phare.
"Liet, it took you, like, way too long."
Lithuania laughed quietly. Poland may have been blunt about these sorts of things, but when he wasn't going on his crazy plans and dragon stories, he was always right. There were fifteen years between him and Poland joining the EU, and now it was going to go to waste. Lithuania wondered if this was what happened to America on that fateful day in 1929.
It all seems to go down so fast, doesn't it?
A young boy was lifted towards the sky by his father as his mother grinned and snapped a picture of them standing in front of a large, baubled Christmas tree in Kaunas, Lithuania. Meanwhile, other cameras of the more professional sort were photographing the artificial sculpture as it glittered in green, spiky plastic under the sun. Lithuania watched them all with a smile then finally turned to respond to his friend.
"Taip. Fifteen years." Lithuania paused for a moment to break off a piece of sakotis. "But in my defense…" He smiles sadly. "I had a few… other things to take care of first."
Poland smiled coyly and slapped Lithuania on the back. "It's like, alright! I understand! But Liet! Like, look at where we are now!" He hangs an arm around Lithuania's shoulders. "You're, like, the most successful of the Baltics, and I'm still totally the king of Eastern Europe! We're going to rule over this continent—just like the old days, Liet!" As he says this, he waves his hands over the both of them as Lithuania's eyes follow them, amused.
"You really think so, Poland?" he asked, half-thinking that Poland might have a point and half-wondering if Poland was actually serious. He turned his lips up into a small smile to indicate that if there was a joke, he indeed got it.
Poland turned to Lithuania , his eyes gleaming with delight at the thought of their life "back then."
"I know so, Liet."
It was 1988 when Lithuania stretched his arms out early in the morning for another hard day's work. He was at his wit's end and ready to break away from the strings of being a mere "puppet state." He could feel the people's unrest pumping through his veins. And he could hear the rhythm of his old patriotic songs beat in his heart as he walked at of his house to admire the Baltic Coast. It was worth one rare, peaceful day among endless tumult and discomfort.
Lithuania tiredly toed the edge of the sea and watched the waves roll in and out; always taking something away and always bringing something back. This is was how the ocean lived. And this was how they had lived for far too long. His chestnut bangs hung over the water as he stared at it longingly, wishing that it could have been as easy as swimming away. But there was something always watching him. And someone always ready to catch him.
And so in and out went Lithuania with the waves that pushed him for over 50 years.
It was on this particular day that a small, golden star seemed to surface in mosaics onto the water. Too tired to think, and too fed up to walk back, Lithuania followed his eyes to a small blinking light in Poland's coast. He immediately recognized it—Krynica Morska, one of many lighthouses waiting on the coast of his neighbor's land.
He blinked at it, waiting to see if there was a response.
It blinked back, waiting for him to come.
The sun set slowly in 2011, ending another chillingly normal day in Kaunas, Lithuania. With the light of the large Christmas tree shining on their backs, Poland and Lithuania made their way to the coast to watch the stars and recall stories of dragons and victory and the fall harvest that was worth more in gold than their old boss' crowns. Not too far from the coast stood a lighthouse, blinking and waiting for the two to notice it.
Finally, Lithuania turned to his head to find a familiar friend staring back at it. Poland joined him and suddenly cocked his head, struggling for the right word to describe it.
"Phare." He finally mumbled, trying to perfect the pronunciation.
"What does that mean, Poland?" Lithuania asked his friend curiously.
"Lighthouse. France used that word a lot when he was, like, visiting Hungary and me all the time," Poland replied distractedly.
"Ha, I didn't know France had a thing for lighthouses," Lithuania tried to joke.
"Well, um, he like said it was the EU's way of, like helping us out," Poland explained, completely missing Lithuania's attempt at humor. "They called it a lighthouse because it's, like, supposed to guide us."
"I see." Lithuania pondered, tilting his head towards Poland's. "Well… we're here now, aren't we?"
Poland nodded quietly, for once savoring the silence that had fallen over them.
"Phare." Lithuania whispered to himself, his and Poland's eyes still fixed on the small lighthouse.
A light from afar blinked back, welcoming them to its bright world.