Musical suggestion: Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller, or Bing Crosby for the next two chapters.

A Matter of Time

By: Dr. Cultural Studies

Chapter Six: New York

Here goes, looks like I'm falling

Call me "Devil May Care"

I know it shouldn't be

But you know me, pal

I'll take a dare – Glenn Miller, "Devil May Care"

America's obnoxiously loud laughter broke me from my reverie. I had been staring out at the skyline, taking in the beauty of old New York City. "You look like a kid at Christmas, Shelly!" Alfred stood as the plane came to a stop, shooting me a broad grin. "I don't know how they do it in the future, but now we get off on the air strip."

"Oh!" I rose from my seat and shuffled out into the aisle. "I forgot. In the future—" Catching sight of the pilots, I changed my wording. "I mean, back home we have ways of connecting the terminal to the plane. It's safer."

"Man, the future sounds awesome. I can't wait to get there!" America pumped his fist as we exited. For a single moment, I caught the eyes of the co-pilot and smiled. He merely dipped his head as the pilot sent me a bright grin. For some reason, my stomach lurched. It was unnerving. Not thinking on it, I stepped out into the sunlight. "Shelly, c'mon! We're meeting a friend of mine just over there. See that car?"

See that car? I peered over to where a nice-looking Oldsmobile was waiting. The light green paint job was gleaming in the sunlight, shimmering from a new paint job. From the distance, I could just make out a figure leaning on the passenger-side door with his arms crossed and a fedora upon his head.

Alfred looped an arm around my shoulders and began to lead me in that direction, pushing his glasses up in the process. I really didn't have the heart or the gumption to shrug his arm off. Instead, I just let him guide me along.

When I could see the man up close, I wasn't quite sure what to think. He looked an awful lot like Britain with semi-thick eyebrows and corn-yellow hair. His eyes though…His eyes were Alfred through and through.

It was every-bit as creepy as one might imagine. Seeing someone who looked to be the strange love-child of Britain and America…It was weird. The fans would have a fit.

"So this is the dame!" He swept his hat off and gave me a wink.

My jaw dropped open. That wasn't the accent I had been expecting. Maybe a dialect of British or some standard American voice, but certainly not that of Brooklyn. Not just Brooklyn, but Italian Brooklyn. Sort of like the Mafia movies Dad had watched with me as a kid. His vowels were rounded, but bright and forward. Tentatively, I reached out my hand for him to shake. "Hi, I'm Michelle."

"Well, Shelly, it's great to meet you! Ol' Al here was tellin' me how ya got into this little time predicament."

Shooting a look at Alfred, he held up both hands. "It was a secure line. You're way too freakin' paranoid. Not like Germany's gonna come snatchya outta bed, right?"

The new guy completely overrode Alfred's defense, stepping forward and into my personal space. I took a step backward to avoid him. "It's a pleasure to meet a fine lady, such as yourself. Me? I'm John J. Jones. At your service."

Jones? I looked at Alfred again and he shrugged, "He's my little brother."

"Little? I'm just as old as you! Older, actually! I'm older!"

America shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, "Whatever. You're shorter anyway. Always have been."

"Shorter? I'm not—" John stopped and glanced at me, lowering his raised fist. "Listen, Al, you're lucky there's pretty Betty here or I'd kick your—" He stopped again and looked to me. "Ignoring my stupid brother here, you are most welcome to hop in my car, darlin'. It's a privilege to cruise around with a dame as co-pilot." With a flick of his wrist the car door was open and he was guiding me inside.

Just before I could sit, Alfred was (somehow) already in the seat. With a smirk, he looked up at his brother. "Whoops. I fell in. Can you believe that? A hero like me just falling like that? Whaddya know? Eh, Michelle, I'm tired and don't want to get up. Could you take a seat in the back?"

My brows rose, "You fell in?"

"Yup," he nodded, "I sure did. Just tripped right into the front seat. Johnny, why don't you help her into the back seat?"

