mulligan tried so very hard to gain composure of himself for Laurens' sake, but Lafayette? Oh, he didn't try at all.

Laurens thought they would ridicule him in front of the three other innocent bystanders. He expected mockery in the most embarrassing sort. But they just laughed, walked past him, poured coffee for themselves successfully, and sat down.

Laurens rolled his eyes at them and turned his head to return to his room when his mind caught up with him. His mission costing him a perfectly peaceful morning couldn't be left wanting.

Laurens twisted his body to face Lafayette and Mulligan and strolled to their table.

He pulled a chair neighboring him and straddled it backward. He placed his arms on the headrest and joined his unsuspecting friends on a mission.

"I have an idea," He said.

From then on, a plan was hatched.

It took them a total of two days to form the plan and put it into motion.

Here you are, with them, on the third day.

. . .

Lafayette was in an odd position. With an inch of space between his face and Alexander's, he whispered this: "Monsieur Hamilton, it is time to wake up."