It's a very irritable and hungover batch of nations that get off the plane and go in a herd to the all kinda go to our rooms, me carryin' Maribel who's fallen asleep, and collapse. Things look to be goin' great, and the summit's tomorrow.
I wake up the next morning, my headache gone, and the feelin' that I done something terrible. Nat looks at me from her spot by the hotel room TV and sighs.
"I was just goink to be wakink you up. We're goink to be late for the first meetink if you don't hurry."
I jump up and run into the wall, forgettin' that I ain't in my own room, (Nat snorts at me) then recover and hurry to at least wash my face and run a comb through my hair. As usual, I get real close to the mirror to look for any weirdness on my face. There's a couple new freckles, I think, startin' to make a bridge across my nose, but that's alright, as I work in the sun, so I would get new ones. After all, God tries to protect white farmboys from sunburns by makin' 'em get freckles in the place where sunburn hurts the most, on the face and shoulders. Sarah, the lady who brought me up on the plantation told me that when I asked why none of the dark-skinned slave boys got freckles like I did.
My eyes are still the pale blue of the way ice-crystals look on TV, which must be 'cuz I was born in winter, on December 20, which was the day South Carolina seceded in 1860 to form my country. I've got a couple dull purple-blue marks on my collarbone, which I learned the first time I got 'em is where someone bites you in the heat of passion. Nothin' I can't hide with a shirt, though.
"J.G., you need to wear a proper tie. This is a real summit, not a crisis meetink like before." Nat says from the doorway. She's talkin' about the first time I ever went to a UN conference, which was right after the 9/11 attacks. Alfred, who hadn't even seemed to care if I was alive or dead for a hundred years contacted me and told me to come in a hurry to New York. That's where I met Nat, too, is at the conference.
"Yeah, I hear ya." I say. I don't like ties. They feel like they're tryin' to choke me. But I gotta wear it if I gotta wear it. I let Nat put the thing on my neck and gently tighten it.
"There, that should be good." she says. I look in the mirror. I've gone back to wearin' my old suspenders, as I think it makes me look more proper. Nat thinks with my red flannel and my suspenders and boots I look like an old-fashioned country man (or a lumberjack, as Al always seems to sing that damn song about 'em when he sees me dress like that). I think Nat's only half right. I am, after all, only nineteen, on the outside, and just a baby to the other nations at about a hundred fifty otherwise.
"Where's Maribel?" I ask.
"Oh, she and her friends are off with the micro-nations. I thought it might be better to keep her out of the meetink which she may find borink." Nat answers. The micro-nations are a bunch of nation kids, who range in age from little Wy who's twelve to Seborga who's fifteen. They seem alright, so I don't got a problem with 'em watchin' my kid for a few hours.
"Now, because this is a formal conference, you need to speak as formally as you are able." Nat tells me. That pretty much means I gotta- have to clean up my way of talkin'- talking for the duration of the thing. It means I can't say 'ain't' or 'gonna' or 'wanna' or use 'don't got' when I can say 'don't have' and all the other rules the headmaster at my school in Independence, Missouri tried to make me follow. Jacob is pretty sure Missouri is Midwestern and I maintain that they're Southern and would'a been Confederates if we hadn't been conquered and reconstructed. Nat reminded me that it ain't polite to fight with someone you just met, so I told Jacob that I don't fight girls and left it at that.
"Aww, c'mon, Nat! Don'tcha know Ah kin talk plen'y good whan Ah wanna?" I say, grinnin'. She just sighs and pulls me out the door to the meeting building.
"Today our subject will be the recent economic downfall at- Southern US, please refrain from putting your head down, thank you..." the German one goes on and on. I just sigh and start to jigglin' my leg without really thinkin' much about it. I only realize I'm doin' it when Alfred nudges me and hisses,
"You're shaking the whole table! Cut it out!"
"Sorry." I hiss back. "Hard to sit still fer so long." I say as a reason why. Alfred nods slightly and raises his hand up.
"Yes, America?" the German asks.
"We've been here for like, an hour. Can we have a break?"
"It has only been fifteen minutes since the last one. No." he says and keeps goin' on. "...And so, we can conclude that- Southern US, please pay attention!"
I had this problem at school, too, where my fidgetin' and lack of attention span usually ended in me gettin' my backside switched in front of the whole class or my hand findin' itself whacked with a stingin' ruler. Glad they don't do that here.
"Southern US, since you are fidgeting so much, perhaps it is because you have something to speak on, hmm?" Germany finally says. I shake my head.
