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It might come as a surprise that Alexander Hamilton's summer resolution is to go for a walk each evening, because exercise has never been one of his priorities. But he is a determined man, always planning and working and achieving like he's running out of time. Which of course, Alexander is. Oh, he knows that he'll not stay in this world forever; someday he'll have to leave. Alexander doesn't know when it will happen, and he will admit there are many other things he doesn't know.
But one thing he knows for sure: as long as he's alive, he'll make the most of the precious time granted to him.
So with that thought in mind, on the first day of summer, Alexander makes his resolutions. He recalls what Peggy had said to him weeks before: "Alex, you don't get enough exercise. Don't you know it's unhealthy to sit for that long?"
"Yes, Peggy," he had answered, rolling his eyes. "I am fully aware."
Alexander promises Peggy that he will try to be better. And he's not backing down from that.
During the first days of summer, Alexander walks from his home, to the library, and back. The library is a place that provides a focused, aware calm. Walking isn't focused. It is removal from awareness, yet still staying present at the same time.
Of course, Alexander soon becomes bored with the route, and seeks another. Alexander thinks of the new route as a simple test run—well, walk—but oh, it is actually one of the best decisions he has made. This evening is the first time he hears it.
Alexander passes a house, a quaint little house painted a pale lavender. He admires the lovely garden. Three bushes, all a muted green, are still illuminated by the fading sunlight. A variety of bright flowers compose the rest of the garden. The person who owns this house has excellent taste, he thinks.
Then, a faint sound drifts to him. Alexander's eyes widen, and he stares at the house with shock. Had he heard...a violin? The sound is unmistakable, yet he hardly dares to believe it. He doesn't know why. Instrumentalists certainly aren't uncommon, and practicing is necessary to achieve and maintain skill. It shouldn't come as a surprise, yet somehow, it does.
Oh, the quality of the smooth sound produced by the bow gliding across strings...the emotion of the piece...in that moment, Alexander knows he will come back. He shakes himself out of his dazed state; he doesn't know how long he stood there. Time is irrelevant, though it usually rules Alexander's days. Time doesn't matter. Something that is always so important to Alexander takes its bows as first and foremost in his mind. If he can have this music, he will be content to relax and simply listen.
—
Tonight, Alexander smiles as he walks down the sidewalk, a gentle breeze blowing at his brown hair. He feels immense gratitude for Peggy.
Alexander takes this same path each evening, and his mind is blank as he walks. The only exceptions are when he watches for cars, or greets the people he meets. It is a welcome break from the usual chaos of his thoughts, he thinks. When Alexander walks, everything melts away. Only the scenery around him and his footsteps stay behind. A beautiful emptiness, a rare, unique peace that isn't obtained anywhere else. And Peggy had introduced it to him.
Thinking back, Alexander supposes he's glad the violinist had startled him. If not, he'd have carried on, such elegant beauty wouldn't have graced him. Alexander wouldn't have become acquainted with the now familiar sound, wouldn't have been aware of the violinist that lives here.
So now, Alexander stands by the lavender house, knowing the violin is the second reason to thank Peggy. The third reason is the faint singing. After the first six days of listening, he had grown accustomed to hearing the violin each evening. The seventh day had been no different, but he heard someone's voice accompanying it. If one were to ask him to describe it, he would tell them that it is light and youthful, with a slight, ever-present twang.
He's fallen in love with hearing that violin and the gorgeous vocals each evening.
Alexander never stays too long here, always afraid of the musician catching him. His intuition tells him that the violinist and the vocalist are the same person. He doesn't know what he would say if one evening, the person were to catch him. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, Alexander wouldn't have any excuses to make. He doesn't want to face what he knows will be an awkward encounter. So he keeps this a secret, and always leaves wishing he could have heard more. This is how he found himself returning every evening, because Alexander loves it. He loves the feeling of the mystery musician captivating him.
Tonight, the song has a hint of nostalgia, and the feeling seeps its way into Alexander's heart. It reminds him of times long past, times he will never have again. This is how Alexander will feel when someday, he thinks back to these idyllic summer evenings.
He stares at the window, a warm glow emanating from inside the house. Of course, the musician, who is inside there somewhere, had turned on the light. Alexander turns to the front door, wanting to knock and introduce himself. But he doubts the musician would take kindly to that. It would be rude to interrupt.