Growling a few curses under his breath, the would-be lady-killer helped me into the back seat before stalking up to his seat behind the wheel. He didn't question why his brother had me sitting in the back, which led me to believe that he already knew. Instead of bothering with it, I took to examining the inside of the vehicle.

It was nice, way nice. Though I wasn't very well-versed in car knowledge, I did know that this was a classic. In eighty years, it would become a priceless addition to someone's nostalgic car collection. The leather was smooth like butter and the chrome was extremely detailed. He took a lot of pride in this car. I could tell from its pristine condition.

"She's a nice broad, huh?" John was looking at me in the rear view mirror. He smiled broadly, "You still got cars in the future or do you all fly around in hovercrafts?"

I laughed, "Cars."

"See? I knew it!" John cheered, slamming a fist into his brother's shoulder. Alfred screeched, pulling away from the assault. "I told you that there would be cars in the future. I knew it."

"You haven't brought this up to Julia, right?" America questioned nervously.

John's mouth opened and then closed. He sighed, "I don't have a choice, do I? Gotta keep quiet about all of this. When it's over though? I get to tell her. Everything. She'll be stoked." Did everyone in this verse use anachronistic language? "Bro, I—"

While the brothers bickered, I began trying to puzzle my way through John J. Jones' identity.

Surely he wasn't human. No, that couldn't be possible as a "brother" of America. Was he really a brother though or was that just for show? America's brother was Canada and no others had really been mentioned in the canon. Canada was the only brother and they were twins.

What else could it be? I looked between the two and sighed.

Then, it struck me like a ton of bricks: the states.

People in the fandom often personified the states since they were essentially separate nations united into one. My gaze skittered to John's reflection in the mirror.

John J. Jones.

John Jay.

I hid my shock in a fit of coughs. Both men turned to check on me and I held up a hand signaling that I was perfectly fine. Once they turned back around to start bickering again, I gaped at the back of their seats. Oh, I said I was 'perfectly fine'…

However, I wasn't 'perfectly fine' at all.

I was dumbstruck.

Sitting behind the wheel was the personification of New York.

What. The. Actual. Hell.

As a scholar, I shouldn't have been all that surprised. I should have realized straight-off who he was. With a name like John J. Jones, it would seem fairly obvious that he took his name after John Jay, the Founding Father and the second governor of New York. In my mind, I berated myself. I was stupid not to catch that sooner. Peering up at the front seat, I could see the family resemblance.

Alfred was taller by almost a foot, but John was bulkier. He had a more defined jawline and his eyes were actually a darker blue than his "brother's" sky. His hair was distinctly messier, wind-swept and yet stylish. The added fedora was a clear stylistic choice, giving him the appearance of an upper-crust gangster. Could I expect anything less of New York's personification? Neatly pressed shirt and tie, but no glasses. John was more clean-cut than Alfred by a long-shot.

How strange…What was characteristic of John that made him New York and not New Jersey, aside from just his name? Or was I being overly sensitive? Could he—No, I wouldn't doubt myself here. This guy was a personification, a State. I knew it.

It seemed that some headcannons back home were correct: state personifications did exist.

"So, a nice dame like you must have some smart fella back home, right?"

My head turned toward John just as Alfred popped him on the shoulder.

"Damn it, Al! Try that again and I'll break your damn glasses, four-eyes! Don't think I won't just because Ralph gave 'em to ya! I'll break 'em and toss 'em out on the street! The taxis can have at 'em then, damn it!"

Interceding in what could have been a fight, I answered his question. "No, there's no fella back home."

"What—Really? How old are you?"

Ah, now I could see where this was going. Women were generally married by the time they reached twenty-one back during this era. I was probably considered something of an "old maid." Even if it was a rude question, I answered him anyway, "Twenty-four."

