My Dear Laurens (Lams)

A. Hamilton

Laurens stood in front of Alexander. Hair askew with frizzy strands framing his head like a halo. Rich golden eyes laden with joy. His hands removed his hair tie, smoothed befuddled locks, then re-bound. His hands fell on the tops of his thighs. Tinkering with his breeches, and pulling ever so slightly here and there to fix the fabric from riding up or hanging low. He looked to Mulligan and Lafayette as they held a council in Laurens' room, then darted back to Alexander.

Alexander sat on Laurens' bed beside Mulligan, who laid comfortably on its surface withholding the majority of the area from Alexander. Despite the unintentional selfishness Mulligan displayed, Alexander rested with his legs hanging off the side, pleasing him more than the picture of lying horizontal, parallel to Mulligan.

As a part of whatever conversation ensued at the time, Alexander's ability to listen, left him. An untimely departure without a goodbye or even a note. His eyes allowed him the sight of what a psychic might promise you. Whether or not its authenticity reigned true, he uncovered the vision of what you hold most dear. His conscious mind conceived an image of his only desire. Although, his subconscious was the only party with the knowledge to interpret this development with clarity. The part of his mind mostly forgotten knew what his eyes saw, and registered its meaning. The rest of Alexander couldn't wade through the conflict, now rising to his waist creating an utter loss of certainty.

He saw Laurens. He saw him, he inhaled his presence, but he didn't really see him. He couldn't face the truth, and this barrier blocked him from a simple life. It restrained him from a peaceful journey without cracked souls and hearts shredded and labeled as waste. He saw a friend. A man he could come to care about with what he assumed to be all of his heart, but reserved too much space for temporarily satisfying agendas.

Alexander became encompassed by his restless mind which determined his unawareness of Mulligan and Lafayette leaving the room to him and his friend. He no longer sat on the edge of the bed, but fully, arms, legs and all, supine. The door was closed. The room was empty unless moonlight is counted because every characteristic, old or new, illuminated in its cool, gray beams. Among all things highlighted, Laurens glowed brighter. His usually summery tones carried an imprint of blue. Alexander realized he had not once honed in on another person, place, and/or object. Only Laurens.

The truth is, he thought. I don't want to look at anything else. Just him.

Laurens adjusted his stance as he pulled his writing desk's chair to the side of the bed, flipped it around, and sat with his arms crossed on the headrest.

"This looks familiar," Laurens said, existing delightfully in every way.

Alexander listened. Apparently, to his ears, this was important enough to awaken his hearing.

"Ah-ha, I guess it does," discomfort swirled in his gut. "If you want to sleep, I can go back to my room. It is getting pretty late."

Laurens wanted to refuse his offer, but exhaustion spread through him like a cancer.

"I wish you could stay, but Mulligan kind of tired me out-"

Mulligan, you bastard, thought Alexander.

Even though he didn't really think Mulligan a bastard, Mulligan denied him time with Laurens, and he didn't want to forgive him.

"You could sleep in my bed tonight..." Laurens scratched the back of his neck. "With me. In a way, it could be like compensation for letting me sleep with you, or um, I mean sleeping in your bed with you last night."

The conversations they had with Mulligan and Lafayette wrecked their easygoing discourse and disrupted it with the nagging voices of their day-companion. Alexander had no idea what Laurens went through with Mulligan, but he knew Lafayette stirred a million questions into his head he had no idea how to answer. He hoped to flush the useless pestering from his mind by tomorrow, but he didn't know if that was possible.