Chapter Text
~Chapter 11~
~Thomas~
It was now Saturday morning, and instead of my usual routine of sleeping in until 3pm, I decided to have brunch with Cassandra and her father.
“Anyways, so I heard from my little dove that you have an internship at that place near that blacksmith building?”
“Yes, I do, sir. My grandfather decided that it was time for me to learn how to make a change in the world.” I take a sip of tea.
"Well, that sounds great!”
“Like I said, Father, he really has grown, though he can still be a prick.” She chuckles, and I nearly spit out my drink out of pure shock but amusement.
“Now, now, no need to speak lies .” Her father says.
"Well, she’s not entirely wrong, sir, but I do like to think that I have somewhat changed throughout these years.” And he smiles at that.
An hour goes by, and I cannot shake the feeling of shame that I am enjoying myself.
It is not because her father is a bad guy; he’s actually one of the most noble men there is out there. No, it’s actually about the fact that this all seems bittersweet in the fact that I’m enjoying myself with her dad while mine lays 6 feet under the ground.
I guess I feel like I have no authority to enjoy any moment of happiness because he can’t.
As we finish our breakfast, her father is ushered away to deal with some business partners, which leads Cassandra and me to the outdoor garden.
“So what’s wrong?” She says without looking at me.
“Um, nothing. I’m okay. "I say while walking towards the lilies.
“You know, when we were children I could always tell when you were lying. You used to fidget with your fingers a lot; it was your biggest tell, actually.”
“So that’s how you could always guess right in my two truths and a lie." Huh, go figure.
"Why, of course. But the point is, I saw you fighting with your hands just now, and I want to know what’s wrong.” Now I remember why I would always try to escape from her as children.
I sit down on the stone bench to pick out a flower, and Cassandra adjusts her massive dress to fit next to me.
I turn my head to look at her and whisper, “I couldn’t sleep last night. Like at all.”
“Why is that?”
“I couldn’t sleep because if I slept, I know I would have dreamt of him, and that is something I can allow myself to do.”
She pauses at that, and I anxiously wait for a response from her.
“Why stop yourself from the one thing that seems to bring joy into your life?” On second thought maybe a response from her wasn't what I needed.
She smiles softly, and I can feel that she does not expect a reaction out of me, which is good because I do not have one. Not for this.
She puts her hand on my sternum. “Listen.” And I do.
“There are going to be trials in your life that are either going to destroy you or make you grow. Sometimes you are going to be forced to grieve, and sometimes you are going to be able to love. But most importantly, it is your choice in what you choose to have in your life. Don’t let what others have to say ruin your decision-making."
“What if loving someone means losing them?”
“That’s the thing about life, Thomas. A thing isn’t beautiful because it lasts. It’s beautiful because it was able to happen.”
“You were always smarter than me, you know. You still are.”
“I take after my mother.” At that, she sniffles and raises the back of her hand to brush her teardrop away. Pulling her eyes away from me.
“What if I make a choice that the other person doesn’t accept?”
“Well then that would be their choice to make.” My jaw locked at that.
“And what of yours?” I say in a sharp but friendly tone.
“What of my what?”
“Your choice.”
“I don’t know if it’s a choice I am willing to risk.”
“How is my choice any different from yours?”
"Well, you’ve only known this guy for what, a month or more? I have known Elizabeth my entire life. For you, you won’t ever have to see him again after your internship, and I can imagine you will be fine since apparently you two almost kissed and he has not told a soul. But for me. Ruining our friendship is something I do not think I am willing to risk.”
“What if she felt the same way about you? Isn't the risk worth it?”
“I did say love was tricky. But in this way, I will still always have her by my side no matter what.”
“I suppose so. Just promise me one thing.”
“It depends on what that promise is, but I’ll listen.”
“Promise me that you’ll try. Even if it is subtle, try something. Anything.”
She pauses for a moment, forcing out a steady breath before saying, “I promise. But only if you try too.”
