Lady Liberty

Chapter 11

Stupid girl, you still haven't learned to care for yourself, have you?"
T

he question floated in one ear and out the other, filling America with a little blossom of amusement and adding a bounce to her step. "Oh, you really should stop with your fussing. The physician said I'll be fine with some sleep and a hearty meal."
"You'd better not touch those 'supplements' of yours again," England lectured as they walked out of the Swiss hotel where a series of conferences and diplomatic discussions were taking place. The boutiques clustered beside the office buildings of Geneva gave the city an undecided air, and it was rather endearing how tradition had collided with a new era.
"How could you be so reckless?"
America pinched her lips and bit back a smile. "I must have the gift of madness-there's no other reasonable explanation. I suppose all I can do now is learn to cope with it. Thank goodness you're here to keep me in check, or I'd be muttering to myself in a senseless daze and scaring the children of the city."
"Cheeky brat," England grumbled, driving an elbow into her side. "At least tell me what's going on. Why the sudden fascination with health?"
"Firstly, it's not a fascination. I'm just trying to be at my top form, okay?"
"By poisoning yourself with random supplements?"
Her close-cropped hair fluttered with an oncoming breeze. "You wouldn't understand, England."
"And why is that? I'm willing to listen to an explanation, no matter how lengthy," the elder nation assured, slowing his walking pace to allow them both time to think. "Who was it who suffered through your gossip and troubles when you were a child?"
America scoffed but felt her shoulders relax as she welcomed the man's familiar presence. Much of their life was shrouded in the deception and slander of politics, but it was during unguarded moments such as these that America knew she could talk freely without potential exploitation.
"Simply put, I have a lot of expectations to meet," she stated, sucking in a breath of air as though it were some sort of drug. "I'm losing who I am, and it's led to a lot of pointless pain."
"Are you referring to this Cold War of ours?"
"Yes and no. It's not just this war. Take a look at my people some time-a good look at them-and you'll see the same thing that's been infecting me... Cynicism."
England halted their walk, clover eyes inspecting the young woman before him. "Why would you think that?"
"They've lost faith in my government, and because of it, they've lost faith in me as well," America mourned, tearing her gaze away from the other nation to fiddle with the zipper of her coat. "It's not a recent thing... It's been going on for a while-this mistrust. I have a sinking feeling it'll only get worse."
"You think our brash friends across the pond have lost their blind optimism? I doubt it. It's not something that can be stripped away," England drawled with a smirk. He let his roving eyes settle on America's frown for a second before turning away. "Everything will be fine. I think you're the one who has lost faith. Better days are on the horizon."
"Who put sunshine and rainbows in your breakfast this morning?"
The elder's chiding glance made her feel small again, and she peeked up at the man as though he had all of the vigor and prestige of his old empire.
"Come," he instructed, grasping her by the wrist and pulling her to the display window of one of the boutiques. He raised his free hand and pointed at the glass. "Look. What do you see?"
"An absurdly overpriced necklace even by European standards."
"No, no. Beyond that."
America titled her head to the side, eyes squinted and shoulders slouched. "I think you've finally lost your marbles, ol' codger."
"And here I thought you were a bit more imaginative. It seems I overestimated you," England griped in response, sighing at the changed girl whom he'd encountered on the coast of the New World so many centuries ago. "You're ignoring what's right in front of you, as usual."
"Is this supposed to be some sort of philosophical lesson?" America whined, catching on to the other's intentions. "I see a handcrafted mason jar, some leather boots, and my miserable reflection."
"What else do you notice about your reflection?" England prompted, tightening his grip around America's wrist.
"My hair is particularly frizzy from the humidity today."
England chuckled against his better judgment and shook his head. Comments like that were what made people like him understand the importance of cherishing others. "You've also cut your hair again, haven't you?"
"Yeah. It makes me feel lighter when it's short."
"It's improper, mind you. When was the last time your hair was this short?"
America smiled a wan smile at herself and ran a hand through the choppy locks. There she was in her youth, dancing and giggling with life, wishing only to solely be herself. "During the Revolution, I think, but it was close to this in the twenties."
"You see? You're the same foolish child you were back then. I suppose certain things really don't change," England teased, releasing his hold on America before strolling his way back to the hotel with finality.
"Wait! You're leaving?"
"Yes. Stay here and think about what you see, and don't return to the hotel until you've gained some understanding. Oh, and buy us lunch."
America couldn't help but laugh. "That's not going to be very easy!"