"HOW ABOUT THEM DODGERS, HUH?" America shouted, quite obviously trying to end this discussion before it even began. He knew I hailed from a progressive era, but he didn't seem convinced that his brother would be quite as open-minded as he was to the whole idea of women being equal.

John glanced in the rear-view mirror, "You sure don't look twenty-four."

"Thank you," I nodded. "Take a closer look and you'll see gray hair and wrinkles."

"So…Why aren't you married yet? Got lots of skeletons in your closet or a bunch of bad habits? It's always the quiet ones."

There it was. New York.

It wasn't necessarily the rude question. That wasn't what I equated with the state at all.

No, rather it was the straight-forward nature of his questioning. There was no hesitation there, just blatant curiosity. To other countries or states this probably would have been perceived as rudeness or overall uncouth behavior. There was no maliciousness in his eyes though and that was what made me realize that he was just asking to be asking. Making conversation, if you will.

"Too busy for romance."

"Too busy making sandwiches?" I snorted at his question. "Nah, I'm kidding. I feel that though. Even women got things to do. Stop glaring at me, Alfred. She wasn't offended. Were you, Shelly?"

Al glanced back to me and frowned, "Sorry. He's a little…"

"Honest? Blunt?" John chuckled amusedly, turning onto a rather deserted street.

"Yeah," Alfred pursed his lips. "You could call it that or you could call it 'being a jackass.'"

"Semantics," New York responded with a shrug.

Rolling my eyes, I turned to look out the window once more. "It's fine. No offense taken. I'm encountered worse. Besides, he wasn't trying to be mean. Just trying to break the silence."

"She knows me already, Al."

We were entering into one of the more affluent neighborhoods, as evidenced by the brick-front townhomes, flower planters, and park benches. Although my study in graduate school had nothing to do with architecture (history was enough, believe me), I could guess that there was some Federalist style in the designs, as evidenced by the black shutters and brick fronts. The only reason I knew that much was because of my architecture-obsessed roommate from Old Miss.

It was funny.

A stereotypical 1940s New York neighborhood.

I could practically hear Benny Goodman's clarinet wailing away and the sound of Glenn Miller's trombone. Jazz and swing on every street corner, playing over the radio.

We were in Brooklyn, which identified with John's overly thick accent without question.

Smacking his lips, America turned and gestured wildly toward a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. "See that place, Shell? They have the best burgers! Like for real! The best burgers!" His lips smacked again and he gave an appreciative whoop. "Oh yeeeeah! I'll have to take you there sometime, Shelly."

"You won't, but I will. She's under my care now, remember? And you've got to head back to D.C. Lots of meeting and shit, remember?"

Alfred sent his brother a withering glare. "I can spare time for one burger…or twenty. Maybe thirty? Well, no more than fifty. Well…However many I end up eating. Seriously, Johnny! I've got time!"

"Whatever," John waved, pulling the car into park outside of a brick-faced rowhouse. An American flag was perched outside the front door, flapping proudly in the light breeze. Some pink flowers resided within a faded black flower box on the bay window. It looked stunningly stereotypical of New York City. In that stereotype, I found the humor. Hetalia. Stereotypes. Ha. "Here we are! Hold on, Michelle." I paused in my opening the door and waited until John had whisked the door open himself, gesturing grandly toward his home.

I was utterly fascinated.

In the twenty-first century, such chivalry was rare.

"Come on in," Johnny waved for me to follow. "Yo, Alfred! You gonna stand around there all day or you gonna come inside, man?"

My gaze skittered to the personification that had come to stand next to me. In turn, Alfred frowned at the rows of houses. His eyes narrowed. I could feel the apprehension rolling off of him. "The houses," he sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "I don't see any flags." There was a kind of squeak to his voice like he was whining or being choked. I couldn't really say which. "Johnny, there a reason why people on your street aren't putting up the colors?"

"C'mon, Al! There are some flags down there. See 'em? They're there. And you should see Coney. They've got the colors up all over the place." John shrugged and held the door to his house open, gesturing for us to come inside. I was ushered forward first, stepping into the beautiful home of New York.

