A/N: despite the title, this is no poland-centric fic. for those who don't know, casimir pulaski was a polish general, and lots of places have holidays commemorating how cool he is. illinois celebrates casimir pulaski day on the first monday of march, i believe, hence the title. i could get into it and explain more, but i'm lazy.
this was written in my chemistry class because learning is for the weak. italicized words are lyrics, for the most part. this has a much more normal format than usual. and of course, i don't own hetalia or casimir pulaski day, they belong to himaruya and sufjan stevens respectively. please go listen to this song, it's beautiful.
warning: character death! cancer! cheesiness! genderswap! oh boy!
goldenrod and the 4H stone
the things I brought you when I found out
you had cancer of the bone
your father cried on the telephone
and he drove his car into the navy yard
just to prove that he was sorry
Madeline was dying. There was no question about it, the doctors had said. The figures just didn't work out, and none of it made sense. She had been doing so well. She was going to make it. Madeline was a fighter. She had been beating the cancer out. But her body couldn't give any more. She would die within the week, easily.
Alfred didn't know. He was beyond proud of his girl, he was so sure she would pull through. She had to. She couldn't leave them yet, not now.
Her father had called in tears when they'd gotten the news. Francis had gone out driving. Somewhere, anywhere, it didn't really matter. He just had to think, had to come to terms with the fact that his little girl was losing her grip on this world. He didn't want to talk, didn't want to acknowledge it. But his would-be son-in-law deserved to know.
Things weren't going to be okay.
Alfred went out and bought her flowers.
in the morning, through the window shade
with the light pressed up against your shoulder blade
i could see what you were reading
all the glory that the Lord has made
and the complications you could do without
when I kissed you on the mouth
Francis read her books, sometimes. It kept them both distracted. Her days were numbered, but they were resigned to it. It was just as comforting to listen to her father's voice as it was to spend the time worrying, saying tearful goodbyes. And was so much less tiring, less painful.
Alfred was there, too, but he hardly listened. He watched her. She was small, frail. But she was just as beautiful as when they'd met, even in the shadow of the valley of death.
He felt as though they'd known each other for aeons, like they were meant to be together somehow, be it as friends or lovers. She told him her secrets. They were okay. And then he'd kissed her one night in the park, all awkward teenage confidence, and she had pushed him away. Not because she didn't want it, but because she was afraid it would complicate things. It would destroy the friendship they'd cultivated together. And, it could be said, that it had. But that kiss had given both Alfred and Madeline so much more.
tuesday night at the bible study
we raise our hands and pray over your body
but nothing ever happens
I remember at michael's house,
in the living room, when you kissed my neck
and I almost touched your blouse
Alfred wasn't religious, but Madeline was. Her friends were, too. He had listened to them whisper their scriptures and say their prayers in the waiting room since she'd been hospitalized. He scorned them at first, insisting that speaking to the walls didn't help a girl recover from cancer. Now, though, he was willing to try it. To pray to Madeline's God. To talk to her friends, beg them to please use their spirituality to make her better. Anything. If their God could keep his girl alive, he'd take back everything he'd said. But the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, and he had a feeling they'd just feed him bullshit like always. She's going onto a better place, God's reclaiming one of his flock, he's going to end her suffering. Everything is going to be okay.
But what about Alfred, what about Francis? How could He take away someone who was so perfect, who meant to so much?
As the week passed at an achingly slow pace, and they waited on bated breath, memories came and went. He remembered a party, though whose it was wasn't clear any more. It was just a blur of stained brown carpet in somebody's basement, and an overstuffed couch, and the sheer unholiness in the way that she kissed. He remembered the funny, guilty feeling at just the thought of touching her. And all that remembering was enough to make Alfred cry.
in the morning at the top of the stairs
when your father found out what we did that night
and you told me you were scared
all the glory when you ran outside
with your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied
and you told me not to follow you
He remembered their first time, sneaking into her house after Francis had left on a business trip. He remembered the awkwardness, that teenage cockiness replaced by fear and adrenaline and embarrassment. He remembered how it felt to be inside of her, the beauty of that moment, and he remembered Madeline sleeping on his chest when her father returned the following morning. That sinking fear when Alfred realized they would be caught, that he would only get castrated if he was lucky.
There had been yelling at the initial shock of it, because he couldn't get out of the house fast enough.
He remembered her anger at him, for some stupid thing he'd done, and she'd told him to just go. To not follow her. To stay where he was, that she just didn't want to look at him right now. But Alfred swore he'd follow her anywhere.But I can't follow you now, baby.
sunday night when I cleaned the house
I found the card where you wrote it out
with the pictures of your mother
on the floor of the great divide
with my shirt tucked in and my shoes untied
I am crying in the bathroom
They had been living together before Madeline was put in the hospital. They were going to get married, just a little court house affair, but had continued putting it off. He wished they hadn't.
Her condition had worsened, she was likely to die by the morning. Alfred hadn't wanted to leave the hospital, but he hadn't slept for days, and they insisted he go home and take a breather. Francis was to call if anything happened, bad or good. Resting was futile, though, and he couldn't stop remembering. There was just too much to think about, in the apartment its self. Family pictures. Madeline's clothes.
He sat in the bathroom and cried all night.
in the morning when you finally go
and the nurse runs in with her head hung low
and the cardinal hits the window
in the morning in the winter shade
on the first of march, on the holiday
I thought I saw you breathing
Madeline held out until the morning. Alfred was there, he'd come in as early as they would let him. Both he and Francis wept unashamed, and the nurse, embarrassed for them, could only whisper an, I'm sorry, she's gone, we've lost her. Madeline was dead, and it suddenly felt cold in the world, empty. It wasn't just the weather.
Perfection had been snatched out from under their noses, and Alfred would never stop remembering.
all the glory that the Lord has made
and the complications when I see His face
in the morning in the window
all the glory when He took our place
but He grabbed my shoulders and He shook my face
and he takes and he takes and he takes.