For Creighton, this meeting was one he would not think was important for a long time to come, only realizing its necessity when he met the young man again, when his life was beginning to wane. What he did know at the time, however, was that it was special. Something unique that he felt he would cherish for years to come. And indeed, he had.
But perhaps I am starting later than I should. After all, it was only an ordinary day for the young man when the guest walked into Dr. Franklin's printing shop for the first time since Creighton had been there. Or maybe perhaps for the first time at all, but I digress. It had come to the young boys' attention that a visitor had come when he heard the creaking of wood on the porch and a knocking at the door. He walked over and opened the door for the guest, and as far as he could tell, he was a customer, and Dr. Franklin had told him that customers should be treated with respect, or at least be let inside the property.
As he stepped to the side and let the man in, he noticed some intriguing details about him. The first and foremost was that he looked no more than 19, only a few years older than he himself, and he already looked like he had been through hell and back. The second was his looks. He had unnaturally golden hair, like the wheat that he had been told about that was grown in the southern colonies, and shined like the sun itself. His eyes were just as striking, if not more, and were as deep and blue as the sky above and the sea that separated Europe from North America, and his build was strong and firm, tanned like the savages as well, like someone who had been fighting for years out in the open.
But what was most important was the air around him. It was strange and nearly inhuman, as if he had already this man before, as if this man was like home to him. Foregoing his scrutiny, he asked the young man to wait while he got Dr. Franklin, as it seemed that he was in need of a meeting with the aging man.
Once he came back with the Dr, however, the reaction was staggering. Dr. Franklin seemed to freeze in shock, like he had just seen a ghost, and did not move a muscle for at least a minute. It was the stranger who broke the tension.
"Nice to see you again, Ben." He spoke, a wide smile across his face that seemed impossible, and his voice ringing beautifully like the wind in the west, which he heard was warm and comforting. This made Benjamin Franklin break into a large smile as well, seemingly to happy for words. He ran over to the boy with such speed that seemed impossible at his age, and engulfed him into a tight hug, to which he returned.
"Alfred! You're still alive!" He cried joyously, as if the man's existence was the most important thing in the world to him right now. The man, now dubbed Alfred, simply gave a contented smile, and broke the hug.
"That I am." He replied with an equal amount of joy, though slightly quieter. Franklin looked him over now, seemingly searching for any flaws in his appearance, before looking back up at his face and smiling slightly.
"It's good to have you back, my boy." He said, and guided him over to the seating area, and motioning for Creighton to go back to his work.
Alfred turned to him, and gave an approving look to the apprentice. He turned back to Franklin before giving his reply. "It's good to be back."
It was only years later when he found out the truth about the Mr. Alfred F. Jones, after everything happened. It was only when he met him again, seeing that he had not aged a minute after that meeting, that he realized the man was special. It was only then, did he finally realize the truth of what Alfred was.
The Nation bowed.
"Good afternoon, mister Creighton brown. My name is The United States of America. Nice to see you again."
(lines aint working)
Done!
This was a story I wrote for an assignment in school about a story called… called… huh. I can't remember. Eh, whatever. Hope you liked it.