"Good. That means it's worth doing," England retorted, pausing a few yards away. "Who do you want to be, America?"
"I don't know, but it's not who I am."
"There's your answer. You're not so daft, after all."
Her blue eyes stared back at her, inviting her to take up the adventurous spirit she once clung to. They had seen unspeakable miracles and tragedies, but still glittered with acceptance and warmth. It was almost haunting, and her thin-lipped glower transformed into a crooked and self-assured grin.
By the time she abandoned the well-kept display window, it was nearly nightfall.
Being on the other side of rallies again made her heart soar with a buzzing splendor and anticipation. She had sided with her government and disconnected herself from her people for much longer than she cared to recall, and it wasn't an unfamiliar mistake. It was always tempting to get caught up in the jabbering of world leaders, and it often drew her away from the very individuals who made up her existence.
"Make love, not war."
She wasn't much of a dedicated hippie, but she did applaud their ideologies, and snuck into a few teach-ins that were anti-war in nature at the nearby colleges and universities. Needless to say, it was an exciting time after years of dreariness nipping at her bones. Everything was liberating, boundless, and provocative again, and she wasn't complaining.
Canada, however, was another story.
He had come to the Woodstock music festival upon request, but made sure to keep up his irked demeanor the entire time. He didn't seem too pleased with the fact that the hippie movement had crossed his border-not because he didn't agree with the protests, but because he made it his mission to hate anything that was infused with American culture. He didn't want America taking up his culture in her hands.
"You need to chill, Mattie. You don't have to take any hallucinogens if you don't want to, but you should close your eyes and enjoy the music," America crooned, swaying with the splendid serenade of the evening. "Today, we're celebrating life."
"And why do we have to do that?" Canada huffed, crossing his arms and wrinkling his nose up at the tie-dye shawl that America had wrapped around her neck. He tried to ignore the itching happiness growing in his stomach upon seeing his sister so jovial and lax.
"Because we can't resign ourselves to constant depression and eventual death," she replied, swinging up her hands to Canada's waist and coaxing him into a lighthearted dance. "C'mon, shake off that negativity. I know there's a wild side hidden deep inside that mundane skeleton of yours."
Canada grunted a number of disdainful words under his breath, but resigned himself to taking part in the feeble dance, droopy eyed and sulky. "This is all your fault."
"I know. It's great, isn't it?" America antagonized, tossing her head back to gaze at the darkening sky. "I wonder what will come out of this. Am I ever going to be the same person I once was?"
"Probably not," Canada supplied, ears ringing from the immense noise. "But that's not necessarily a bad thing. We all change. For example, I don't like you nearly as much as I used to."
"Ooh, that hurts, Mattie. Show a little mercy for your poor twin."
The northern nation broke their dance and massaged his temples, anger flashing in his eyes at a sudden discovery. "You've lost more weight."
"Have I? I hadn't noticed."
"It's hard not to notice," he added, running a hand over one of America's slender arms. "Don't do anything rash, or I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands."
She knitted her bows and spun around on her heel, disregarding the concerns. "You can be a real bastard when you want to be."
"I didn't know it was a crime to want the best for someone. And if I'm such a bastard, then I'll be on my way."
She didn't know why the outburst made itself known, but her words were cruel even to her own mind, so she chased after her brother in search of forgiveness. It took some jostling through a number of people in the crowd, and trying to keep up with her brother as he made his way for the car proved to be exhausting, especially after an entire day of festivities.
"Hang on!" she called, sprinting forward once she had cleared her way through the mob. Her hand stretched to grab hold of the other's shirt, snagging the cotton after a few attempts. "Mattie, please! I'm an ungrateful idiot, and I'm sorry! I didn't mean what I said. I've just been climbing out of one of those slumps of mine."
Her twin let out an aggravated sigh, fumbling with the keys to the car. "You're a mess-a menace, a bother, and a hazard to everyone around you! You're the anomaly of the globe."
America bit her lip and lowered her eyes with a solemn nod, reeking of smoke and the outdoors.
"But we haven't gone to war with each other for now, so that's a good sign," Canada managed with a peevish growl. "I don't know how I've put up with you all these years."
"Because you love your sweet, darling sister?"
"No, that's definitely not the reason. It's because I'm a gentleman who understands that it's simply your time of the month again," he backfired with a crude smirk, quite smug and mocking. He reached the car and leaned against the passenger's door, scowling at America's narrowing hips and lanky legs.