"No, sir, I don't." I say.
"I'm sure you do. When you are ready." he says, sittin' down and glarin' at me to get up and do it. I ain't got nothin', but I 'spose I better think of somethin', or I'll look like an idiot, which I think is my punishment for not payin' enough attention. Honestly I'd rather take the switch then be embarrassed this way. I sidle up to the whiteboard at the front of the room, and smile nervously at the bored nations.
"Er... I..." I start, "Well, uhm... Texas said they want-to secede 'gain. I don't think that's likely, as it'd mean my glasses going away and I kind-of need those." Then, it hits me. Ain't I seen this done a million times, to divert things and win the audience, in my two hundred years?
"But, that ain't- isn't interesting, is it? Why don't y'all raise your hands up and I'll call on you and you can tell me world issues which I don't much keep up on, or stuff even back home in my country, and that way we'll get value-ble im-put on good topics!" This gets a bit more interest and Alfred, helpin' me, raises his hand. I grab a ruler and point at him.
"America, what's your topic?"
"What's the 'world's crop?' Rice or something else, do you think?"
"I'd feel inclined to say cotton, as that's what I grew up growin', but that ain't really the whole world no more." I say. "So prob'ly rice. We grow rice in Florida and South Carolina. Peanuts too. And cotton, of course. Wheat's pretty important, as ain't that where bread comes from?" I say. "So far as I'm concerned, as a part-time farm owner, my cotton plants and the wheat and corn I feed my workers with is most important."
Alfred nods. A few more hands pop up. I point out a young African girl nation I don't know the name of, sayin, "Your nation name, too, please, Miss."
"Kenya. You're the former confederate, right? The ones who left the US for a time?"
"Yes, Miss, that I am." I answer.
"So... what about the race issues still going on in your nation?" she smiles at me in a sad way, "I'm sorry to be the one to bring it up, but I just want to know..." She sounds a lil' British. Prob'ly grew up with Arthur. I always thought other nations were left to run their own lives and grow that way, like me, but then I learned that some, like Alfred, were brought up by older nations.
"I don't find many race issues still goin' on." I say. "I guess my daughter called her black classmate a bad name once, but that's my fault for sayin' it one time around her on accident." a bunch of the nations just sigh. Al asks me,
"What exactly, did she say?" and I swear he's just tryin' to either see if I'll say it, which I ain't shy about, or get some sort of reaction from me.
"Um, she called him a 'damn dirty n_.'" I say. The entire room kinda went quiet, as people do when you say that word like it's nothin', I've noticed. I grew up hearin' it, so I guess I'm sorta de-sensitized.
"Hah, I've been called that." Al says. "And delinquent along with it." Well, at least he didn't gasp in horror, or punch me or whack me with a purse or kick me or something, all of which has been done to me before.
"I can't say I'm shocked. Lookit you. Did Oliver buy you at an auction and then discover your nation nature and adopt you?" I ask. People are glarin' at me, but I'm used to that too. Yankees don't care much for a Southerner with very Southern views.
"Pfft, no. I was born to him, like any other kid."
"How did a white Frenchman and a white Englishman make a brown kid?" I ask. "Is that what happens when you homo couples try'n have babies?"
"Nah." Al says, and won't answer any more questions about it. That accomplished, I sit back down and Arthur stands up.
"Thank you, Southern US. Now, do any other US representitives have anything to add?" Jacob raises his hand. He's wearin' a black suit with a tie the same lavender as his eyes. Arthur points at him.
"Ah yes, our newcomer. Your name and nation, as well, please?"
"Jacob Jones, Midwestern US." he says, standing up. Alfred's hand shoots up suddenly. Jacob silently points him out.
"Hey, aren't you the CEO of Humanonautics, that toy corporation that basically owns everything?" Alfred asks. Jacob smiles.
"Yes, that's right!" Jacob says cheerfully. "And I want to throw in some ideas about this year's election!"
It's 2012, and our choices here for the president are re-elect the useless black man Obama or vote for a competent man like Romney. I know he ain't the smartest sometimes, but surely he'd run the country better'n someone who's more suited to cotton-pickin'. Nat says for someone who's family's as poor as us I have some real strange social views. I don't much understand what she means by that. Al says it means that being someone as clumsy as me, it seems like I should want free healthcare.
"I think keeping Obama in office would be a great idea for the peoples' wellbeing, but corporations are going to get taxed more, which isn't good for businesspeople like me!" Jacob says. The rest of the nations look to us other three Americans to see what we got to say.
