Classwork

Terrible Hamiltrash

1804, Harlem

"Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?"

The tavern was packed, and he barely heard a woman's voice over the racket of its occupants. He looked to his right to spot a girl, no older than eighteen.

"That depends, who's asking?" he replied, swirling the remainder of his fourth beer in its mug. He'd have to order another soon.

Her eyes lit up at his notice, and she did a sort of curtsey, blonde curls falling in her face. Her hands were shaking, but in his depressed, drunken stupor, he didn't take notice. "Tessa Morgan, sir. I was a friend of Angelica Hamilton, and she told me—"

"I'm not talking about Alex."

Tessa blinked. He continued.

"Now, miss, you shouldn't be out this late. I'm sorry about what happened to your friend, but the city is no place for an unaccompanied girl, especially at night."

"Sir, I'm not here to ask about her father. And I'm hardly your ordinary girl."

His eyes didn't leave their place from an abnormality on the wooden wall. His hand clenched around his drink and he raised it to his lips, downing what remained in the mug.

"Then what? A story? I'm hardly in the state of being or mind."

"A story," she confirmed.

"I'm going to need more beer."

"I may be old now, but I wasn't always," he started. She nodded, and he continued, "I was in the army, actually. Lieutenant Colonel," he chuckled, "yet, Alex was always better than me, you hear? He was Washington's right hand... And he hated it. Sure, he had other friends, but I always felt like he was... targeting me? I always wanted what he had: the name, the friends, the power; and he flaunted it. Now, I figure he probably wanted what I had: the title, the command. No matter what, he was always out to get me.

"He always did the craziest things. You need to know, all he ever cared about was his legacy. Don't ask me why. Hell, once this one guy, Lee I think his name was, disagreed with Washington, and there Alex was, telling his boyfriend John to kill him. I tried to convince him otherwise, but, well, once he set his mind to something, he's never not followed through, I suppose. The crazy thing was, John actually killed the bastard.

"And I killed Alex." Aaron took a deep breath, and a silvery tear at the corner of his eye caught the light. He took a gulp of his drink and stared off into space. Tessa put her hands in her lap and looked downward.

"I'm sorry about your loss."

"My loss?" His voice was faint, as if he was barely there. "He was my friend, turned my enemy. And I thought he would shoot, ha." The laugh was cold, sarcastic. He blamed himself, and Tessa could tell.

"I'm sorry, mister vice president."

Leaving him to his hollow sulking, Tessa Morgan didn't let the tears fall from her eyes until she had ducked into the alley along her path home.