Knock, knock. A cry of frustration immediately pierced the sweltering air. A young woman held a paintbrush in her tan skinned hand, delicately stroking its colored bristles onto slightly yellowing parchment to create a portrait of her beloved quetzal. She had been so absorbed in the task; creating artwork was her way of briefly escaping reality to bring a little piece of beauty into the world. Now, however, her concentration shattered like a mirror at the sound of rapping on her front door and an entire pot of green paint was splashed over the picture. "Qué? I'm busy!" she shouted, hastily halting the spill.
"S-Señorita Guatemala, I have a letter for you…!" a man's voice called back feebly. Shoulders loosening, the angry flush lessened slightly from the young woman's face. She huffily swung herself upright, tucking a strand of her long black hair behind her ear. With a deep breath to gain a calm stance, she flattened the ruffles on the skirt of her multicolored dress and strode over to the door.
"Sí? May I help you?" she breathed in as upbeat of a tone as she could manage. Glimpsing outside of her house filled her with bittersweet feelings. The sight of her prized chickens, pigs, and garden filled her with pride, especially since she knew they would help serve her people if ever need be. When her cocoa-colored eyes trailed down the dirt path ahead of her, though, she was forced to acknowledge with a pang all of the simple, relatively tiny and rundown houses that made up her village. The frail build of all the houses' residents made her want to pull her hair out or something, too. Although, watching the children playing outside and the women smiling as they went about work in their eccentric jewelry and colorful handmade clothing caused a slight smile to appear on Guatemala's dainty face.
The man on the porch held out an envelope, nervously eyeing a stray cat as it slunk across the yard nearby him. "I-it comes from España, you see…" he murmured. Guatemala sucked in a light gasp, eagerly snatching up the envelope. Sure enough, the fold of the envelope was stuck by Spain's signature seal.
"Ah, gracias! Stop by one of the marketplaces, you just may find something you like…." Nodding her gratitude, Guatemala swept back inside. She plopped back down at her desk; never mind her ruined painting, this was important! Without hesitation, she slid a finger under the seal and unfolded the letter. She barely dared to breathe as she read its contents:
Dear Guatemala,
Hola! I know we haven't spoken in quite a while, but I trust you're getting on well?
"That'll be the day," Guatemala muttered before reading on.
If this letter arrived on time, I should only be a few days late in saying feliz cumpleaños! I can't believe my niña is already 20 years old (in human years, at least)… Anyway, I think you're at about the right age to get married. So, I've gone and picked out a husband for you! I think you'll be quite pleased, he and you played so well together as kids! Well, yes, you took his tomatoes, hit him with the push broom, and fought with him on lots of things… But you did have lots of good moments and according to France, you two are a perfect match!
Well, that should be all I have to say… If I think of anything else, I'll tell you when I see you to plan out the wedding!
P.S. If you need another hint as to who you're husband is going to be… You're going to be a Vargas! Just saying.
Sincerely,
Antonio Fernandez Carriedo (Papa Spain)
For a few moments, Guatemala just sat there numbly staring at her papa's writing. Surely there was some other man with whom she shared a childhood with… There simply had to be another Vargas with a memorable part in her life…. But, no, there was no escaping it. Her quetzal- José was his name- flapped over and landed on the sill of an open window. Guatemala leisurely brought her wide-eyed gaze up to stare at her bird, the rest of her body as still as a statue. "Ay yi yi… I'm engaged to a tomato-loving bastard," she whispered. José simply stretched his neck down to begin preening his gorgeous, lengthy tail feathers.
Guatemala revived with a start. She jumped up so suddenly that José let out a distressed tweet and stumbled backward. Luckily, though, he caught himself just in time, and flew off with a quick glare toward his mistress. Ignoring her bird's displeasure, Guatemala bolted out of the room as fast as her thin legs could carry her short self. She skidded to a halt, nearly smashing into the wall. Nobody else in her village owned a phone, but this was no time for a guilty conscience. She ripped her old-timey phone off of its stand on a small table in the hallway, speedily dialing in a familiar number.
Someone picked up after the fourth ring. "Yo, it's the U.S. of A speaking!" a man exclaimed on the other line. Guatemala felt her heart leap.
"Alfred! Oh, mi amigo, I so need to talk to you…" Guatemala sighed.
If at all possible, America sounded even peppier as he became aware of who he was talking to. "Hey, my BFF from downstairs! What chu need, gurl?"
A smile twitched on Guatemala's mouth, though just briefly. "I've got a grande problema…" She intended to tell him her dilemma on the same breath, but found the words caught in her throat. Perhaps she was so intent on seeing to it that this wasn't really happening that she simply couldn't speak of it.
"Well then spill! Come on bra, you can talk to me about AN. Y. THING. We are homeys, and homeys gotta be there for each other!" America assured her. Now Guatemala smiled for more than a few seconds.
"Gracias…"
America blinked on the other end. "What about a grassy ass….?" This made Guatemala burst into laughter, any negative feelings from previously in the day vanishing temporarily. "Yeah, that's a turn on," America snickered under his breath. Take Italy's drunken laugh, combine it with America's signature laugh, add the intensity of France's "onhonhon," increase its pitch quite a bit, and you have Guatemala's laugh.
Containing herself to mere giggles, Guatemala allowed her motives for calling wash over her again. She cleared her throat and put on a totally serious demeanor. "So, you know how it's not exactly uncommon for marriages to be arranged in my country? Well… Papa Spain sent me a letter. He… he's picked out a husband for me…"
"Are you shittin' me? Dude, that's so boss! Who's the lucky man?" America interrupted. Guatemala stuck her finger into the ear up to which she had the phone pressed.
"I…" She inhaled deeply. "America, I'm going to marry Romano."
Silence as America stood with that crazy open mouthed grin of his frozen onto his face. "You… Huh?" he sputtered. Those two simple syllables somehow set Guatemala off like a match to a bomb.
"Romano! I'm engaged to ROMANO! Lovino Vargas is going to be my husband! I'll be the bride of that tomato-eating, Germany-hating, swear happy douche bag!" the small young woman shrieked.
"Hey, yo, calm down! You two were chill when you were young 'uns, right? So, d'you love 'im?" America questioned naively.
Panting slightly, Guatemala immediately shot back with: "Why the hell would I-" Her sentence dropped off. Running a hand over her now messy hair, she arched an eyebrow. "Oh, hold up. Maldito, I think I do!" Groaning quietly, she rubbed her temples and shut her eyes. "I think I need a Gallo…."
She could hear America snap his fingers. "Well then in that case, I'ma fly down there, pick you up, and we can go hang at a bar! Maybe even one in Vegas… TTYL!" The phone cut off.
And this is only the beginning of one of many tales in the life of Silvia del Rosario Castro, better known as: Guatemala.
