Disclaimer: I don't own Hamilton, that's Lin's stuff. Please read the author's note at the end.
Lunch comes as a relief.
My mind stops
spinning,
I can
finally think.
I drew that sea
for him.
I think
it was
spur of
the moment.
I hope
he doesn't call.
Does that
make me a
bad person?
Not really.
My ocean goes on.
Life is deafening.
"So she left that in your hand," Hercules says as we leave the lunch lines (Me with le croque monsieur avec les frites and him with a tray full of pasta), "after you… kissed hers."
I sigh. "Oui, oui, mon ami. We are past that part."
Herc smiles gently. "Hey, that rhymes."
I throw a fake glare at his sauce covered ziti so I don't have to meet his eyes. Herc has this... smile or something that makes anyone blush for no reason. He does it to everyone. Including me.
"And this is who, again?"
"Well, I don't have the note with me right now, pear see…"
Herc laughs. "You mean, per se."
I groan. "Does it matter? My point is, I forget her name. It's too long, anyway."
Herc raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Mmmm."
I wonder if he's
kept it.
It was just
a
rough
treasure map sketch.
I can do better.
Seas
are my
favorites
to draw.
All those
loops
and loops
and
loops.
We reach our table by the windows. John and Alex are already there, clearly arguing about something. Again.
"What now, Ham?" Herc asks routinely.
Alex lifts his gaze from the enormous textbook in front of him. "Do you know sailing terms well, Mulligan?"
"Um…"
"I do," I offer. "What's the problem?"
John rolls his eyes. "Hamilton seems to think that port is the right side of a boat."
"Because it is!" Alex says, irritated. He runs his fingers through his dark hair and sighs.
"Um… desole, mon ami. Port is the left side of the boat."
Alex looks at me from beneath his fingers. "Really?"
I nod.
Alex sighs again. "I need to study more." He and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a dollar. "Do I have to?"
John smirks. "I'll take that!"
Cheese and ham sandwiches.
Cheesus.
I
don't know
how people
can stand them.
Of all
the things
to go with
cheese.
Why ham?
I see Eliza in the crowd
like a lighthouse.
A
safe point.
She waves.
"Peggy!
Over here!"
Alex's eyes darken. "You okay, Laf? You seem out of it."
John grins. "He met a girl"- he drags out the word mockingly- "in homeroom this morning."
Alex smirks. "Really. Who?"
"Eliza's sister," I say, taking a bite out of my sandwich. It's disgusting. Mon dieu. "What kind of…"
"Angelica?" Herc guesses. "But you already know her. Besides, doesn't she always rant about how"- He snaps in imitation of Angelica- "'She don't need no man'?"
John snorts.
"No, not Angelica. The other one. Her name sounds like a drink."
"Ohhhhh," Alex says. "You mean Peggy."
Peggy. So that's her name.
Cute.
"So." Eliza nudges me.
"Meet any cute guys?"
I sigh. "Yes.
One."
Squeals.
Lots of them.
Like I need more high pitched noises.
"Who? Maybe I know him."
"I don't remember. He has a lot of names."
"What's his nationality?"
"French, maybe."
That
moment
of dawning
comprehension.
"Ohhhhhh. You mean Lafayette."
Lafayette.
So that's his name.
It's beautiful.
Alex stands abruptly, his eyes going from charcoal brown (Charcoal brown. I think that's a thing) to liquid chocolate in a second.
"Alex! Right here!"
Eliza. Of course. Only she can do that to Alex.
Well, her and sometimes John.
Alex waves back and sits, smiling smugly at me.
"What?"
Alex tilts his head. "Nothing. We're going to the library in a few. Herc too."
I frown. "Without me?"
"I think you'll want to stay." He raises his eyebrows passively. "Eliza's bringing her sister."
My sister drags me behind her.
"You have to meet him, Peg. He's
such a great guy."
No.
Nonononono
nononono.
Not
happening.
"Eliza-"
"Alex! Right here!"
"Eliza."
She's jet-skiing
through the crowd.
My chimes fill in like
unwanted sound effects.
"Eliza, stop."
Finally.
"Peg."
She sounds
defeated.
"Please."
She grabs my hands.
Hers are silky and
smooth.
"Promise me this. Let me be the one
to make you happy today."
Let me be the one
to make you happy today.
Promise me.
I promise.
A nod.
She smiles.
Tucks a curl
behind my ear.
I take a deep breath.
I don't exhale until we get there.
Sacrebleusacrebleusacre…
I am not prepared for this.
"Do I have anything on my face? Clothes? Do I look okay? I'm not seeing her unless I look decent. Oh god, am I being dramatic again? Probably. Do I sound okay? Is my accent too..."
I trail off. Herc's eyes are as wide as teacups. "Yeahhhcan'thelpyou."
Alex slams his hand down over my hand. I yelp. "Mère de Dieu!"
"Laf." Alex sounds impatient. "Stop hitting the table, you're shaking it. And quit panicking. You. Are. Fine."
I toss him a scowl. "I am not panicking."
Herc sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You were rambling in rapid-fire French."
Oh.
"Betsey!" Alex embraces his girlfriend tenderly. She responds in kind, kissing his cheeks in a very French way. She rests her head on his shoulder, and a lock of black coffee-colored hair falls over her eye.
It's so perfect, the way she and Alex fit together.
Him toned brown, sturdy and reliable and built to withstand.
Her in hues of porcelain and ebony, all lean curves and soft edges.
Together, they're a swirled cappuccino, in all possible shades of coffee and caramel.
And speaking of caramel…
She embraces Alex fully.
With a gentleness
I can't even fathom.
My eyes jump to the table
occupants.
It's him.
Jesus,
he's even handsomer
than I remember.
