A yell hushed after many long worn years

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Not a failure to launch, but to persevere

Alexander Hamilton III

I came home on a high. I knew my guy's name now, his name is John Laurens, it's a really nice name, it's easy to say and short while also being great. Like before, the ride back home is a blur, except this time it's because I'm thinking about John.

He's not too terribly tan in complexion so, he obviously isn't from too far south. And he obviously was from the south because when the night shift worker said "y'all" he blushed while his friends laughed at the use of the word. Maybe the Midwest? And his French cousin was an interesting character. Wait? Didn't he mention that his roommates woke him up this morning? Maybe those were the people that were with him at Denny's, maybe they weren't his boyfriend/cousin.

These were the kinds of thoughts that filled my rides home. It was a wonderful ride home, nobody got too close to me and I didn't get too close to anyone. The balance hung perfectly, better than it had in a long time. So, of course, something had to try and break the scale.

I fish my home key out of my pocket and insert it into the keyhole. The clicking of the tumblers tells me that this was, indeed, the right key and I didn't try to use the Jumping Bean Key. A rather good way to start if you ask me.

The first thing I do when I enter my house is beelining for the medicine cabinet. Every medicine label has to be triple checked to make sure that it is the right one. Most are for mom's, some are for Aaron (leftover medicines from past colds he says), and the rest is for me. I find it and I swallow it, double-checking that I was taking the pill right. It was different then I was used to it being, but this was a slightly stronger dose that also fished out the medicines that my mom had to take tonight.

Walking over to her room I knock softly on her door, if she was awake she'd say something. Judging by the silence I'd guess that she was asleep. Sound asleep. Sleep is good for her, it gives her time to rest. But she's been resting far too much. After the last check-in at the hospital, we were told to hire an in house nurse to watch her while I was at work

As I walked in to her room I made eye contact with the nurse, as she mouthed 'she's sleeping' and gestured for me to follow her outside the room.

"She took her medicine, and it worked just as it was supposed to. I wish she was awake she spent all of her awake time demanding to see you. I told her you were at work. Just so you know these weren't the most friendly summands I'd tread carefully with her if I were-"

A loud yell cut through the house, "Hamilton? Are you actually awake? I never see you awake anymore!"

Nurse Mandy made the most annoying face she could, and went to go set that man straight about the fact that there was a cancer patient living and trying to fight a disease in this house. And what that meant for loud noises at night. This built the sinking knot in my stomach, his rent paid her paycheck. But the knot only sunk more when I heard my name being called from my mom's room.

"Alexander? Are you out there? Come talk to your Mommy?"

I never called her Mommy, ever. But I still came to her bedside.

In all of my 22 years alive I've never seen my mom so mad at me. She always liked me. She liked me more than him more than sir. The look that she was giving was one that she'd give to him. A look that said that I was a total abomination, a rat.

"You said you were going to stay by my side. You said you wouldn't leave me all alone. So why am I always all alone? You are your father's child! All you ever do is hurt, people and desert people! You are a bastard child who should've never been born! If you hadn't been born JAMES WOULD STILL BE HERE!!! IF YOU HADN'T BEEN BORN JAMES WOULD STILL LOVE ME!!"

I know I should say something, that I should defend myself. That I should fight back, but I can't she's right. I scared him away, and she loved him. The only reason he left was me. I can prepay for six months of treatment for her, it shouldn't take him that long to find her. He loves her so much but hates me even more. He would take every chance he could to remind me of that. That I was nothing, but she was everything. And only people that mattered got to talk.

But, if I left he would come back. He would make her happy. But how will he know I'm gone? That he can come back in and start loving her again? Wait, the news always covers suicides, always. Stage it like murder and my name is put on there too. And it's not like there's anything holding me down except my mother. My jobs were for her, my book manuscript was about her journey. She was my reason, and now she didn't need me. So now I can go.

I make my way down the street, trying to find the proper alley to shoot myself in. Dark enough where no one could see me, while also secluded enough that there'd be no cameras to prove it wasn't a murder.

There are quite a few people out, but no one questions anything, guns weren't that uncommon to be carried with a permit. So no one batted an eye at my hoodie covered gun. Like this morning I was walking on the extreme edge of the sidewalk, except now I was on the extreme inside. My shoulder was brushing against the outside of the storefronts, but that was good. Easier to find a suitable alley.

The only times that I left the side of the buildings was to go and cross the streets. Waiting by the edge of a light post, I wait for the crosswalk to change to white. People aren't the best drivers in New York but the other people at the crosswalk would keep me from walking out into traffic. The only time that they care about someone is if that someone is trying to kill themselves.

I walk across this final crosswalk, the alley that I had in mind was just across from here, it was about two blocks away from my house, and only a block away from the Jumping Bean. Some druggie would probably find my body by morning, but not before I would be long dead.

My mom would be so happy to have him back in her arms. I wish there was a way for me to see her smile, but there isn't.

I'm about to make the turn into the alleyway, and by about to my feet were literally turned into the alley, when I heard someone call my name. My real name.

"Alexander!" John called from the sidewalk. I feel the blood drain from my already ghostly face. He could try to stop me."Weird seeing you out here so late, did you just get off work?"

But for some reason, I can talk to him, a sort of throwing the balances back in place before I go. "No, I got off at 9. I was just going for a walk. Something I had to take care of."

I'm glad that I get to see him one last time before I make everything better.

"Oh, my roommates were watching TV really loudly, something about a Timeless season finale being upsetting. I don't know but they were really loud. What do you have to take care of at 11 at night?"

I can't tell him what I'm doing if I did he'd try to stop me. No one can stop me, "It's just something I need to take care of before I leave."

"Oh, so you're moving?"

"I guess you could put it like that." I am moving on, moving on to the afterlife.

"But what could you possibly need to do in an alley at night? I'd ask if this was a drug deal but you don't look like you could be either a dealer or a druggie. Don't have the 'look.'"

I turn into the alley, hoping that he'd take the clue and move on, but he doesn't, he follows me in. I need to do this. I started this conversation to fix the balance if he stops me the balance will be all off and my mom will be so mad still. I need to do this.

He was rambling off obscure things that I could be doing in an alley at night when he noticed me fiddling with the gun in my pocket. I was simply using the time to make entirely sure that the gun was ready. My eyes flitted to spots that I could throw the gun after I shoot myself, places where it looked like it was dropped.

John notices, and I think the dots connect in his head. "No," he demands with stunning clarity, "You aren't dying tonight, Alexander. I won't let you die. I swear that this isn't the way to go. Come back to my house, you're not dying tonight. Your stories barely started. Don't let this be how people remember you."

What's so bad about being remembered as the person who died for their mom? What's not a good memory about that? I died so that he could come back to Mom.

But he grabbed by the hand, took my gun and starting leading me back to his house. Even now, when he's upsetting the balance, and keeping him from coming back to Mom, I can't hate John.

Though I wish I could, I also wish I could remember anything else that happened that night.