makinglies | There are no cats in America

Entry tags:

There are no cats in America

Moving to a new country is difficult but if you're a child it seems impossible. True, things had been terrifying with the bombings and soldiers and the news of that their government had been doing behind the country's back. Thirteen years old, but Albert still reads the news, still listens to the radio. Soon after they're on a boat, crammed in with other emigrants chattering in a cacophony of languages, pushing and shoving. There were other children, but mostly Albert opted to keep to himself, helping his mother but otherwise holed up in their tiny shared cabin and waited to see the spines of Lady Liberty's crown welcoming them to what his mother calls "a land of new opportunities". Albert, always a practical child, just hoped it would be a land of fresher air.

It's been a few months since then. They'd arrived at the start of summer with New York City sweltering. With his mother working two jobs and a little saved up, they'd managed to get a small fan and some other things for the little apartment, but despite the hardships they'd managed to make a nice little life for themselves in this new country. Their community on the lower east side is friendly and breathes of home in Dresden, or so Albert feels. He even made friends with the old man who runs the bookshop on the corner, his son having been claimed by the war on the side of the Allies. He'd also been named Albert, and the man would often reminisce in German and sometimes share the haribo candies he'd always have around. He may be the only friend Albert had made, but he was content with that.

Even so, as the weather turned colder and fall set in, Albert's mother enrolled him in school. Albert had always liked school back home, strict as it was, but here in America it seemed all the other boys were so loud and tall and frightening. He'd mostly stayed away from other children since arriving, but now he's been thrown in the front of a class and as the teacher pushes him to introduce himself to the room every eye is on him and he can't help but fidgit and look anywhere except at all the unfamiliar faces.

"Ha-hallo, I-I am Albert Heinrich..." He trails off, brutally self conscious at his accent and flushing a red which he knows reaches his ears. The teacher - Miss Jones - waits for an interminable moment to see if he'll say something else, then simply shoos him to an empty desk with some annoyance and begins to write the day's lesson on the blackboard. Safe for the moment, Albert sinks as low as he can in his seat and pulls his oversized newsy cap down around his ears in an attempt to hide the fact that they're still pink.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jet gave a tentative, albeit real smile at the hope Albert had. Carefully, he rolled his sleeve back down to cover his arm and let go of the German to gesture towards the cafeteria.

"We gotta get through the rest of the day first. When d'you think you'll ask her?"

Things decided, Albert feels much better and he lets Jet start leading the way to the cafeteria. "She's working at the dry cleaner today so I was going to stop there on the way home."

It would give his mother the chance to think about this without being put completely on the spot, or so he thinks. She'll have a few hours for the idea to marinate before coming home and giving an answer. "She won't say no."

He was silently glad for Albert's determination since Jet felt only some of it himself. "Yeah. If she doesn't, though, we'll figure something else out. I'll still get my stuff together tonight and it'll be okay."

It was easy enough to say it, he just wished he felt it more, but those were his nerves talking. There was one thing he was sure of: he was done letting his home life hurt the only good thing Jet had. Even if Mrs. Heinrich said no, he'd still leave and go...somewhere else. Anywhere else. He'd camp out in the school's supply closet if he had to.

"Maybe I'll ask Mr. Conners at the guitar shop for a job, he'd probably like the help." Plus the old guy was stubborn as a mule, he wasn't likely to ask for the help he needed, Jet offering was a better solution for both of them.

"That's a great idea! He likes you, I bet he'd give you part time, easy." He's optimistic because he has to be, because it's clear that Jet still has doubts and there isn't any room for both of them to doubt. "And she won't say no. If it takes her awhile to come around though, you can just come in through the fire escape."

Albert's window is a little small for that regularly, but Jet's scrawny enough he should be able to squeeze in.

The mental image produced with Albert's words gets a laugh out of Jet. "Sure, I'll live on your roof and sneak in like a bandit through your window."

Hopefully no cops'd spot him or that would be the end of that; Mrs. Heinrich was nice, but he was pretty sure she'd have little tolerance for delinquents who broke her rules.

More hopefully still, maybe they wouldn't have to do that part at all. Just thinking about it made him wish the day would go by faster so he wouldn't have to keep wondering about it.

"At least you'd fit in with the rest of the pigeons," Albert gives a toothy grin, referring jokingly back to a conversation they'd had about what superpowers they'd want. Albert couldn't decide, but Jet had jumped to flying immediately and Albert had said 'like a pigeon?' without thinking. Affronted, Jet retorted 'like an eagle' but sometimes Albert will still tease him. It's just too fun not to.

Right on cue, Jet practically puffed up in his indignation and he pouted. "Oh yeah? You just let random pigeons in your room? Too bad I'm not a pigeon or nothing." He wasn't an eagle either, but it was the principle of the matter.

"Not random pigeons." Albert's voice drops lower so as not to be overheard by the empty hallway. "Just you."

He grins all the wider, knowing that saying so will turn Jet about as red as his hair, though Albert flushes some as well in announcing his feelings.

As predicted, color blazed across Jet's face and he steadfastly kept his eyes pointed ahead of them. "S-shut up."