I hesitate but eventually nod. “I promise.”
“Good.”
I lift the lily off its petal. “To us, in hopes that we not die for loving who we love.” "I say," raising the flower in front of us.
“To us.” She says with a big grin on her face.
As I say goodbye to Cassandra and her father, I give him a hug that lasts a little too long. Maybe it was because of how grateful I am for him being my father figure after my father's passing, or maybe it was just because I missed him.
“You’ve grown into such a fine gentleman, son.”
“Thank you, sir."
"Oh, no need for such formality; you know what I'd rather be called by.”
“Have a good day, Pa." I quickly leave after that, in fear that if I stay any longer I will tear up, and that is something I do NOT want to do in front of the man I respect the most.
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~Alexander~
It has been exactly 24 hours since Thomas Jefferson’s lips nearly crashed into mine.
If you’re wondering how I'm handling this, I would say I’m handling this fine. I’d be lying, but that is what I would say.
I mean, come on, that man is known for being a sex symbol, and I have never heard of him swinging the other way; otherwise, he wouldn’t exactly be alive right now.
Within the 24 hours, I have come to 4 conclusions on the whole situation.
One: He was obviously drunk and kissed me out of concupiscence.
Two: He was clearly making a move on the lady in that garden.
Three: I didn’t smell any beer in his breath, and I was 2 inches away from him.
Four: His breath smelled really good, like he must brush real good kind.
Okay, that fourth one wasn’t necessary, but I mean, it basically counted as a conclusion.
Anyways though, I of course hadn’t told anybody other than Laurens about my experience, and it was actually killing me.
Which led to me knocking on the front door of my lovely neighbor to blab about the situation, who has become like my second mom, though no one in this world could ever replace my mother.
Knock, knock.
“Come in, dear.” I turn the knob and walk through the old but stable house.
“Hey, sorry to barge in at this hour.”
“Nonsense, you’re welcome anytime. Now sit.” She says with a smile, which she always seems to have.
I make my way to the middle room’s sofa.
“So, who is she?”
“Who is who?”
“Come on, I may not have had the privilege to go to school, but I can still tell when somebody has a certain crush on another.”
“And they say I’m the smart one.” I chuckle, knowing that she could always see past my shields that I put up.
“Well. Who is she?” She asks again. And I know she isn’t going to let this one go.
"She is someone I am not allowed to love.”
“Is she married?” I almost burst out laughing at that but I hold it in.
"Well, not necessarily, but I'm pretty sure that she is entangled with another suitor at the moment.”
“Well then, you still have a chance, my boy. Maybe just try talking to her.”
“Maybe.” Is what I tell her, not fully believing in it myself.
An hour passes and I find myself drifting off.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here?”
Though I loathed the emptiness of my building, I politely rejected it.
“I’m all good. Thank you. For tonight I mean, and for everything that you’ve done for me since I’ve gotten here.”
“No need to thank me, dear. Now rest up.”
“Yes ma’am,” I say as I feel a massive weight lift off my shoulders.
I don’t particularly like going home because going home means facing my thoughts, and they are never nice thoughts. One of the reasons that I visit her house so often is because there is always something going on that forces my brain to forget about the knowledge so I can wind down and be around people who care about me. I guess it’s nice being around others who don't care really care on how smart I am.
-
I have been staring at the ceiling of my roof for the past 6 hours.
The thing is, I have always struggled with trying to quiet my mind, which is why I became obsessed with learning. Learning meant that I was failing and then fixing the issue, which meant not focusing on the dozens of thoughts I have racing in my head.
When I don’t have a task, I make one up. I suppose that’s why I fought so hard for my future. It’s not that I expected to live to the age of 20, but it's because I thought that if I focused on something like this job for long enough, I would find something, anything, that would make me not broken.
You may be wondering how exactly I’m ‘not functional,' and to answer that, it would be this.