She pursed her lips and flushed with fury before smacking his head. "Forget what I said. I can't stand you."
"I can't stand you either."
"Perfect. Let's keep it that way."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Canada chuckled, watching America storm off toward the crowds once more. "You're infuriatingly wonderful, but blind to yourself."
She was already too far away to hear him.
When Nixon's scandal came to light, America braced herself for all hell to break loose. The patriotism and loyalty she'd always felt from her people flickered, and she could only hope they would be strong enough to endure such a blow. Skepticism and questions arose from every direction, and she immediately wanted to slide into bed and ride out the storm for the following years.
And whereas the 70's consisted of breaking free from social constructs and a materialistic middle-class, the 80's brought in another decade of surplus and business ventures. Everything seemed better and bigger, from huge blockbuster film productions to the buoyant music blasting from radio stations across the nation, times were golden on the surface.
Everyone had a good taste in their mouth, as though a fine wine once thought to be lost in the cellar had finally been retrieved.
It was nice because everyone agreed that it was. They remembered the 80's for the extravagance and famous essence of the time period.
America, however, remembered things a bit differently.
She remembered the long talks with Russia in a dank conference hall, the hungry eyes of the people in East Germany, the constant anxiety of a continuing Cold War, and the stress of having to be on her toes every minute of the day.
She also remembered the still oppressed minority groups of her land, a swelling debt, the increasing importance of self-image, youth drug abuse, a high-crime rate in urban areas, and the loss of individualism.
America knew, of course, that the 80s were regarded highly for their memories, and not for what they had actually been. They were talked about often because it was better to love the past than to accept the present.
And when the Berlin Wall came down in 1989, she arrived a week early to the next world meeting in Europe. She had to have the time to come to terms with the destruction of the barricade that had been plaguing her mind for nearly twenty-nine years.
She also took the liberty to pay Prussia a visit, surprising him with her appearance on his doorstep the day after the Wall's demolition.
"It's funny how I've only seen you across meeting tables lately," America told the reclusive man, clasping her hands behind her back with a sheepishness. Her relations with the East had been nonexistent for many years, and it would take far too long to completely recover from such a battle of wills.
"What are you doing here?" Prussia rasped as though he had not used his voice for quite some time. "Did you come to laugh at my poor state?"
Defensive, America rushed to hold her arms up in surrender. "No, of course not! I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help you. I'll be sending over aid as soon as possible to help build up your side of the country. Also, I've heard Ludwig is happy to have you back. We want to make the reintegration as quick and painless as possible-as though nothing ever happened."
"No," Prussia insisted, blocking the doorway with his full figure. He appeared to be quite tired, sallow, and weather-beaten. "We won't forget what happened here. We have to remember, and you can tell my brother that."
"I understand," America assured, suddenly uncomfortable under the other's formidable shadow. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that no one is out to get you. We want peaceful relations."
"Hmph... Peaceful, you say," the man scoffed, resting an elbow on the doorframe. "Nothing is ever peaceful in this world. Now, is there something else you wanted? I'm busy."
"It must get pretty lonely around here, huh?" America wondered, evading the man's questions for the time being. "How do you manage it?"
"You learn to appreciate your own company. When you're as awesome as me, that's usually enough."
America cracked a grin, unfazed by the display of arrogance. She had dealt with this type of ruse before. "I don't know about that. It wouldn't hurt to have a few guests around now and then. You're free to do as you like now; you don't have to worry about regimes or restrictive political ties. Go wild and give up the isolation for a bit."
"The West has had enough in telling me what to do."
"I can imagine," America sighed, extending her right hand. "Guess it's goodbye then... It was good to see you, and if you ever need to talk, just get a hold of me."
Taken aback by the sudden show of comradery, Prussia hesitated for a second before grasping the awaiting hand. He shook it firmly and swept his eyes over America's painted nails, unable to withhold a smirk as he considered the strange events.
"You're... different," he finally said as she swiveled around to leave. "You're the first one who's personally met with me aside from my brother. Thanks..."
"It seemed like the decent thing to do," she replied, adjusting her thin sweater over her shoulders. "Besides, I'm not one to talk over the phone-it's too impersonal, I think."
"You could've sent a diplomatic letter like everyone else."
"Did I mention I'm a horrid writer? Yup, absolutely terrible with language in general. Besides, letters are commonly sugarcoated and filled with politically correct jargon. I'm a simple and uncivilized woman."
