HamLIT [complete]

3. Ham's Vlog - Edited

Original draft published October 31, 2019

Edited version published August 23, 2020

As soon as Ham is out his mother's line of sight, he breaks into a run. He runs all the way back through the long, dark hallways of his house to his bedroom, which, thankfully, faces the driveway from the second floor, far from both the kitchen and his mother's bedroom, which both face the lake. By the time he's reached his room and slammed the door behind him, he's out of breath. He locks the door and flops onto his bed with a sigh.

He lies there on his stomach for a long time, his head spinning. He only sits up again when he remembers something that will make him feel better.

You see, Ham recently became a vlogger. About a year ago, started to upload weekly videos to his YouTube channel, usually documenting the events of the previous seven days. They're not very interesting; they mostly consist of shenanigans with Ham's friends at boarding school and clips of Ham talking cheerfully to the camera as he moves through his daily life. In case you didn't already notice, Ham likes an audience, whether it's in person or on the Internet. He feels lonely, and, strangely, self-conscious without one.

So far, he's managed to amass a respectable following of about twenty thousand subscribers. He's no David Dobrik, that's for sure, but he's doing alright.

It the last month, he's all but abandoned his vlogging. His comment sections are now battlegrounds. Some of his viewers comment things like, "Dude why can't you post more often? I'm unsubscribing." Others fly to his defense, crying, "Shut up! His dad just died!" Ham tries to ignore them all. But he isn't great at the art of ignoring; he can't help but let disturbing things get to him. Exhibit A: Claude and Gretchen.

Lately, the urge to start vlogging again has gotten stronger and stronger. Ham has so many feelings, so many things to say, and he doesn't know who he can talk to. He can't confide in his mother or his uncle, of course. He doesn't want to talk to Lia about it; she's such a mopey person that he can assume she wouldn't have anything comforting to say. He knows he can trust Harry, but even Harry on his own isn't really enough.

After setting up his incredibly-advanced, nearly-professional camera system (AKA his smartphone camera and a tripod), Ham seats himself on his bed in front of the anime posters and the glowing letters that spell out H.A.M. He takes a deep breath and looks at himself in the mirror next to his bed. There are angry red blotches on either side of his face and gray circles below his eyes. Ignoring the pressing feeling of revulsion at his own appearance, he looks back at the camera and makes his best approximation of a smile.

"Hi, guys! Sorry I haven't uploaded anything in so long. It's been pretty rough for me recently. You know, like, with the whole...thing. I just, like, don't know what to do. Everything just sucks ass. It makes me want to kill myself. Actually, I'm not gonna kill myself, that would suck ass, too, but I would love it if somebody would come and kill me. Or maybe I could just... cease to exist. That would be better, I think. Everything that used to be fun just isn't fun anymore. Everything feels so empty.

"By the way, I wanna thank you guys for being so supportive. Sometimes I feel like you guys are more supportive than anyone else that I know. Except for Harry, obviously, Harry's the GOAT. But everyone in my life is just so fucking fake. Like, even my mom! It's only been, what, two months since my dad died? And he was, like, literally the best husband ever, he gave her everything she asked for. Like, seriously, he bought her a fucking house in Monaco just because she asked for it! And now it makes me cringe just to think about it! So yeah, I thought she loved him as much as he loved her—she made this huge scene at the funeral crying all over his coffin - and then literally less than a month later she started dating my uncle! Like, what kind of fake thot even does that? It's so gross. So, yeah, now they're all over each other all the time, and my uncle basically lives at my house, and it's so awkward. It's not like he's even anything like my dad. He's, like, half a foot shorter and he listens to really bad music. But apparently that doesn't rub my mom the wrong way, no. In fact, you could say that it rubs my mom the right way...eugh, I can't believe I just said that. That's fucking disgusting. But, yeah, apparently, she was so thirsty for my uncle this whole time that she couldn't even wait until she was done fake crying. And now the two of them are all up in my face, like I'm somehow supposed to forget that my dad ever existed—"

By now, Ham has worked himself into a frenzy. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror again, he realizes he's even more flushed than he was before, his eyes even more hollow. This time, the revulsion and self-loathing are too much for him. He breaks off his rant in the middle of a sentence just in time to hear his phone make a loud noise. He's just received a text message.

Knowing that he'll never be able to let this video see the light of day, Ham decides there's really no point in continuing to film, so he turns off the camera and reaches for his phone. The text is from Harry.

B there in 10 min!

Despite his misery, despite his anger, despite everything, Ham smiles. He's really missed Harry in the last month. Ham hasn't seen his best friend since he left school early to go to his father's funeral. He's touched that Harry would come all the way from England just to be with him with summer. Ham's not usually the type to text someone back immediately (if at all), but it's Harry, so he writes:

Ok C U soon :)

Ham gets up from his bed and walks all the way to the front door to wait for his friend. He knows that Harry is a precise guy, and he expects him to arrive on time. I wish I could be like that; he thinks. He's always so calm, and so organized, and so polite. I bet he never feels anxious or angry or miserable the way I do. He's just...perfect.

Sure enough, the doorbell rings almost exactly ten minutes later. Ham immediately throws the door open, startling Harry, who hadn't expected someone to open the door so quickly, and launches himself on his friend in an unusually enthusiastic hug, startling him again.

For a moment, Harry is unable to move or even think. He's overwhelmed by Ham, the way he smells like new-car perfume (and Flamin' Hot Cheetos), the way his arms tighten around Harry like they'll never let go, the way his hair tickles Harry's neck. Everything about him is so close yet so distant, so open yet so unattainable.

Maybe it's just the subpar lighting of the hallway, but when they part, Ham can't help but think Harry looks—is—extraordinarily handsome. It makes him feel strange inside.

They stare at each other for a second.

"I have so much to tell you," says Ham. "But let's go to bed first."

Harry chews nervously on his lip. "I have something to tell you, too. We can talk about it tomorrow."

The two boys go to their beds, Ham is in hisroom and Harry in the spare bedroom next to Ham's. They both lie awake in theirbeds for a while before falling asleep; Ham is thinking sadly about his mother, wishing she would actually listen to him, and Harry is thinking sadly about Ham, wishing he could just erase Lia from the picture.

As I'm sure you can now tell, these boys have issues.