All my life I have had to fend for myself. I never had a father to teach me the things that fathers are supposed to teach their sons, nonetheless have someone to love long enough to call them my home. And although I had a loving mother who did everything for me, she died. But I lived. And after her death, my life just got worse and worse.
But I felt like it was an obligation to keep living, not for me but for the one person who would say she's not hungry just so I could eat more rice. To the person who, even in sickness, went to work every day at the shop just to make a way to support me and my brother. To the person who, even on her deathbed, comforted her children.
And sometimes, when no one is around and the only sound being made from my home is my breathing, I can hear my mother speaking to me, "My dear boy! Do not forget your purpose in this world. Do not be afraid to make your own legacy.” And only on the nights, I reach the calmest state of my life.
It is only then when my thoughts can settle down, and not only can I sleep, but finally rest.
On some of my deeper/darker days, when no one is around and the house is nothing but silent, I find myself wondering if I should be scared of this feeling when I only feel comfort in the fact that I have grown used to it for so long.
For as long as I could remember, I have always been different. As a child I would watch the other children play games in the streets while I was too busy reading books on chemistry.
The other kids never mentioned it, at least not then, because that was right after my mother had just died, and I guess they took pity on me.
That all changed once I turned 16. I guess 3 years is the limit to mourn someone's death because all of a sudden I was getting picked on frequently, having my books dropped on purpose, and getting punched in the face and kicked at.
After the first time it happened, I learned that surviving is just as important as knowledge.
However, I’m not always good at surviving, which is why I have days where it feels impossible to get up in the morning. And I don’t mean like 'Oh, I’m tired and I need five more minutes.' I mean my mind can be so loud that I just want to stop breathing.
I have these episodes where I’ll shut the people around me out, and the huge cloud that lives above my head finally breaks and starts saying all this mean stuff to me. Part of me wants to believe that I’m just broken, but the logical half of me recognizes that I do it when I miss my mom, which is often, but the episodes aren’t, though they used to be.
Well, tonight is one of those nights. They often come when I experience something new and different, so it isn’t a complete shocker to me that I am having this episode. It’s more of a dreadful kind of feeling that I was just waiting for it to happen. The first time it happened was on the first day that I had worked as a clerk, and I had realized that I was no longer a child. Instead, I was just another person trying to get off the streets, and I was no longer able to be tucked in bed with my brother while she sang a soft melody.
Instead, I was faced with the reality of having to live with a cousin who would soon perish and force me and my older brother to split paths, leaving me with no sort of family.
Sometimes I catch myself thinking about the potential life my brother could be facing right now. I know that he was sent off to live with a carpenter, so he must have a job as one by now. But what I really want to know is if he misses me as much as I miss him. But that is in the past, so I force myself to think about my present.
So, as to why I was suddenly triggered on this particular night, you can blame the actions of Thomas Jefferson. The way he talked to me in that stairway and what he asked me to do. More shamefully, when I did what he told me to do.
The one thing about him is that he never fails to confuse me.
For example, how he can be so condescending one minute and nice the next. The way his whole demeanor changed when he mentioned his childhood. I think in a way I was able to help him, and that may be the reason he felt compelled to almost kiss me. At least that is what my latest hypothesis is.
Anyway, I almost forgot about Eddie. Can’t forget how he made a complete fool out of himself in front of a crowd to then proceed to run away, but not before breaking my heart again.
If you’re confused on how any of this shit was triggering, let me explain.
When Eddie made a whole scene just for me, my mind immediately started thinking of ways to blame myself for what had happened. I guess that’s what I was thinking of when Laurens was supposedly yelling out for me.
I was too busy filling myself up with guilt.
One of the reasons that I liked spending time with Eddie is because he always acted first, allowing me to just obey what he told me so I could never blame myself for anything we had done.
That is until I found out he had a wife. After that, my mind flooded with the idea that I made Eddie love me and that his life was going to shit because of me. That if I weren't alone, none of this would have happened. My mind only started to cool down when I broke things off. Then yesterday happened, where Eddie was now fighting for me once again, causing more drama because of me.