It was everything one would expect from the outside. Wainscoting carried throughout the living room and the hallway space, painted a chic white. Dark hardwoods, probably original to the home itself, went throughout the house, up the stairs and into the upper floors. The sitting room was decorated in various light colors, books lining the far wall.

"Houses look different in the future, doll? Or is my house just that impressive?"

Alfred hurriedly shut the door and glared at his brother. "Secret. Under cover. Needs protection. What part of all this did you not understand, bro?"

"Chill out, Al! No one is going to find out about Michelle's secret identity. Trust me; if anyone can keep a big secret, it's me. Especially secret identities. That's why you called in the first place. I'm the master of secrets." His deep blue eyes turned to me and he grinned, "No matter what old Alfred here tells you, I've got you protected. You're in good hands. I promise you. You'll be safe with me."

Alfred crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "It's not that I don't trust you, Johnny. You know that. It's just—"

"Just because I can be a little loud and a little free-spirited, you think I can't keep secrets? You know that's bullshit. From experience."

Glancing between the two of them, I decided to just let them settle this matter themselves. Instead I settled on moving to explore the sitting room. A huge, antique (which meant it was quite contemporary for the time I was stuck in) radio was placed in the corner near the white-curtained windows. I meandered over to it, brushing my hand over the polished wood. Really, these Nations needed to learn to hush their voices. It really was a miracle that they hadn't been found out already.

"If this is about my ties with Germany and Italy…"

"It's not," America shot back. "I know you'd never—That's not in your character, New York!"

"Damn right it's not!" New York growled, shaking his head. "Do you know what Alabama said the other day? Said that I was probably collaborating with Germany and Italy since we've been so close in the past. Jersey hit that hick so hard that Alabama could hardly stand." His voice lowered considerably and I could feel them watching my movements about the room. "Germany has gone bat shit. Italy won't abandon him again, not after the first war. You know how Germany reacted to that betrayal. If anything, Italy doesn't want to disappoint Germany again."

My hand rose to rest on a world history book that was snug in the corner of the built-in bookshelves. Couldn't they sense me listening?

"I'd never help them, America. You know I wouldn't. My people…They're scared and they're appalled, but they aren't helping those bastards."

There was a long term of silence before Alfred responded. "Britain told me to be careful with German spies. I will bet that he warned Georgia, Alabama, and Virginia as well as the other southern states. You know he's still kinda close to them."

"Never made any sense…" New York muttered. "Those rednecks never actually liked Iggy. They just needed his resources. And they're still pissed he didn't help them like he promised."

"That's not true and you know it," America sighed. "They could say the same for you and Netherlands." John scoffed while Alfred continued, "If things escalate, you'll need to keep your German citizens under watch. I can't stop whatever actions the government decides to take against them."

"We can't kill our own people!"

America hushed him and I continued looking at the books, pulling a novel from the shelf. Whitman.

Yeah, that wasn't shocking at all. What was even more interesting was the fact that both Nations could sense the coming internment of German-Americans and the expulsion of those citizens to various South American countries. "I won't allow that. I won't let them be harmed. You know I won't. I'm the hero and I can't…I can't—any of my own civilians like that, but…Anything other than that, my hands are tied." I felt myself being watched. "You got her some clothes, right bro?"

"Yeah, yeah." New York answered. I slipped another book off the shelf, trying to seem distracted. "You know, you can trust me with her. You're already protective. I can see it in your eyes. You really can't help yourself, can you?"

I paused and acted as if I were reading one of Walt Whitman's poems.

To think of time—of all that retrospection!

America shifted. I could hear his boots on the hardwoods. "She's just been thrown here, in the middle of a war. Everything she ever knew…it's gone. I just…feel bad for her, you know? That would…suck."

