HamLIT [complete]

2. Way of the World, My Ass! - Edited

Original draft published October 24, 2019

Edited version published August 24, 2020

We're already a chapter into the story, and we haven't even met our protagonist! I don't want to keep you waiting, so let us now take a moment to get acquainted with Hamilton Leroy Dane III, better known as "Ham" by his family and friends.

Like his best friend Harry, Ham is a rising junior at Wittenberg Academy, boarding school in central New Hampshire that's just as famous for its academics as it is for its sex scandals. Ham has it all: seemingly endless money, top notch academic resources, and plenty of attention (which he likes very much). And that's not even to mention the prestige that comes with being the son of Hamilton Dane II, one of the richest men in the United States.

When Ham is not at Wittenberg, he lives in Elsinore, the wealthiest town in Massachusetts. The Dane family's mansion is the biggest and most expensive house in Elsinore's grandest neighborhood; among other things, it has a pool, a private movie theater, several fountains, an art gallery, an antique gun collection (more on that later), and a long, perfectly maintained lawn that slopes down to the shore of a beautiful little lake.

You may notice that I'm using quite a lot of superlatives ("richest," "wealthiest," "grandest"). That's no coincidence, of course. Ham's life is full of extremes because his family is at the very top of America's social, cultural, and economic pyramid, the pyramid that we all know exists but don't talk about as often as we should. But the higher a person is on this invisible pyramid, the further they have to fall.

Now, back to the story. Ham is currently navigating his black Tesla Model S along the long, twisting driveway of his house (if you can even call it a "house"). At eleven o'clock at night, there is very little light to see by, so the Tesla is little more than a silent shadow in the dark.

Ham parks the Tesla, which his parents bought brand-new for him for his sixteenth birthday last fall, in the garage and turns off its noiseless engine. As he undoes his seatbelt, his Rolex catches the light. If the word "boujee" were a person, it would be Ham.

But not all is sports cars and expensive watches for Ham. Such things are a distraction, a shield to hide under. In the past month, Ham has been relying on that shield more than ever. But no amount of money in the world can make your pain go away.

Ham droops forward and rests his elbows on the steering wheel. He's exhausted, depressed, and anxious. He just spent an entire evening complaining about his miserable life to his new girlfriend, but since Lia isn't the type to express what she's thinking or talk about herself or really do anything other than listen, he's now starting to wonder what kind of impression he made. Probably a bad one.

He'd hoped that maybe going out with Lia Polonio could take some of the edge off the pain, but so far that hasn't worked. At all.

He tries not to look at the cherry red Ferrari in the back of the garage. He doesn't want to face that aching, hollow feeling that he gets every time he sees it.

Ham drags himself out of the car and enters the house through the garage door. As he steps over the threshold and trips over the scattered shoes in the entranceway, he sighs dramatically. "My life is so goddamn hard," he mutters to himself. "Mmph. 'MY LIFE IS HARD.' Sounds like the title of my next vlog." Forgetting to shut the door behind him, he heads toward the kitchen. Right now, all he wants is a bag of Cheetos. Preferably Flamin' Hot Cheetos, if possible. That way he can just burn away all the pain.

But as he makes his way to the kitchen, a revolting sound reaches his ears. It's the sound of tinkling 1980's keyboards, a slow but powerful beat, and an annoyingly catchy melody. (Disclaimer: it's Ham who said it was revolting, not me.)