Hey everybody, Merry Christmas! I got bitten by the inspiration bug a couple of days ago when listening to Satisfied, and so I wrote this. I hope you enjoy it. Constructive criticism is welcome, but flames are not. And I do not own the characters or the song, they are the property of history and Lin-Manuel Miranda.
"All right, all right!" John Laurens roars, finishing up his best man speech. It is time. I stand as gracefully as I can and walk forward to take his place as a smattering of applause fills the hall.
I have no idea where to begin. The web that entwines Eliza, myself, and Alexander Hamilton is a tangled and sticky one. I have never been a liar, and it is a rare person indeed who can lie to Eliza. She is so open and kind that secrets just spill out. I normally admire this about her, but tonight is the last night that I need it. I resist the urge to look away as she gazes at me with love and excitement written on her face. I shouldn't be here—I wish at that moment that something would change, anything. I would even welcome a British attack right now, just to stop this horrible ache somewhere in my whole body.
Where do I even begin? There is so much to say, and so little of it that I want to. How can I sum up everything I think and feel about the two standing, beaming with adoration, just a few feet away?
Bringing myself out of my thoughts with a firm yank, I raise my glass to begin my toast.
"A toast to the groom!" The words are echoed around the room, and I feel a small sense of relief that I haven't said anything too incriminating just yet. I really should have practiced this more. Oh wait, I forgot something.
"To the bride!" There, I've covered both bases. Now what? Quickly, my mind casts around for something innocuous to say. Somehow, I can't decide what to say right now because I'm kind of in love with Alex didn't quite fit the bill.
"From your sister, who's always by your side!" It's true. It has been a rare time in our lives that she and I were separate. We've gone through everything together. Only I, however, know how deep this connection really goes.
Well, that was the easy part. Now it gets harder. "To your union, and the hope that you provide. May you always be satisfied!"
Oh no. Suddenly, with no warning, the ground seems to spin beneath my feet. I wonder if I might faint. I should have known that that word… I lose my train of thought as I gaze bewilderedly around me. Though I know that it cannot be, the chain of events that led to me standing there, giving a wedding toast to my little sister and her new wife, I man I love, seem to be undoing themselves. I watch Eliza walk backwards down the aisle, watch her running around with hands full of letters, see the dancing soldiers of that night…
I know logically that this cannot be happening, but that little part of me, the part that wanted to grab on to Alexander and never let go, starts up again, generating "what if?" statements that leave me weak-kneed and uncertain.
Mechanically, I go through the same steps that I had that night. I have no choice. As I dance with George Washington, and my eyes, without permission, check the ballroom for the long black hair and handsome features of Alexander Hamilton, my mind whirls frantically. Why am I reliving this? What if something goes wrong?
Then I see him, and, just like last time, my mind goes blank. I try to stop, to stay away from him, to not get attached, but like a magnet, I draw closer and closer until he speaks.
"You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied." There it is. That wretched word. The one that caused all this trouble that would continue until the day I died. I wish that I could wretch that word out of the dictionary and throw it into the sea like they did the tea at Boston Harbor. Unaffected by my struggle, my past self continues to converse.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, you forget yourself." I turn to go, but Alexander grabs my arm. Unbidden, my heart thumps in my chest. Funny, I thought that stopped working a long time ago.
"You're like me, I'm never satisfied." My face contains something that I didn't see last time. The desperation that I had sensed, but underneath it all, the vulnerability. It was layered behind years of show, confidence, and determination, but at his core, he's still a little boy hoping for a new friend. Or in this case, a young man trying to charm his way up the social ladder. Same thing.
"Is that right?" Past me curiously replies. I curse past me in my head for being so foolhardy.
"I've never been satisfied." Seizing his chance (as he always does), Hamilton presses a kiss to my hand. I'm not sure whether the gasp I hear is actually me (if so, how embarrassing), everyone around (a million times more embarrassing and slightly creepy), or just in my head (if so, I'm losing my battle against changing this moment).
In any case, past me says, "My name is Angelica Schuyler." I watch him carefully, and I see no surprise at the name. This could be for a number of reasons, but my personal belief is that he already knew who I was, which should have made me more against liking him, but instead I only felt a thrill of admiration at his determination and brazenness.
He bows low, with the perfect manners a gentleman should have. I find myself wishing that he would straighten again, if only to catch a glimpse of his intelligent eyes again. Then I mentally slap myself. Come on, Angelica, I thought you were supposed to be better than this…
He is looking at me inquisitively, and I realized that he introduced himself while I was lost in my thoughts. Luckily, past me comes to the rescue. "Where's your family from?"