My grip on the book grew tight. No, he shouldn't feel bad for me! I mean, I felt bad for myself. Sure. It had passed my mind numerous times just how screwed I really was. It was likely I would never get home. I was stranded in a fictional 1940, just before the worst of WWII.

At any moment, I could lose my composure and cry myself into oblivion. At any moment, my existence could be compromised and my life endangered. The only solid blessing and good fortune I had was the fact that my family was safe in my home world. Beyond that, I was in a constant state of insecurity and the nervousness never faded away.

Nevertheless, America had bigger issues to think about. I was the least of them.

In the grand scheme of things, I was nothing.

And I knew it.

And I wanted it to remain that way.

To think of to-day, and all the ages continued henceforward!

"She doesn't know and she can never find out about us, John. It would put her in so much more danger than she already is. I mean, like woah, danger. You get me?"

"I get you, man." John conceded. "If she hasn't figured it out with you and Iggy around, then she isn't likely ever to figure it out. The two of you are the worst at keeping this secret aside from Italy and Denmark. You forget who is around when you two start arguing and slip up."

Yes, that was the truth. At least someone was aware of how reckless Britain and America were when in the heat of the moment.

"Hey! Iggy makes the mistakes. Not me 'cause I'm the hero!" America was silent for a few moments before: "You have to guard her with your life, okay? Well, not—You know what I mean. I would—I would—but I can't. By all technicalities, she's Tennessee's, but—dude— I'm trustin' her to you. Please…just don't let her get hurt. She's a lot more afraid than she's letting on and…She's my citizen."

"Is that why you didn't let her stay in Britain with Iggy? It might've been a better idea in the long run considering we don't have the magic to send her home."

"What magic?" America scoffed. "She decided to come with me," he sighed. "Iggy was pissed, but it's better for her safety. If anyone can keep her and her knowledge safe, it's me (because I'm the hero). And Britain's already having problems with resources and spies." Another long-suffering sigh, "The others weren't even options because no one else can know. Besides, I can see why she's keeping quiet. I understand. Sort of. Kinda. And she's tryin' to be so brave with all this. I just can't help but want to help her out."

"Hero complex," I heard New York mutter. "You just see a dame in distress and can't help yourself."

"That too," Alfred laughed lightly. "Just…try to keep her safe. Hopefully, this war will blow over sometime soon and we can get her home."

"Sure thing, Al. I'll do everything I can. Maybe Britain can find a way to send her back before things get too out of hand, right?"

Why did I feel such a surge of uselessness?

Of course I was useless. It was best to accept that fact straight-out. I was a fish climbing a tree, in the words of Albert Einstein. Like America, my hands were tied. I could do nothing to aid in the war because I had to keep the future a secret.

Furthermore, I couldn't regard these personifications as Nations but rather as men. I was relying entirely on the kindness of others and it was infuriating me. For years I had been self-sufficient. I had my own apartment. I paid my own bills. I bought my own clothes. I cooked my own food.

These were things that were considered rebellious in the 1940s. For the most part.

Women were not regarded as able to work real jobs. Not until the men were called into service did women enter the factories and the various other jobs vacated by men.

My knowledge of the future: classified secret.

My knowledge of the Nations: classified (personal) secret.

All of the conventions I had ever known or embraced: gone.

Have you guess'd you yourself would not continue?
Have you dreaded these earth-beetles?
Have you fear'd the future would be nothing to you?

My teeth gritted together. I'd have to make do. There was nothing I could do but press through this mess. Maybe, perhaps, someday I would make it back home. Maybe I would be able to hug my mother again. Maybe I could return to my friends. The fact remained though:

The world I had known was gone— from the roles of women, to Civil Rights, to advanced technology.

America was right.

Everything I had ever known was gone.

Except America.

Not the personified Nation. The nation itself.

In some twisted way, I was in my homeland. The flag outside, though lacking two stars, was the same as the one that flew out side of that small community college in the Kansas City of 2015. It was the same. Regardless of all the peripheral factors, that remained the same. For that much, I was thankful. Some sense of familiarity was there and I was clinging to that fact like a life vest. America was the only thing familiar in this uncanny world.