Alexander decides to leave now, content with hearing a portion of the piece. Still, he can't help wondering what it would be like to listen to the music up close.
—
Today is Saturday. Sitting in his living room, Alexander downs non-alcoholic grape juice cocktail. He sighs, and lets himself slump back into the large couch pillows. They are a soft comfort against his back. Head hanging from the edge of the couch, Alexander asks, "Peggy, what should I do?"
Peggy tucks her hair behind her ear. She grabs Alexander's shoulders, and forces him to sit up straight. Shaking her head, Peggy admonishes him. "First off, letting your head hang off the edge of a couch is not something you should do."
Alexander gives her a wry smile in response.
"And to answer your question, just go for it! Alex, what are you waiting for? I've never seen you this hesitant! Walk up those front steps, ring their doorbell, and introduce yourself. Be like, 'Hi, I'm Alexander Hamilton. I think you sing and play the violin beautifully.' Okay?"
Alexander looks at an exasperated Peggy. She is correct; that is the best course of action. But he worries still. The thought of speaking with the mystery musician daunts him. "What if they're irritated with me for interrupting them? I don't want to anger them. I don't want to be a random, creepy person on their porch, who apparently listens to them play each night. I don't want them to think of me like that. I know it's silly to want to listen to a stranger sing and practice the violin every day, Peggy. But they're stunning, and I can't get enough of that sound. I just really don't want them to rebuke me for listening each evening." He exhales, pushing the air out in frustration.
Peggy grins, and replies, "They won't, once you praise them." After sipping from the shot glass she clutches in her right hand, she leans in. As if Peggy is telling Alexander a secret, she lowers her voice. "A little thing you should keep in mind: everyone likes praise. Everyone likes to hear you appreciate them."
"All right Peggy, you got me. I know that fact well myself." Alexander says this with reluctance, knowing she is correct. A reluctant Alexander Hamilton is rare. Usually, he rushes right into things, and is often too impulsive at times. But right now, he's being ridiculous.
Peggy beams at him, and does a fist-pump in the air. "There's the Alexander Hamilton I know! Okay, so you've got to do this tonight. Tell me how it goes, 'kay?"
—
Alexander steels himself as he approaches the lavender house. Hope and anxiety rise inside him this quiet evening. All he hears is the insistent pounding of his heart, a constant reminder that time is passing. It might leave Alexander behind sometimes, he might fall from its grasp sometimes, but no matter what, it'll move on. With or without him. So he quickens his pace, coming closer with every step.
Night prods day back as summer goes on. Soon, summer will slip away, ushering in autumn instead. It is getting dark, and Alexander now stands before the musician's house. This exact scene is so familiar to him. Alexander is in the same spot on the sidewalk as before, face directed to the window, losing track of time. But tonight, he notices that some of the flowers have started to shed their petals. There is no glowing light to welcome him, and there is no music. No sound is present to fill the silence, empty as an abyss.
Alexander marches up the front steps, and he raps on the door three times. Nothing. No one is home, and this doesn't surprise him. Alexander knew as soon as he saw the dark window; he was aware but persisted anyway.
Turning away, Alexander realizes that he feels let down. After weeks of nightly music, tonight there is none. The silence should be calming, but instead, disappointment replaces his hope and anxiety. Alexander has grown very attached to his mystery musician. He runs the whole way home, needing to call Peggy and evade the night before it takes over.
—
He returns the next evening. Alexander is not going to stop coming back until he gets a chance to meet the mystery musician. But as he makes his way towards the house, he sees a person sitting on the front steps. Could that be...? The person is tall, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He also sees black, curly hair.
Alexander is going to introduce himself to the man that sits there. He's getting closer, closer—
"Jefferson?! What are you doing here?" Alexander feels shocked, but the man is unmistakable. Sitting in front of Alexander is Thomas Jefferson, his longtime rival. He was not expecting to meet his rival on the front steps of the musician's house, of all places. Jefferson is infuriating, always ready to pick a fight with him. Clashing beliefs, and debates that turn into petty bickering sum up their relationship. Seeing Jefferson this dressed down is startling. Perhaps this is why Alexander didn't recognize him at first. After all, Jefferson strides into work wearing a full suit with pride every morning. Yet tonight, the suit is gone, replaced by a long-sleeved, navy blue shirt and gray sweatpants.