The words did their job, as Prussia soon found himself caught in a fit of laughter, drowsy eyes awakening with a gleam. The creases in his forehead were erased somewhat by the look of amity on America's face as she toyed with her sleeves and bounded off into the boisterous night.
"Crazy kids," Prussia harrumphed after a good while, shutting the door and clicking the lock back into its rightful place once more.
"How can you eat that?"
As a little speck of stardust in a galaxy lost among hundreds of others, America filled herself to matter. When the hollowness of her stomach was constricted, she became significant-a weight pressed up against the planetary leviathan she was stuck too. She took up the atmosphere around her and suddenly felt less childlike around the other nations.
The majority of the men in the room were taller, sturdier, and fuller. Their space was taken up with a certain regality while America struggled to match such prowess and breadth.
Thus, she swallowed the burger squished between her fingers with only a tiny grimace of guilt. "I'm hungry."
"You should watch your diet," England chided, unable to imagine the impact his words would have on the girl. "Sustaining yourself on fast-food can't be healthy."
She couldn't blame him for not understanding. They came from different cultural requirements and ideals.
"Don't worry about it, England," she consoled, feeling nausea crawl up her throat. "A few burgers now and then won't kill me."
"A few? You've been gobbling down those horrible things for a while now."
America feigned an amused scoff and rose from her seat, checking the time meticulously. Their lunch break was coming to an end. "It's not really any of your business."
"I beg your pardon? I raised you," the man reminded, playing his usual card of 'I'm your father figure so you ought to listen to what I say or else'.
Skinny yet plentiful was the phrase that frequently circled her mind. It was always a choice between the two, as she could never have both. Her bingeing wasn't a new habit, but it controlled her in sporadic bursts, disappearing for months before returning with full force.
Her heaviness burrowed itself in the ground, leaving her disgusted and appalled at her own fiendish body. When had that extra flab of skin found its way to her hips? And why were her arms being dragged down by an extra inch of flesh?
She ate to be angry at herself. It was a punishment for allowing herself to stoop so low in the first place, and filling her stomach to its full capacity made her aware of the revolting features that needed to be changed.
"I'll be fine," she muttered, overcome with a sudden loathing and sickness. England was right-she was a pig. A normal human being with some moral standards and respect for their body would not have stood on line for thirty minutes at McDonald's to order a Frankenstein-like cheeseburger soaked with grease and ketchup. She was what was wrong with her nation. She fed into monopolies and big business advertisements telling her about the next manufactured grub she needed to try.
And then she proceeded to agonize over her image. What lopsided thinking she'd adopted.
It didn't take much more persuasion to get her to retch up her horrible life choices ten minutes later in the pretty Japanese hotel's restroom.
She should've appreciated the excess-the luxury of having such abundant food and resources-she thought. However, when combined with the philosophy of less is more and thin is beautiful, she couldn't find the dotted line between the opposing sides.
"Are you coming down with something?"
The inquiry snapped her back into her stoic stance, and she gave England a soft smile as she made her way back to the meeting. "Now that you mention it, I have been feeling under the weather. I'm sure it's just a stomach bug."
"Perhaps you should head back to your room to rest then. I can inform the others of your absence," England suggested, catching the sheen of sweat on her brow and her pale complexion. "You look worse for wear."
"Must be my crappy diet, huh?"
"There's nothing that can be done about it now."
America sighed and set her insecurities aside. "The meeting is almost over anyway. I'm sure I can sit through the rest of it," she reasoned, swallowing back the curdling acidic taste in her mouth.
"If you're sure..."
Both nations then ousted the scene from their minds as they focused on bigger issues like a growing addiction to the Middle East's rich oil reserves. With so many topics of discussion available, they almost forgot about the ordeal entirely, but America would have to confront her demons eventually. Such matters hardly ever allowed themselves to be cast away.
However, the next encounter she would have with her dark thoughts would be for the better.
It happened on a fair morning during the following spring. It was just cool enough that the air was refreshing and not at all unpleasant, making it a perfect 'me' day, as America liked to call it.
Once every few weeks the nation would dedicate a day to mindless activities and running petty errands. It was similar to the mental health days she occasionally spent with Canada, except it was spent without any company. It turned out to be a great outlet for clearing her mind, and it brought her in touch with a side of life that was a little more human and down-to-earth.
A quick trip to the grocery store or the bakery across town did wonders for her perpetually roving thoughts, allowing her some sparkling ease.