Is to-day nothing? Is the beginningless past nothing?
If the future is nothing, they are just as surely nothing.

"Yo, Shelly!" Alfred sauntered up to my side and looked down at the book I was reading. "Woah, Walt Whitman! Love his stuff. 'Course Hemingway's better."

"Shut up," John hissed and moved up to my other side. "Walt was and is better than that wuss Hemingway will ever be!" Hemingway, a wuss? Hello to the 'no.'

"Is this because Walt was from New York?" I questioned, raising a brow at New York's personification. "Isn't that a little biased?"

His expression was nothing less than shocked at my knowledge. "How'd you know that? No one knows that unless—"

"She was a teacher in her time," Alfred answered hurriedly. "Of course she knows."

"Speaking of," I placed the book back on the shelf and turned to the two men. "Would it be possible for me to get a job at a local school? I'd like to at least help out around here if I'm going to be staying."

John's jaw dropped and he did a double-take. "You want to…get a job?"

My head nodded and I glanced to Alfred's face. He shot me a wink and a proud stare. I wondered if perhaps I was pushing my luck. Then again, the education system of the 1940s was, in a word, horrible. The salaries of teachers during that time were as low as thirty-seven dollars a week. This included both teaching and extracurricular activities for the children. Besides that, it would be difficult to find that kind of employment without a higher degree. Then again, a higher degree would make me seem over-qualified for the job and they would find a way not to hire me.

"Well, maybe I shouldn't…"

"It's only June. We may be able to pull this off by August." New York huffed and sized me up with a glance. "You sure you want to teach, doll face? You really don't have to and I'm certainly not gonna make ya. I'm pretty used to being the breadwinner."

Alfred shot him a glare and looked back to me with a supportive smile. "Yeah," America nodded. "You don't have to get a job."

"I want to work for my keep, so if I don't teach then I'll do housework."

"Teaching it is!" John caved with a nervous shout. "Anything but cleaning. I'll take cooking. I can cook better than anyone! Better than you and better than anyone else. Better than Alfred." Of course he could, I thought blandly, he was New York. He likely knew cuisines from all over the globe. "You can teach! Yeah, teaching is good. We're short on teachers anyway. Not like anyone wants to—"

"LET'S GET YOU SETTLED IN, SHELLY! HAHAHAHA!" America roughly grabbed my shoulders and began dragging me up the narrow staircase. "WOOO!"

I was dragged none too ceremoniously up the stairs by a cackling America. New York followed behind, a shit-eating grin on his face. For a few moments, I wondered if I should have been concerned about America's redirection, but I didn't bother with it. Whatever it was, it likely paled in comparison to my experiences over the last seventy-two hours.

Low pay? I could care less.

Bad conditions? Bring them on.

Compared to modern-day American classrooms, they couldn't be so bad, right?

And if they were, I would deal with it. I had to support myself and earn my keep. Forties or not, I was a modern day woman and I was not going to become some 'dame' that needed a man to survive. I could and would win my own bread. I wasn't going to just sit on my hands.

"This is your room," John smiled. As I stepped inside, my eyes skittered around the small bedroom. "It's not swanky like other places. I just like functionality. Small spaces gotta work around here." He didn't know the half of it. When New York City grew, it grew upward. The apartments got smaller and smaller within the past eighty years. Or rather, future eighty years? I would have to get used to that.

"I'm more than grateful to have a roof over my head, John. I could care less whether it was the Waldorf-Astoria or Holiday Inn."

"Okay," he smirked, "I got half of that reference."

"Um," I thought about a way to rephrase. It was easiest to switch into teacher-mode. "Essentially, I could care less if this place were a mansion or a shack. Holiday Inn will become a middle-to-upper class hotel chain about fifty years from now. Waldorf-Astoria is one of the most well-known hotels in New York, even in quite a few years from now…" Brushing my hand along the soft blanket that lay on the bed, I continued. "I'm just thankful to be housed in such comfortable accommodations."