Jefferson looks straight at him, and raises a single eyebrow. "Are you trying to imply that I'm not allowed to sit on the front steps of my own home?"
Alexander's eyes widen even more. "You li—"
"Yes. You're three minutes late, Alexander." The words are cold, as expected. Amidst all the shock, it is Jefferson's use of his first name that stands out right now. He's never called Alexander anything other than "Hamilton". Sometimes he spits it out, sometimes he drawls it. But the word is still the same at heart. So why "Alexander" now? He decides to think about this later, because he has more pressing matters at hand.
Alexander already made the connections when he first saw Jefferson, but he couldn't, didn't want to believe it. Sure enough, a violin case rests besides the man, he sees it. Still, there is one thing Alexander was not aware of before now. "You knew." He is so embarrassed by this. Alexander had let his rival witness him in a dazed, captivated state every evening. Dazed and captivated because of his playing and singing! Oh gosh, Jefferson is never going to let Alexander forget this.
Jefferson doesn't smirk like Alexander expected him to, though, which confuses him. Instead, he looks flustered, and breaks the eye contact. "I did." The words are so soft, and the silence absorbs them as if they were never spoken.
Alexander doesn't have anything to say in response. After a second, a thought floats to the front of his mind, and he asks, "Where were you last night?" His secret has been out the entire time, so he might as well ask. He'll throw away his pride for now, and deal with any relentless teasing later.
"A violin concert at the university," Jefferson answers, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. "I played the violin, of course, along with a pianist. Didn't sing, though. What you heard was improv to the actual piece."
Improv? Alexander thinks. He improvised those beautiful melodies? Wow. He envies Jefferson's musical ability. He plays the violin expertly, and is also graced with a beautiful voice. Alexander never expected to be admiring Jefferson like this. Yes, he respects his rival for his intelligence, and being able to hold his own in a debate. But he hadn't imagined he would ever find Jefferson's southern twang to be anything but irritating.
Well, he hadn't imagined the mystery musician to be Jefferson, either.
Fingers snap in front of Alexander's face. "Hey! Alexander! Hellooo? You in there?" When Alexander returns to reality, there is a smug smile on Jefferson's face. This is an expression he knows well.
"Shut up, Jefferson," he grumbles, trying not to think about how he used his first name again.
"I'm not gonna shut up, Ham. You of all people should know that." Oh yes, Alexander does. The fact that Jefferson never ceases his blabbering is the cause for their many fights. Well, it's not like Alexander ever does either.
Alexander stares his work rival down. This is easier than usual since he leans against the porch railing, while Jefferson sits on the steps. "Did I just hear you refer to me as 'Ham'?"
Jefferson matches his stare flippantly. "Yes, indeed," he drawls. Alexander feels as if he is back at work. The smug attitude, the drawl—this is classic Jefferson. Although he's never called Alexander "Ham" before tonight, and this is almost...friendly banter.
"Anyway, you wanna hear one of the songs I played at the concert?" Jefferson is already opening the violin case when Alexander says yes. He pulls out the violin and bow, and positions himself. Alexander, anticipating the silken sound, waits for the first note. But he hears nothing but silence, and then Jefferson's sigh. "Yo. Don't stand there like a frozen ham sandwich. I'm waiting for you to get on over here. You're supposed to sit on the steps with me. I know there's enough space; I've done this before."
Alexander sits down besides Jefferson, who gives him a nod of approval. "That's what I'm talking about."
"Okay, but that pun was not necessary at all." Alexander swings his legs up, letting them bend at the knees. His feet rest on the step below him.
"Yeah it was, darlin'." Alexander would never admit it to anyone, but his heart almost skipped a beat at the pet name. This has been a strange evening for him. Discovering the identity of the mystery musician, not fighting with Jefferson so far, and being called "Alexander" and "darlin'"... It is rather nice to have a break from the usual. He knows that tomorrow at work, they'll be at each other's throats again. Still, Alexander will enjoy this moment, enjoy Jefferson's company (for once), enjoy tonight.
"With or wi—"
"Wait!" Jefferson gives him his trademark look, the one that Alexander knows well. It's reserved for when he thinks Alexander said something stupid. "You said you've done this before. Who'd you play for?"