On this particular day, America took a drive to a mall just on the outskirts of suburban civilization, deciding she could use a number of business-casual clothes for less formal events. She breezed from store to store with a certain absentmindedness, allowing the music from the mall's speakers to lull her racing worries and troubles.
She flicked through the clothes racks, contemplating the shades of various skirts available. Coral or salmon? Was there really a difference?
Of course, she'd never let anyone find her shopping for pleasure, mostly because it wasn't expected of her, and because many of the other nations had their clothes picked out for them by stylists or other staff hired for such duties.
They would probably regard it as a lowly and peasant-like chore, but America enjoyed indulging her own methods of doing things, and there wasn't anything in the world that could stop her from doing so.
Coral... Definitely, the coral. It had a dark-pinkish undertone that was sophisticated yet still tantalizing.
Soon afterward she decided it was time for a bathroom break and maybe a bite to eat. Thankfully, there wasn't a line to the restroom, and she was quickly on her way, straightening out her blouse along the way.
Except, before she could round the corner, a muffled sob caught her attention, drawing her back to the direction of the sinks.
"Are you all right, sweetie?"
In front of one of the mirrors was an adolescent girl around the age of sixteen, wiping away smeared mascara off of her cheeks with a paper towel. She trembled in place at America's question, rubbing away more tears as they dribbled down her chin.
"I'm fine."
"I've used that line before," America said as she carefully approached the young girl cloaked in red-velvet hair. "And it's almost always a lie."
"It doesn't matter anyway... It's stupid," the girl insisted, suppressing the lump in her throat.
"I doubt it. If it was enough to upset you, then it must have mattered."
The girl shook her head and tossed away a wad of napkins. "I ran into some people from school... They called me that 'ordinary' girl as I walked past. The 'ordinary girl that nobody likes'. Supposedly, I'm 'too plain to ever be pretty.' And to top it off, my friend laughed right along with them."
America clicked her tongue and leaned against the counter, offering a sympathetic noise. "Kids can be cruel, especially immature high school kids. They're knocking you down to prop themselves up higher, and you shouldn't fall for the trap. They're bitter because you have blazing red hair and class."
The girl mustered a miserable laugh, hiccuping as tears continued to sting in her eyes. "Thanks for trying to be nice, but there's some truth to the things they said, at least a little bit."
"Oh, don't you dare say that. You're a beautiful girl, and that's why you're their target. They see you as potential competition," America explained, frowning at the sadness still residing in the girl's eyes.
"No, all of the other girls are so pretty. I don't even compare."
America sighed and cocked her head to the side with a fond smile. "I'll let you in on a little secret, honey; Every girl worries about her appearance no matter who she is, whether they're the most beautiful person in the world or not. We all think about it-at least a little. But you know what? The people who think about it the least are usually the gorgeous ones. You might think it's cliché, but girls that are confident and don't care about what anyone else thinks are always the best, in my opinion. They glow with this aura that can't be contained, and it's mesmerizing to watch."
"Besides," she went on, feeling a maternal protection for the teen. "Beauty is so superficial. We all get old and wrinkly and less attractive eventually, but our families and friends continue to love us, and we love them back with a kind of love that's stronger than the infatuation we find in someone's chest-size or hips. Love who you are and the rest will come naturally."
The girl sniffled and ran another hand over her eyes. "Thank-you. You didn't have to say that."
"Don't worry about it. Do you have any other friends to get back to? Ones that aren't complete jerks?"
"No. Not really."
"Do you need a ride home? You should call up your parents."
"I think I'll pass on that," the girl grumbled, stuffing her hands into her jeans. "I'll take the bus or walk."
She smiled because she could recall feeling these same emotions many years ago and the same disdain for authority. "They won't bite-your parents, I mean. I know you don't want to talk to them about stuff like this, but it's important, and they want to know you'll look to them for help. Heck, I still call up my old man whenever something's going on."
"Really?"
"You bet. Your parents will always be there, even if your friends all turn their backs on you. Despite the disagreements and drama, they'll stick around. Give them the benefit of the doubt every once in a while and a fighting chance," America recommended, watching with a smidgen of triumph as the girl pulled out her clunky 90's cellphone. "I'd better get going, then."
"Thanks again, miss. I feel dumb saying it, but have I met you before? I swear you seem familiar."
"No, definitely not. Take care of yourself, darling. Don't lose your shine, okay?"
And that's when America started to finally take her own advice.
Thank goodness for 'me' days.

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