I see the moment his façade cracks. Despite those layers, the vulnerability that I glimpsed so briefly earlier makes itself known from such an innocuous question. It is slight, very slight, but I have always been able to read people well. I hear the slight whoosh of his breath as he absorbs the verbal blow, see the pores on his face start to produce sweat, and that his smile becomes slightly more fixed as he recovers. "Unimportant now, there's a million things I haven't done, just you wait, just you wait."
Suddenly, he spots someone else, and hurries away. I, similarly, go to join my sisters. However, I cannot focus on the dance that we do, my muscles taking over and guiding me through the familiar steps as they twirl with me. My feelings war with my head, my imagination fantasizing about his turn of phrase and his handsome countenance, while my logicality reminds me that he is penniless and that I couldn't possibly. However, my heart is about to win out, when I catch sight of Eliza. Her expression is one that is familiar to me; I'm sure that I wore it not 5 minutes ago. With the same sinking feeling as when the act occurred, I follow her gaze to Alexander Hamilton, who is gesturing animatedly about something, nearly spilling the contents of his glass as he does. Part of me wonders what he could be talking about. An even smaller part of me hopes that it is me that makes him so excited. But the larger part of my brain slaps that part into silence, pointing me back to Eliza.
Helpless, I think, seeing her flushed face and starry eyes. Alex probably could have asked anything of her in that moment, and she would have done it. And I recognized the feeling. I felt it every time I looked at her.
She has always been my baby sister. She is too pure for this world, and she always sees the best in everyone. I love her more than anything, and I would give anything to see her happy. Anything. Helpless. Alexander Hamilton.
All these thoughts descend into my brain creating an endless whirlwind that, for the first time, propels me out of repeating the same actions of the months before. I watch, like a spectator, as past me squeezes Eliza's hands, and I know that she wordlessly throws her lot in with her sister in that moment. Anything.
I watch as I stride across the ballroom, watching as people meet and separate, and I realize that no one acts in a vacuum. Everything that is done is in reaction to someone, whether they are for them or against them. Other people's lives dictate our narrative. Helpless.
I watch as Angelica (is that person even me?) lead Alexander across the room toward Eliza, who still has that helpless look. A flurry of expressions cross her face as she watches the progression and comes to realize the reality of what's happening. Alexander Hamilton.
And I almost break the loop of thoughts as I yearn to do something, anything to stop what I can see coming a league away—the breaking of my heart. But I can't. I know my sister like I know my own mind. If I did anything to stop this now, I would break her heart. And as I watch my own heart break instead I remember why I did what I did. For Eliza. It's all for Eliza. I would do anything. I take her pain on myself. That's what I'll always do, for as long as I can. Because when I look at my little sister, in love and happy, I am helpless against the force of her kindness and happiness. I would give up anything, even the man that I love, if it makes her happy. Anything. Helpless. Alexander Hamilton. Anything. Helpless. Alexander Hamilton. Anything. Helpless. Alexander Hamilton. Anything. Helpless. Alexander Hamilton. Anything. Helpless. Alexander Hamilton. Anything. Helpless. Alexander Hamilton.
The thoughts go around and around in a blur until I can no longer see the memories before me. I nearly fall over with the wave of emotion that overtakes me, but then I am back in the present, with Eliza beaming at me, and the guests singing the praises of the newlyweds. I look back into her eyes, and I can't help but to let her joy fill me. I dare not look at anywhere else. I can't, or else I will break.
"To the groom! To the bride!" I rush forward and embrace Eliza, who seems surprised, but returns the hug warmly. I release her, and cup her smiling face, drinking in her warmth.
"From your sister," I sing, smiling at her lovingly, "Who's always by your side…" And I nearly slip as I realize that I won't anymore. She is now bound to someone else, and I cannot always be there as I was. So I turn to Alexander Hamilton, to the man that Eliza loves, and do my utmost to communicate what he must do.
"To your union and the hope that you provide," I glance back at Eliza, who has wound her arm around his, and their faces are so full of joy that it gives me courage to finish it out. "May you always be satisfied." I look right at him when I say that, a warning that she is the best thing in my life, and now the best thing in his. He better not take that lightly.
I am the last to leave the party. Long after the guests have left, Alex and Eliza remain, pink-cheeked and in love. The convictions of earlier have drained away, replaced with a weary kind of acceptance. I excuse myself, knowing that they will not notice, and try to smile bravely as I walk out. Once I am sure no one will see me, I slide down the wall. Finally, the tears that I tried so hard to suppress come out. I don't even know what I'm crying for. Perhaps it is the end of Eliza's and my lives together, so closely intertwined. Maybe I cry for my own foolishness. Maybe I cry for the world at large that forces such loss and unhappiness. But, as I stagger to my bed, and fall asleep, feeling as though I have lived a million years today, I know that I will never be satisfied, but that will have to be enough. Because Eliza, whose face I see as I sleep, all radiant and love-struck, will be happy. And that is all I can hope for.