And when he realized he was making a scene, he left. But not before I could see the amount of pain he was in. I had learned a long time ago how he looked when he was hurt, and this was that. And it was all of my fault, marking the beginning of my episode.
-
My mind then reminded me of the interaction I had with Jefferson. Which just so happened to start with how he was inches close to me. Instead of tortured thoughts, I could only think about the amount of confusion and joy I was feeling in that moment.
That quickly changed as I reminded myself that I was not allowed to feel that kind of joy, ever. I may seem like a pretty happy person to my coworkers, but in reality it’s a front. In reality, I feel like shredding myself into pieces so maybe I can actually breathe without feeling like there's poison in my body. But luckily, most of my co-workers don’t pay too much attention to me to notice the cracks in my life.
I suppose that is why I make it my mission to be better and smarter than everyone else. If everyone is so focused on how smart I am, they won’t bother wanting to be my friend, which means they’ll never see me crack and fall.
That was somewhat altered when Laurens and Lafayette came into my life because now I have two people in my life who, for the first time, don’t care how much smarter I am because when we are all together, instead we make stupid jokes about our co-workers, which makes us all forget about the expectations the world has for us.
Well, at least it almost makes me forget about it because, like I said, I am not allowed to feel joy. These past few weeks I have allowed myself to let John in because he shares the same struggles, but I'm afraid that by letting him in, I will also corrupt him in my brokenness.
Last time I checked, I was sitting up on my bed; now I was lying down on my floor. It was still dark, and it was now the weekend, so I decided I would get a head start on the drinking portion of my life. I never drank often, but sometimes I do it when the days start to get a little too bad.
For that matter, I kept a bottle of rum in my drawer, which I opened just now. A while passes, probably two hours, and I am still sitting on my very hard and wooden floor. Wallowing in my self-pity and naming all of the ways that I fucked up at the internship.
I’m a lot more drunk than I was when I followed Thomas into the staircase. But that is not something I should be allowed to think of, except I cannot stop thinking about it now.
My mind is flooded with the repeated scene of our conversation, so much so that I have memorized every word we gave to each other. The only reason that could be is only, of course, to taunt me.
For example, although I have memorized the way Jefferson’ voice dropped down an octave to then scoot closer to me. I have also memorized the way his face changed when he heard the door open, making me remember just how delusional I would be to ever imagine a world where I could even think of liking another man.
Thankfully, my thoughts start to think of my mother again. However, that also meant that I was near the point of drunkenness where I was now hearing her voice, which was only happening because I was now hallucinating, which was not a good sign, but who cares? It is the only time I am actually able to speak with my mother, out loud, without feeling crazy.
“Mom… I’m so tired… I miss you so much.” I turn my face to talk to my mother.
“My child, how much you have grown.” She says.
“Mom… I miss your hugs."
“And you shall be able to.” I move closer to her.
“When, Mama? "When?" The words almost don't come out, and I feel my throat start to tighten.
“When you ascend into the heavens, my son.”
“I’m ready.”
A soft and gentle laugh comes out of her. “You still have more life to live, dear.”
“But I don’t want it.”
“Your story is not over.” She cups my face, and I lift my right arm to touch hers, but I feel nothing but my own. Because she's not actually here. She’s dead. And it is my fault.
With my legs pulled up to my chest, I bring down my arms and pull myself into a hug, still sobbing but with less intensity. I know that it is late and that I should at least attempt to go to sleep, so I focus on my breathing, and my heart eventually slows down.
I listen to the rhythm of my heartbeat with my palm placed onto my chest and count. Counting my heart has always been something I have used to help me sleep.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I feel my eyes close between the third and fourth beats. I start to notice how the cold air kisses my skin.
By the sixth, I can feel my shoulders start to drop, and I can feel my body start to melt into the old and wooden floor.
By the eighth, I am gone.