America ran. He checked his phone. The time read 8:25. No, he thought, I can't be late!
He looked up at the sky. Airplanes were coming and leaving, and some far away in the sky. Can we pretend that the airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars? I could really use a wish right now…
I could use a dream or a genie or a wish. To go back to a place much simpler than this. America ran to the street. He hopped onto his motorcycle, and the engine revved.
Cause after all the partyin' and smashing' and crashin' and all the glitz and glam and fashion, all the pandemonium and all the madness.
He remembered taking to her the Pandemonium Club, though she was unused to the noisy environment. He remembered her wearing that plaid miniskirt and top. She was pretty. Her hair was in curls, and she was wearing heels. He remembered laughing at how she almost fell over the moment she took a step that first time.
There comes a time where you fade to the blackness and when you're staring at the phone in your lap and you hoping but them people never call you back. But that's just how the story unfolds.
America was lonely a lot of the time. Except when he was with her. But after they broke up, he wanted somebody to talk to. But everyone was so busy. He couldn't turn to anyone for help.
He ran towards the entrance. The door was heavy, but he pushed it open easily. Where is that flight?
She looked at her phone. I'll be there soon! Don't go yet! That America texted again. She flipped her phone shut and carried her luggage to the waiting area. She sat down and glanced at the clock. 8:26. She was to board the plane in ten minutes. She waited.
America ran through the airport. He raced past the stairs, past the baggage claim. Where are you? He went onto the escalator, but it was too slow. He couldn't run up. He waited, with each precious second ticking away. You get another hand soon after you fold, and when your plans unravel and they say, what would you wish for if you had one chance? Japan had told him once. So airplane, airplane, sorry I'm late. I'm on my way so don't close that gate!
Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars? I could really use a wish right now!He remembered that night, that one night, where he finally felt happy in his life. When she said yes, she would.
America ran through the thread of people at the gift shops. He stopped for a second.
He remembered when he was only just a colony.
"England?" he had said. "Can we go home how?"
"Yes" England had said and took him by the hand and led him back to the house.
Then a few years later. The Revolutionary War.
"Dammit! Why won't you listen?" England shouted in exhaustion. England blocked each lunge America gave to him.
"Why won't you let me be independent?" England thrust his bayonet at him. America blocked the attack, leaving a scratch on his own.
"I-I-I can't! You're my brother, America! I can't let you own your own! Dammit!"
England dropped to his knees.
"You used to be so big."
Flight 25 is leaving in five minutes. Passengers, please make your way to gate 74.
No! I can't let her go!
America ran. He didn't stop. He couldn't. Not when this would be the only time he could apologize, to get her back.
He reached Gate 32. He continued. He bolted across the hall, until he reached Gate 74.
The plane was leaving.
NO!
America dropped down to his knees.
"Get up from the floor, jerk."
He looked up. His face spread into a grin.
She looked down on him. Her face was expressionless.
"It's about time you got here. I was just about to get on the plane."
"But first….I-I'm sorry. Can you forgive me for everything I did?"
She looked away for what seemed like forever. She was evidently blushing.
"Guess so."
America jumped up.
"Belarus….I…." He suddenly hugged her, having to bend down a bit
"Whatever. Just help me with my luggage". She thrust her luggage at him.
"Hey, Belarus, have you heard of the joke where there's this guy named….."
America was rambling on and on. Belarus walked along him. The two walked out of the airport, and home. Up in the sky, the plane passed by in a flurry of lights. Belarus smiled. He was okay.
Can we pretend that the airplanes in the night sky are light shooting stars?