1 "Late for the Meeting" (Based on episodes AP35 & AP52)
It's a beautiful, sunny day. The afternoon sun descends upon a stately cabin in the wilderness of Northern Ontario. I wake up to another day.
"Sigh…That was a nice nap…Let's see what time it is," I rub my eyes and look at the clock sitting on my nightstand. "Oh, no! 12:15?! I knew I shouldn't have stayed up late last night reading about teddy bears!" Jumping out of bed, I rush to get myself dressed and ready for the day. Tripping on the way down the stairs, my memory rushes to me, reminding me I have to attend the G8 meeting today—the meeting which I'm late for.
Downstairs, I grab a bottle of water while pouring a glass of maple syrup for my toast, which is about to jump out of the toaster. I rush to fill Kumajirou's bowl with food for his breakfast, too. I hope he's not mad; I didn't see him by my bed when I got up this morning…Come to think of it, I didn't see much of anything because I was running around so fast.
"Here you go, Kumajiro," I hand him his food bowl. He's sitting at the table again, waiting for me to serve him.
"Who are you?" That infamous phrase again. His subconscious knows his owner feeds him each morning, but he himself doesn't know who this mysterious "owner" is.
"I don't have time for that now! I'm late for the meeting!" I tangle my hands tying my tie, and I almost trip again spinning around to grab my toast and maple. I catch of glimpse of myself in the chrome of the stove; my hair is a mess. I look as though my glasses should be tilted to the side, but they're the only things in order.
"Will you be all right on your own today?" I hate leaving him here; I'll have to lock the doors first.
He's too busy eating to respond. I'll put him in the hands of fate today.
"Goodbye," I say before rushing out the door. I hate to eat while driving…and I've quite the drive before I get there.
After miles and miles of driving, I must continue to rush. I arrive at the G8 meeting, and I have to dash to the room; I feel bad running down the halls—I don't want to accidentally bump into someone, but I don't want to be late, either. Of course…I already am late…I don't want to be more late. The plain halls of doors zip by me as I run; I search my memory for the right door—upon finding it, my strength gets the best of me, and the door slams itself open.
"I'm so sorry!" I yell (as much as I can) before noticing the faces in front of me; I recognize them in a split second, and I continue, "Pardon my lateness; a terrible thing has happened! When I woke up this morning, it was already past noon!"
Blank looks. All those blank looks staring at me; how too familiar they seem to me.
"Oh, good. You're here…We've been waiting for you, umm…" Japan says.
A warm feeling ignites inside me, "You have? Oh, thank you. I'm so glad you remembered me!" My smile is so big, I can feel it scrunching my face. I sit in the chair closest to the door so that I don't have to move around too much. Everyone else begins to sit down, also. I feel like part of the group, finally.
"Wow," I ponder, "I can't believe they waited for me. How nice of them. Maybe this means I'll get to share my ideas in the meeting today!" I can dream, can't I?
Time passes, and the meeting is over. Naturally, no one paid attention to me again. Taking my time at last, I mope through the halls, retracing my steps to my car. "Sigh. They still didn't notice me or listen to my ideas. I have a few good ones, but sometimes I'm too nervous to share them because I think they won't listen to me, anyway…Well…time to go home and get some work done…" No sooner do I turn the corner, and I hear a familiar voice call out to me.
"Hey you; I'm talking to you."
"Huh?" I turn. That accent…it's England! I haven't seen him in so long, so it's odd that he's suddenly talking to me now…I wonder what he has to say?
"Hey, America, about the next meeting…"
What? Oh, no. He thinks I'm my brother. "I'm sorry, but you've got the wrong guy; I'm not America." I don't even look that much like him…do I? I dress differently…I act differently…I talk differently!
"Huh? What? But…you do look like him. Are you sure?"
"I don't know how to answer that…" Except that I do. I may look like him because we're twins, but we're very different people at our cores. Looks may be deceiving, but…Wouldn't one think that one's inside person would somehow manifest on the outside? Even just a little? I'm so small of the inside that most people don't notice me on the outside…That's why I seem to be so invisible. Or maybe it's because I look so much like my brother that no one thinks I exist; that there are simply two of him.
"You fool!" I'd know that voice anywhere. "Duh. He is Canada!"
Thank you, France. You're always sticking up for me.
"Right! I knew that…hehehe."
Yes, England. I can't believe you don't recognize your own little brother. You used to take care of me and America when we were kids. I was always the obedient child…Now those two are fighting again. Just like they used to fight over me all the time—territory-wise. Now I'm still confused as to whom I belong; I guess I'm both of their brothers. Sigh. Sometimes it makes me so mad when people forget about me. I may not be super special or really memorable, but I'm someone, and I deserve to be noticed! I'll give them all a piece of my mind one of these days! Arrgg! …Oh, but…not today. I've been through enough already. Plus, I have to get back home to Kumajiro—Oh, I hope he's all right.
"Anyway, Canada, I really am sorry about that," England suddenly says, snapping me out of my daydreaming.
"I…can't think of anything to say back…" At least nothing I'd say out loud.
Home sweet home. The key unlocks the wooden door, and I step inside. The calm smell of pine and maple wood says "Welcome home." I sigh, breathing a deep breath.
"Kumajiro, I'm home," I call; my keys clink on the table. "Kumajiro?" My eyes scan the living room. "Where did he go?" I ask myself aloud. "Oh, no. I hope he didn't run away like last time." But didn't I lock the doors? But…what if I forgot?!
It's rushing time again; the whole house blurs around me as I sprint from room to room, checking every possible hiding spot for that silly white bear. I have no luck in the house. My heart rate increasing, I rush outside; the crisp air pushes against my face as I open the door to the deck and scan the panorama. The trees are swaying in the breeze. I don't see that bear! Where—wait. In the grass before the line of trees begins, there's a white ball of fluff staring towards the sky.
"Kumajiro…" Taking the stairs, I finally have a chance to calm down.
"Hm? Who are you?" he turns his cute face toward me and makes that befuddled look that's so becoming of him.
"Kumajiro," I try to be patient with him, "we've been through this a million times. I'm Canada, your owner."
"Cana-who?"
"Sigh. Come back inside. I don't want to lose you like last time," I grab his paw and lead him upstairs; his fur is so soft and warm. "I have some work to do, so you can take a nap in the meantime."
"Hmmmm…OK."
We return inside, shutting out the Autumn breeze and relaxing in the warmth of the cabin's interior. I place Kumajiro on the couch, and I turn to my work desk; gazing upon the massive pile of papers mounding over the "to do" box, I sigh. I'll never get all this work done. Accepting my fate, I sit down, turn on the lamp, and begin reading.
"Sigh. There. I did a lot today." A neat mountain of papers stands in the "to do" box, and two white sheets lay proudly in the "done" box. "Don't want to get it all done; that way I'll have something to do tomorrow." Who am I kidding? Government work is boring.
A soft tug extends my suit, and a small voice calls, "Hey. I'm hungry. Feed me."
"Oh, is it time for dinner already?" Lifting Kumajiro, I walk toward the kitchen; I'm surprised at how heavy he seems. Is he gaining weight or just growing? "OK, Kumajiro. Let's get you something to eat." A yawn escapes me once we reach the kitchen.
After dinner, the sun sets, and the stars twinkle in the cool air. It's time for bed. Kumajiro likes to lay at the end of the bed by my feet like a watchdog. Clothed in maple leaf pajamas (they're my favorite; I can't help it), I take off my glasses and stumble into bed—I can't see very well without my glasses. It's time to dream again.