"I think you make enough money on your own, and shouldn't care if you have to pay a couple more percents in taxes!" That's Al, and I do feel a little inclined to agree- If we gotta have taxes, may as well make 'em equal 'cross the board, 'stead'a makin' the rich pay less. I ain't much for any taxes, though. The less the yankee government gets in my life the better. Al's next point I agree less with.
"And, Obama's made big strides in our equality, and stuff, with the gay marriage and even some laws allowing racial discrimination being repealed, which is to my interests!"
"Maybe the reason yer called a delinquent is 'cuz yer allowed to do what you want and interfere with us hard-workin' citizens!" I say.
"I agree with West," Alfred says, "But we should do it slower- like that one dude back in the Reconstruction- we should try and do it slowly, so people like South get used to the idea!"
"Whaddya mean 'people like me,' Yankee-boy?" I ask of Alfred, glarin' at him.
"Uh," Alfred says, as everyone turns to look at him. "I mean, people who aren't likely to want to change everything all at once, is all." I still glare at him, so he keeps going: "Like, you didn't wanna move here and associate with us other nations at first, right? You wanted to stay on your farm like you always had. But, eventually, you warmed up to the idea. That's what we should do as far as civil rights laws- let people warm up to the idea. It'll take longer, and more people'll die 'cuz of that, but it's less likely to be seen in twenty years as some massive riot that ended in a couple laws."
"Easy for you to say when you haven't gotten shot in the back more times'n you can count by cops!" Al says.
"Maybe you wouldn't git shot if you didn't do stuff that's illegal." I say.
"Maybe you won't get punched if you shut your white trash mouth!" Al spits back. That gets me angry and I stand up to glare at him across the table.
"You askin' fer a fight, boy?" I growl at him. Nat puts her hand on my arm and murmurs for me to calm down, J.G., it isn't worth it... but I shove her hand away and keep glarin' at Al.
"Sorry, but I don't fight people who can't even spell their own country name." Al scoffs. I growl and lean in further to the table,
"You wanna keep insultin' me? See where that lands a mouthy lil' n_ boy like you?" The rest of the nations have stepped back, even Jacob and Alfred. Al just sighs.
"Man, I wish you had better insults, but what did I expect from some dumb racist hick?"
That does it, and I'm over the table and on top of him in a second, fists a'flailin' and makin' quick work of that idiot Al. I've always been told the best way to stop a bad-mouther is to punch 'em in that same bad mouth, and I'm intent on knockin' another tooth or five outta Al's stupid skull when he gits me back. He got me right in the eye which sends my head reelin' and I fall back off'a him, but he's so light I can git him off'a me real easy, and I'm about to start poundin' on him again when arms circle 'round my waist and it's Alfred pullin' me away and I start doin' all I can to get outta his iron grip, but it ain't doin' no good. It's James who's pulled Al away from the fight, and now, stuck there, held apart, we're glarin' at each other.
My eye's startin' to swell up, since none of us Americans have healed so well since the Recession, and Al's got a swollen-up eye too, and his nose looks broken, pourin' blood down his face. All-in-all, I came out the better in this fight. I glare murder at him as his brother turns him around and asks if he's alright. Alfred does the same for me, and I can see Nat's walked up next to him and is glarin' at me. I'm gonna get it now, I know it.
Back when I was a soldier, they did a thing to two boys who fought called buckin' and gaggin'. They'd tie yer hands together, make you sit down in the dirt, put yer hands over yer folded-up knees and then tie a rod to all of it to keep 'em there. They'd also tie a short piece of board in yer mouth to gag you to keep you from complainin'. I thought that was terrible, the two or three times I saw it happen to older boys in the brigade. Now that I'm grown and married, I know that Hell hath no fury like an angry woman. I almost wish I was gonna be made to sit all folded up and gagged fer a couple hours instead of whatever Nat'll probably do.
A/N: More stuff that I am very loosely basing J.G.'s experiences off of- The time that a girl in my AP US History class told me that for answering a question about women in the workforce in 1942 I was racist for not also mentioning the minorities. I told her "I focused on the women because that is what the question is about." and then she said "you're probably also sexist." and I stood up and told her that as a mixed-race young woman I have seen racism and sexism and am nothing like those people, and then my teacher told me to sit down because standing up to argue that be seen as threatening.
I'm 5'2. I'm gonna stand up when I argue to seem more imposing and convincing. (Also I punched a freshman a week ago but more on that in the next Author Notes I make. :3)