Flawless mahogany skin.
Curly black hair
tucked in a ponytail.
Eyes fringed by long lashes
like picture frames.
And endlessly tapping fingers- a steady pattern,
like the chimes.
His focus is on my sister.
Not a direct stare,
more of a gentle expression.
His eyes catch mine.
Now he stares.
"Lafayette!"
I start and break eye contact with the gi- excuse me. Peggy. "What?"
John rolls his eyes. "God, Laf. Quit starin' like a creep or somethin'." He's irritated- the more so, the more he drawls.
She- Peggy, I have to get used to her name- breaks away from behind her sister and floats toward us. It's like her boots don't actually touch the ground. Her eyes stay on John, determined not to make another awkward moment.
Like I need more of those.
Don't think about it.
Don't think about it.
You
can
do
this.
You know John.
Start small.
Ocean, rise.
If you can hear
your own breathing,
calm down.
You're going to be okay.
My sister leaves with Alex and his friend.
I'm on my own.
"Peggy, hey." John gives Peggy a friendly side-hug. She relaxes her shoulders understably, John gives great hu-
"Hi, Laurens."
Her voice.
It's like meringue, both crisp and silky.
Mon dieu.
She could start wars.
John lets go. "I'm getting food." He winks at me knowingly and jogs off (John never walks).
I'm on my own.
Peggy sits next to his empty seat, across from me. She runs a hand behind her ear, tucking back… actually, something's off about the gesture. Something small and round comes off in her hand.
Right.
Hearing aids.
She was right in her note. I didn't even notice.
I wait until she adjusts something on the device and puts it back on before I start talking.
"So," I begin. "Peggy, right?"
His voice.
Jesus
It's-
He would make a poet weep.
His accent
rolls through waves of words
rising and falling
steadily.
"Um."
He tilts his head
curiously.
"Can you hear me?"
Yes, I can hear you.
I can't talk to you.
"Oh! Um- sorry, I- oh God."
That worked.
I promise.
I'm s-m-r-t.
Awkward loves company.
This probably can't get any worse than awkward, anyway.
I'll start small, considering that we kind of already know each other.
...
Um.
How do these greetings typically go in America again? What's the friendly-to-flirting ratio?
All the nerve I had earlier has clearly abandoned me.
"So, in case you don't know, I'm-"
"Lafayette." She pushes her glasses up. "Right?"
That worked.
"Yes," I say. "That-that is my name."
She snorts.
Internal screaming in three...
"Um- would you mind, if we just-"
Everything she says comes out like a snap. Clear, clipped, enunciated carefully and a little slowly. No dot-dot-dot's for this girl.
"Can we write instead?"
Straight to the point. Boom.
"Write?"
She nods, and her brows knit together. "Do you mind? Speaking gets tiring, and- you probably don't know sign language. I have a notebook we could use."
My cheeks suddenly burn.
My mind joins my ears
in the chimes.
Ripples.
Was I too
direct?
Oh no.
What if he can't write?
English writing is hard,
after all.
He probably
types his notes.
Wait.
That's stupid.
Of course he can
write.
Right?
I have trouble writing in English sometimes.
That's not a foreigner stereotype. It's just... hard.
I'm also not dyslexic. I can spell fine. I can write and read. It's just the process of translating words from my French-driven mind into English, then putting that English on paper.
Normally I have my laptop with me, so I can type class notes. Packet's don't bother me, they're usually short answers.
But written essays? Poetry assignments? Those stupid "What This Means to Me" letters?
Not up my alley.
The last time I hand-wrote something, let alone a whole conversation with a girl I like… "
Hey, Laf! C'mere!"
I barely hear myself. "Non, c'est bon." Then, "Give me a sec!"
She laughs, softly. "Okay. I'm turning these off."
The ocean goes off.
Silence is golden.
No crashing waves.
No ripples.
No creaks.
No jetskis.
I open my bag
and grab the notebook
and a pen.
Flip to a
new
page.
Push it toward him.
Wait.
He stares at it,
eyes lost.
I love that
his emotions
are all
eyes.
He combs a hand through his hair.
Curls escape the tight bun.
Pen goes to paper
in neat loops and lines.
Wait.
Loops?
I've already decided.
Screw writing.
My hand does the work for me.
Lines tick across the page.
Add a circle there.
Little mittens.
A few dots there
A bubble in that direction.
I know what I'm drawing without thinking about it.
"Laf, come on!"
"Coming!"
I watch him concentrate
on whatever he's
drawing.
He's left handed
when he draws,
right handed
when he writes.
Weird.
Eventually he slides the
notebook
back toward me.
Lets out a sigh.
"LAF!"
He starts and rolls his eyes.
Picks up his backpack.
Please don't leave.
I wave cheerfully.
He winks.
Walks away.
He left his sandwich.
I flip the book around.
Caricatures.
Two little people
bordering on stick figures
but not quite there.
One has looped hair and glasses.
Obviously me.
A speech bubble is next to
tiny Peggy.
(Call me sometime, schooner!)
The other has a bun and a tiny goatee
and a speech bubble.
(I'll text you instead.)
Author's Note: Peggy is not selectively mute. That's too overused for me. I did some research on deafness and hearing aids. The hearing aids she wears are typical wrap-arounds, and they have adjustable volume. She prefers to take them off for complete silence. Peggy can't lipread. She knows ASL, but doesn't commonly use it. She, like many deaf people, prefers being deaf, and finds it easier to live in silence. Her tinnitus is a low ringing in both ears, and it is more white noise than the typical high-pitched sound used in movies. Peggy speaks well and is conscious of pronouncing her words clearly, but she prefers not speaking simply because it gets tiring for her after long periods of time.
Also, Laf got a cheese and ham sandwich with fries.
