A Damn Good Excuse

    Coke.

    Bottles and bottles and bottles of Coke. Scattered EVERYWHERE! On counters, in the sink, under the couch cushions, and- is that one hanging from the Chandelier?!

    Bloody hell, yes it is.

    I throw my hands up and let out a loud grunt as I storm my way through the mess and into what's left of my tea room, throwing down the day's groceries and sitting in a heavy huff. I've had enough of this rubbish lately- I don't know what's going on with Alfred, but I know I don't like it. Don't get me wrong- America has always been a messy nation. Since the day he had that damn Revolution he's not put a single thought to being tidy. I've been able to manage it, thus far, cleaning up what I can, lecturing him about what I can't, but lately it's gotten worse. This morning, as I look around and find that in places, my very floor has disappeared under bottles of his infernal bottles, I decide that I've had enough.

    "Alfred!" I call, "Tea room! Now!"
    "Oh, Iggy! Hey dude, that you?"
    "Who else would it be, git! Come here right now!"
    "Alright! Keep your pants on- I'm coming!" That statement is followed by a series of clangs and crashes and Alfred comes tearing up the stairs, baseball cap halfway off his head and greasy from… whatever he's been so wrapped up in lately. "Dumb car won't start," he says, and deposits his hat on my (formlerly) clean table top. "I've been out there all morning. Did you curse it or something?" And he throws his head back to laugh before grabbing my arm and dragging me toward him, leaning in for a kiss-
    "Don't even think about it," I hold my hand in his way and he pouts.
    "Aww. What's a matter, old man? Scared of a little grease?" I frown and push him away, turning around in a huff.
    "Stop calling me that, git! And you know that's not why. You're in trouble." When I turn back around, his face has paled considerably. I can see him racking his brain- no doubt thinking of a multitude of things he's done that I could be referring to. Patiently, I wait until he looks around and comprehension dawns on his face.
    "Look Iggy, whatever Tonny did, I swear I wasn't-" I face palm.
    "No, Alfred! Look around! Look at this place!" Confused, he does as bidden.
    "Yeah. It's a little bit messy. So?"
    "A little bit messy?!" I can't take it anymore. I feel my anger flare and I whirl on him. "Alfred F. Jones, this is NOT 'a little bit messy'. This is DEPLORABLE! I don't know what it is with you and living in pigsties, but you seem to like it, so I stay out of the way! But when I clean and clean and I come back to find out that you've even taken over my bloody tea room, where I go to get away from you, what am I supposed to think?!" I cry, and in my anger I storm over to my window, slamming my fists against it and glaring into the courtyard below.
    "Whoa, Iggy dude- calm down!"
    "Calm down? Calm down! Bloody git! Don't tell me to calm down! The house hasn't been cleaned in weeks, America! Ever since you started that god damn project…" Suddenly, I whip around and grab him by the collar. "In fact, I demand that you show me that project right now! The one you've been working on for so long." Alfred pales again.
    "No- Iggy! It's not done! You'll spoil the sup-"
    "I don't care! Ever since you started on this stupid thing, the house has been a complete wreck! You're forgetting things… losing everything… It has to end. Show me your project. Right now." For a second, Alfred just stares at me. His beautiful blue eyes flash through various emotions, but then he smiles. I try to ignore the way my heart flutters- I'm supposed to be mad, damn it- but I'm distracted as Alfred grabs my wrist.
    "Alright old man," he says, and I scowl at the hated nickname. "You want to see it? Come on, then,"

    He starts out of my tea room, picking his way through the bottles with more ease than I would have thought possible for such a spastic country, and I stumble along behind. We cross the hall and come down the stairs, where he yanks me over to his garage door.
    "Alright. Close your eyes and don't open them until I say you can. Got it?" I roll my eyes.
    "Yes, Alfred." I can practically feel his grin before he rushes into the garage and shuts the door behind him. A series of crashes begins yet again and I fight the temptation to peek…
    "Alright! Come on out! But DON'T open your eyes." Stumbling, I do as bidden. Alfred takes my elbows and pulls me along, stopping me and turning me around. "Alright," he says, "You can look now."
    I remove my hands from my eyes- and stumble backward with a gasp. What the- how the- is that- but-
    "I know… it's not exactly the best craftsmanship… most of the handymen in my country are from Mexico… but I tried my best. That ones you, see- and the one next to you is me." Breathless, I shake my head.
    "Alfred, this is…" I don't believe what I'm seeing. Standing before me are two statues- one of myself and the other of Alfred. They're incredibly crafted… everything is there, down to my height and the near microscopic scar near my left temple. It's as if Alfred had cloned me and frozen me forever. A perfect moment… a perfect likeness. Alfred begins talking behind me and in awe I begin a circle around his creation.
    "I was trying to show the best things about you… that perfect look you have on your face when you're thinking… that tiny little bit of blue in your eyes…" I can't speak. I'm breathless. My eyes fill. Touched, I run over to my former charge and pull him into my arms. I'm crying… I can't stop.
    "Bloody hell, Alfred… this is the nicest… I love you, America. I love you, I love you, I love you…" And his arms encircle me.
    "I love you too, Arthur."





Epilogue:

"Hey Iggy, want to know the best part about your gift?"
"What?"
"I didn't have to borrow more money from China!"
"… Just kiss me, you idiot."