"She does this a lot," America whined. "All that uppity-talk."

"Your clothes are in the drawers and closet," John smiled widely, thankfully changing the subject. Alfred rolled his eyes and began fiddling with the small radio on the dresser. "Got you a lot of things so you wouldn't be without. There's still some…stuff…that you need to get. Namely, shoes."

There were quite a few suits and dresses in the closet. Some feminine pants were in the drawers. It was all more than I could have hoped for. I'd have to go shopping for unmentionables and shoes, but that would give me time to settle in of my own accord. I was unspeakably grateful and when I began to say as much, both men waved me off.

"I helped out 'cause I'M THE HERO!" Alfred shouted, beaming at me. I didn't flinch at his volume.

John was a bit more subdued, "You're welcome, doll face. You'll be fine here. We'll be some good roommates." Although, a male and female living together without being married was considered bad form during this time period, he didn't seem all that bothered by the idea. Maybe he was a bit more forward-thinking than America seemed to believe. "Besides, I'm lucky to be living with such a pretty dame." Fighting back a blush, I shook my head and grinned. "Well, a guy's gotta try, right?"

"Nope," America shot back. "You don't have to keep trying at all! Brains really ain't your type, bro."

"How about you shut up, Alfred? Or I'll break ya glasses."

As the two personifications argued, I slowly made my way to the window of my new room. I looked out onto the peaceful streets of Brooklyn Heights. On the horizon, Manhattan was teeming with life. And as the sun sank a bit lower, I thought I saw some darkness seeping in from the west. When I blinked again, that dark shadow was gone and the sunset was a brilliant orange and red.

My only fear was the morning when the sun would rise with red. If the sun rose with red, then storms were coming. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. So they say.

A red dawn was approaching.

This was the last bit of peace before the war kicked into full-swing. Soon enough, the Battle of Britain would begin. Arthur would be left to the German Blitz, terror bombings. America would grow more and more involved—"soft-hearted but not soft-headed" in the face of growing fear amongst nations.

Extermination camps were already on the rise. Labor camps as well. Jews would be forced to wear the yellow stars. Estonia and Latvia would become a part of the Soviet Union, as Russia collected Nations like empty bottles of vodka. Italy would try to invade Egypt and Greece. Both would require the help of Germany eventually, but only one would fall to the German-Italian forces. Egypt would remain under British control until the end of the war. The American draft would begin. The Tripartite Pact would be signed on September 27, 1940, thus making the Axis Trio united in mutual aid. Warsaw, Poland. Hungary and Romania would subsequently join the Axis.

All of that in the remainder of 1940 alone—a span of six months.

Oh, God help us all. This war was just beginning.

And there was no escape.

As the sun sank, I realized that a nightmare lurked on the horizon—a terrible storm brewing over Europe and the Pacific.

The Nation in the doorway was completely unaware of the pain that was approaching, just laughing and listening to the swing and jazz New York was playing on the radio. John Jay Jones chuckled and turned the dial on the small radio even louder. The rapid beats of "Sing, Sing, Sing" made it feel like my head was spinning.

They didn't know.

I couldn't tell them.

It was becoming harder to breathe, harder to think. I just stared out that window and listened as the trumpets played faster and faster. It was foreboding that filled my chest. Images of what was to come raced through my head, stirred on by the rapid beats of the music.

There was no escape.

For anyone.

No escape.

Suddenly, the prospect of living in New York City during the forties was terrifying and the thrill of meeting a living State left a bitter taste in my mouth. Frowning, I turned slightly from the window and watched as America and New York played along with imaginary instruments to the swing tune that lilted out of the radio. They laughed and smiled, dramatically wailing on their air-clarinets. And I watched, transfixed, wondering how long such carefree times could last.