My Guardian Angel//Lams//Post Laurens Death

Chapter Fourteen

Philip Hamilton

I look down at my newest poem, that I'm still composing. I've made so many in rage and grief the past month or so. In those months, I've turned nineteen and heard the worst Fourth of July speech ever to be written and then said. George Eacker. Just the name makes me want to throw something breakable. 

I shake off the anger and read over the poem: 

My name is Philip. 

I am a poet. 

I gotta confront Eacker, and I know it. 

He talked bad about my father, 

I will not let it slide.

I nod, satisfied, and continue on the street. People are still reading the Pamphlet. They stare at me as I pass, knowing I'm the son of the author for the first American scandal. I ignore them, just like Mother and the rest of my family does. I scratch the back of my neck. 

I spot two young women walking along the road, Dolly and Martha, and I go over quickly. 

"Ladies!" I say. They stop. I quickly apologize to Theo in prayer form and continue. "I'm lookin' for a Mr. George Eacker. Made a speech last week, our Fourth of July speaker. He disparaged my father's legacy in front of a crowd. I can't have that. I'm makin' my father proud."

Martha grins. "I saw him just up Broadway, a couple of blocks. He was goin' to see a play."

"Well, I'll go visit his box." 

"God, your a fox," Dolly says. I force myself not to cringe and play along. 

"Y'all look pretty good in your frocks. How 'bout when I get back, we all strip down to our socks?" I'm disgusted by my own words. 

They nod and I quickly walk away. Note to self: Avoid them at all costs. 

Broadway is one of my favorite streets. Plays and operas, all performed amazingly. Only the best actors and artists in New York get in, making for both perfect music and stages. I open the door to the play house and scan the dark room for Eacker. 

I don't bother looking at whatever play is on. I spot Eacker, rush over and say,

"George." No reply. "George!"

"Sh, I'm tryna watch the show!" he turns in his seat to glare at me. 

"You shoulda watched your mouth before you talked about my father, though!" 

Eacker raises an eyebrow. "I didn't say anything that wasn't true. Your father's a scoundrel, and so it seems you."

Murmuring goes around the other audience members. The show has stopped, the actors focused on the quarrel between me and Eacker. I glare at the other nineteen-year-old. 

"It's like that?"

Eacker smirks. "Yeah. I'm not one of your schoolboy friends."

And then the words slip out, "See you on the dueling ground! That is unless you wanna step outside and go now?"

"I know where to find you," he informs me. "Piss off. I'm watching this show now."