"I played for Jemmy." Alexander feels a twinge of jealousy, and crushes the seedling before it can grow. James Madison is Jefferson's best friend. He sees their friendship at work every day, the smiles and laughter exchanged. Alexander thought this was special for Jefferson, something out of the ordinary. But he has learned it's not. This disappoints him much more than he would have liked it to.
Of course, he is still excited for this; he finally has a chance to experience the music in full. This is what Alexander has been craving for over a month.
"So, with or without vocal improvisation?"
"With," Alexander replies immediately. Jefferson smiles at that, a silent acknowledgement of the implied compliment. He begins with a single sustained note, and oh, Alexander is already in love. The piece is lively, and Jefferson's voice joins in soon after. The harmonies are heavenly, and Alexander is spellbound. He doesn't move at all, focusing on the music and the musician. The warm, flowing sound of the violin and Jefferson's smooth vocals have his attention captured.
Jefferson has stage presence. Alexander is sure that last night, there wasn't a single audience member not drawn to him from the start. His aura is calm and composed, yet emotionally involved. Alexander can see it in the way he plays, his deep concentration. In a way, he is bound to the music the same way Alexander is.
Alexander can't help but think that Jefferson is beautiful right now. Yes, he is an attractive man, has always been so, Alexander will give that to him grudgingly. But tonight, he is graceful in his movements, elegant in his expression. Jefferson's focus is one that Alexander has never seen before. Alexander admires his long, dark eyelashes, which are a bit lowered. Every inch of him is beauty.
The music replaces time. Alexander doesn't know how many seconds have ticked by, but he realizes he doesn't care. He is aware that he may never have this chance again, and he's going to emblazon this memory into his mind. He wants to be able to summon the exact feeling when he thinks back to tonight. He wants to remember a scrap of the melodies. He wants to remember how Jefferson looks. He wants to remember this unique peace.
The song slows, and decrescendos to its end. Jefferson holds his position for a moment, then sets his violin down with care. Alexander doesn't speak, still caught up in the feeling from before. The silence surrounds them, and they don't push their way out of it. Alexander feels as if he is almost somewhere else, soul separated from body.
"No words for that, huh?" Jefferson's voice reaches Alexander, pulling him back to the present. Alexander looks at Jefferson, who has a proud smile on his face. He recalls what Peggy said Saturday morning, and decides to be completely truthful. Jefferson may poke fun at him later, but he wants to say this anyway. He deserves to know what Alexander thinks.
"I'll admit that you're correct, for once. Jefferson, I'm sure many others have told you this before, but you play the violin beautifully. I can't imagine how much practice it took to achieve that skill. And your voice is absolutely gorgeous! That's why I always came back, because a scrap each day was enough for me."
Jefferson blinks, as if surprised. "Alexander..." He scoots closer to him, and continues. "I wasn't expecting that, but thank you. It means a lot to me," he says, at a volume just above a whisper. Alexander smiles (when was the last time he smiled at him, of all people?), and Jefferson returns it.
"I've been playing since I was a kid. I don't remember exactly when I started, but I grew up with it. I never lost my love for it."
Alexander stares up, looking at the clouds, which stand out against the darkening sky. "It's getting late. Jefferson, I loved the piece, but I should go before it gets dark." Alexander gets up, but Jefferson stops him; he has one more thing to say.
But he hesitates, and remains quiet. Alexander is about to leave when he hears Jefferson say something. It's so quiet that he doesn't believe his ears at first.
"It was for you, you know."
—
Alexander ponders the meaning of Jefferson's last statement. What had he been talking about? Yes, Jefferson played for him last night, that had been obvious. But Alexander feels that he was referring to something else, something that he should understand. The answer is just out of his reach, and it frustrates him. He decides to ignore it for today, after texting Peggy everything. He's grateful for her encouragement and constant support, and tells her so.
Peggy: Thank u!!! I'm glad I could help. And it was Jefferson?? Whaaat? I'm in shock!
Alex: I know, me too.
Peggy: Ever consider that maybe he likes you???
Alex: No.
Peggy: Well why else would TJ play for you? If he didn't like you he wouldn't play for you or let you sit on his steps OBVIOUSLY
Alex: Peggy, he doesn't like me.
