Chapter One: Alexandra Hamilton

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Burr's POV

The curtain's open, the lights are up. It's time for me to start the story. Straightening my jacket and clearing my throat, I begin.

"How does a bastard, orphan, spawn of a whore and a Scotswoman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean by providence, impoverished in squalor, grow up to me a hero and a scholar?"

As I finish my bit, another man steps forward to add to my wonderings. He stands at attention, a soldier, and in the light you can clearly see the dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks. 

"The ten-dollar Founding 'Father' without a father got a lot farther by working a lot harder, by being a lot smarter, by being a self-starter. By fourteen, they placed her in charge of a trading charter."

Next up is a man in a loud purple suit, wild hair flowing free, and a smirk.

"And everyday while slaves were being slaughtered and carted across the waves, she struggled and kept her guard up. Inside she was longing for something to be a part of. The sister was ready to beg, borrow or barter."

Another comes forward. "Then a hurricane came, and devastation rained. Our girl saw her future drip, dripping down the drain. Put a pencil to her temple, connected it to her brain, and she wrote her first refrain, a testament to her pain." As he finished, his eyes started to water and he let out an earth-shattering sneeze.

Rolling my eyes, I continue on in the narrative. "Well, the word got around, they said, 'This kid is insane, man!" Took up a collection just to send her to the mainland. 'Get your education, don't forget from whence you came, ma'am, and the world's gonna know your name. What's your name, ma'am?'"

And then she steps out into the light, and she is stunning. She holds her head high, her eyes she keeps alight, and it is with pride she contributes her segment.

"Alexandra Hamilton. My name is Alexandra Hamilton. And there's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait, just you wait..."

The wealthy Elijah Schuyler adds his clear, sweet voice to the mix, earning murmurs and gasps as he does so. With a sort of resignation, his eyes kind, he commences his verse.

"When she was ten her father split, full of it, debt-ridden. Two years later see Alex and her mother bed-ridden, half-dead, sitting in their own sick, the scent thick...

"And Alex got better but her mother went quick."

The air is silent for a moment, then, "Moved in with a cousin, the cousin committed suicide. Left her with nothing but ruined pride, something new inside. A voice saying, 'Alex, you gotta fend for yourself,' she started retreating and reading every treatise on the shelf," says America's first president, a fatherly look settled on his features.

And it's back to me. "There would have been nothing left to do for someone less astute. She woulda been dead or destitute without a cent of restitution. Started working, clerking for her late mother's landlord. Trading sugar cane and rum and all the things she can't afford.

"Scamming for every book she can get her hands on, planning for the future. See her now as she stands on the bow of a ship heading to a new land.

"In New York you can be a new man--"

Alexandra interrupts, her anticipation obvious in everything from her smile, to her stance, to the tone in her voice as she yells, "Just you wait!"

Then all of us together launch into a call-and-response, the company first, then Alexandra completing the phrase. 

"In New York you can be a new man--"

"Just you wait!"

"In New York you can be a new man! In New York! New York!"

"Just you wait!" 

Then together we chant the next verse, strong in our unity, and the sound of it sends chills down my spine.

"Alexandra Hamilton, we are waiting in the wings for you. You could never back down, you never learned to take your time!

"Oh, Alexandra Hamilton, when America sings for you, will they know what you overcame? Will them know you rewrote the game? The world will never be the same..."

"The ship is in the harbour now, see if you can spot 'em!" I scream, completely immersed in the moment. "Another immigrant coming up from the bottom!

"Her enemies destroyed her rep, America forgot her!"

"We fought with her!" chorused the dark-skinned sick man and the loud one in purple.

Next is the man with freckles. "Me? I died for her!" he shouts, proud of his service.

"Me? I loved her!" said Elijah, as well as his brother and sister. 

George Washington exclaims, "Me? I trusted her!"

Finally it's my turn. Guilt boils in my stomach and my throat is scratchy.

"And me? I'm the damn fool who shot her!"

The ensemble continues. "There's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait!"

"What's your name, ma'am?" I ask, preparing myself for the ear-splitting finale.

"ALEXANDRA HAMILTON!"

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