Peggy: I'm just saying! It wouldn't make sense otherwise.
Work isn't much different, though Alexander's interactions with Jefferson are...softer. Their retorts aren't as biting, the tones of their voices are less frigid, and their volumes are lower. Last night has changed their relationship.
It is a habit firmly ingrained in Alexander now, so he walks to Jefferson's house once again. His feet know the path, and they lead him there by muscle memory. Jefferson is not sitting on his front steps; he is inside, but not practicing. This evening, Alexander feels no anxiety. He walks up to Jefferson's front door with confidence, and raps on the door three times.
Jefferson pulls the door open a moment later, and greets Alexander. "Well, if it isn't Alexander Hamilton. What're you doing on my porch?" He is smiling, and Alexander realizes that this is the second time he has seen it. It is real, no smug or sarcastic undertone to it. This is a rarity, at least when directed to Alexander.
Alexander breathes in, and bites his lip, trying to gather his thoughts. He remembers the question in his mind, and decides to begin with that. "What were you talking about last night? You said 'it was for you'. What was for me? What did you mean?" The questions flow from his mouth in rapid succession.
Jefferson freezes, and his smile fades. "Just forget about it, Alexander." His voice is flat, with a finality to his words. Alexander meets his gaze, and sees unwillingness in Jefferson's eyes. But there's something else, a glimmer of some different emotion. So he decides to push it.
"No!" he snaps. "I'm not going to forget about it! Tell me what you meant, what you were thinking when you said that!"
Then, Alexander remembers something else from the night before.
"You...were playing for me all those evenings, weren't you." It makes sense now, why Jefferson—no, Thomas was so flustered last evening. He had revealed to Alexander that he knows exactly when Alexander comes each evening, down to the minute. He had revealed that he knew, and continued to play for Alexander anyway.
Oh, it's been years now, years of Jefferson, Jefferson, Jefferson. His despised work rival, debate opponent, and now? A talented musician, someone he can get along with (sometimes), an actually decent human being—well, that one is still up for debate, he thinks. It's time for Alexander to stop being so impersonal.
Thomas looks down at the welcome mat that rests before his door. Alexander tries to make eye contact with him, but he jerks away. "You only just realized that. I'm surprised," he says. "Yes, I was playing for you. That evening, I had decided to practice in my living room for once. Then, I saw you from my window, and you looked utterly enamored. Knowing you, I thought you would come back. And you did." He says this quietly, seeming embarrassed.
"Because it was beautiful. I've never heard anything more perfect," Alexander says earnestly, shifting a bit closer to the threshold of Thomas's home.
Thomas looks up in mock indignation, his embarrassment forgotten. "It was hardly perfect! I'll have you know that I always spend the last month before a concert perfecting dynamics and ironing out other small issues."
"It was close enough." Alexander understands the drive for perfection. He is familiar with the feeling of never being, never having enough, for it is what drives him to improve. But the beauty of Thomas's music has been enough for him, ever since that first day.
Thomas looks almost shy right now, a bit awkward in his posture, and he runs his fingers through his dark curls. It's endearing, Alexander thinks. "I wanted to charm you," he confesses at last, looking away once more.
Alexander understands now. He's always known of Thomas's strong feelings toward him, but never has he imagined there to be something else lying beneath them. Though he supposes he should have realized last evening, for Thomas had put his soul into a performance meant only for him. Events out of the ordinary don't happen for no reason. But Alexander had focused more on remembering it, instead of analyzing it, putting his emotions before his mind. Silly him, because in doing so he had missed noticing Thomas's own emotions, and that Thomas would make it an ordinary event if he'd asked.
Alexander searches himself, his feelings, his heart.
In this moment, Alexander decides he will take the time to get to know him. It might go slow, there might be bumps in the road, but they will build a relationship together eventually. He can feel this in his heart of hearts; Alexander knows that they will. This is his promise to Thomas, and he's not backing down from it.
He feels his heart beat to the tempo of the melody to his life. It is a constant reminder that Alexander is running out of time. So he'll make the most of the time granted to him, and enjoy it as well.
But instead of saying all that, Alexander decides to be more succinct. "Then consider me charmed, Thomas."
This summer, Alexander Hamilton has yet another reason to thank Peggy Schuyler.