The day passed slowly until those last fifteen minutes seemed to crawl past covered in molasses. But once the bell had rung, Jet flashed a smile at Albert along with a 'see you later' and headed back home.

He was hoping he'd get there and find his dad passed out in his chair so Jet could gather his things and leave before the old guy woke up. Unfortunately, that wasn't quite the case.

No more than an hour and a half later, Jet was back at Albert's door, a couple bags and his backpack at his feet. He didn't look any worse for wear except a small, shallow, cut along his cheek that had stopped bleeding with the help of his jacket sleeve.

He knocked. "Al? You home yet?" He didn't sound any worse either in fact, if anything, he sounded better.

"No, but I am now," Albert's voice comes from behind Jet, keys jangling as he pulls them out. His conversation with his mother had been inconclusive, but she'd at least said Jet could stay for dinner so it was a start. He tries to keep how much that troubles him out of his expression.

"Scoot back, I gotta open the do-... What happened to your face?" The cut might be small, but Albert notices it immediately and he frowns deeply, staring at it as if the intensity of his gaze could make it heal over out of embarrassment for existing.

He brought his sleeve to the cut again, afraid it'd started bleeding again, that small smile he'd been wearing not slipping even an inch. "It's nothing. Pa was home when I got there. At first, he didn't even notice but by the time I was trying to leave, he saw the bags and flipped."

His hand lightly fell to his arm just above the e;bow and he shrugged. "He grabbed me and I punched him. I was almost to the door when he chucked a bottle at me; guess the damn thing was broken already or something cause it nicked me."

Not once did he sound dour or put out or uncertain and skittish during his explanation, he was just a step away from vibrant and couldn't stop that small smile from persisting. In his mind, it had gone a lot better than he'd expected, and he'd gotten to sock his father one for the first time ever.

It felt good.

"How about your end of things?"

The door rattles open and Albert resists the urge to shove Jet inside, trying not to be angry at the other teen's unconcerned attitude when he could have been way more severely injured. He's probably just happy to be out and free of that mess, but Albert still worries for Jet's safety and well being. He heads for the first aid kit as he continues the conversation.

"She said you could stay tonight for dinner. Later than that if we do homework and stuff. The rest she said she had to think." He tries to make it sound like it's no big deal and he manages somehow to exude the confidence that she'll decide in their favor when he doesn't feel it. "She's gonna get pizza, so I told her to get sausage on it."

He brings the kit to the kitchen table and takes out the iodine. "C'mere."

As Albert was talking, Jet took the opportunity to stash his stuff in a corner of Albert's room, deciding he'll move it later if he has to, though he's finding it easier to have faith in Albert's determination now that he was here. In the end, even the roof of the apartment complex seemed like a better option than what used to be home.

By the time he's back out in the main room, his smile's only gotten wider at the thought of pizza with his favorite topping and everything...although that smile dampens at the sight of the iodine.

He hesitates and his hand comes up to cover the cut in defense. "It's not that bad, Al...we can just leave it." That shit stung and he wanted none of it.

Of course, Albert could be forceful when he wanted to be. He sat backwards in one of the chairs...safely out of arm's reach of the other teen.

"Only if you want it to get infected and have your face rot off." So basically no.

Albert dabs a cotton ball in the viscous liquid and advances on Jet, ready to pounce and hold him down if he has to but he hopes he doesn't. "Frankly I don't think face rot is very attractive."

Face rot didn't sound pleasant, no. Although that last comment had something to do with his reluctant stillness. He winced and tried not to pull away when the burning touch of iodine filled the cut.

"That's just mean." But stay put he did, although not without some fidgeting. There was even a trace of kicked puppy look once the medicinal torture had ended.

"What, you wanna look like you're starring in House of Wax?" Albert makes a face. He'd been particularly put off by that movie when they'd snuck into it, all the melting wax dummies and all.

He puts a band-aid on Jet's cheek then snaps the kit shut and takes it back into the bathroom. A moment later he peeks around the door frame to make sure his mother hasn't miraculously arrived in the last two seconds, then shoots Jet a shy grin. "I like your face the way it is."

Jet pulled a face at the thought of looking like those melting dummies but continued to pout as Albert put the kit away. Right up until Albert basically said he liked Jet's looks and then the younger teen's face caught fire.

"W-whatever..." Jet looked away and stood up. He didn't make eye contact again until he'd crossed over to the shorter teen and leaned down to steal a kiss--albeit a short one since the feeling that Mrs. Heinrich would be home any second weighed in the back of his mind.

The kiss turns Albert red too and he deals with it by diving into his bookbag and pulling out their homework even if that's the last thing he wants to do. What he'd rather be doing is shoving Jet up against the fridge for another kiss, lips locked and tongues twining. He can imagine he feels Jet's hands on him, sneaking under his shirt, untucked with buttons askew. One sliding up alone his sternum, the other down under the hem of his jeans, the hem of his boxers, cupping his ass as Albert presses in closer, his knee between the taller teen's...

No no no no not now his mom could be home any minute! Homework is safer. Right. Because he can totally concentrate.

Jet smirks to himself as he follows Albert's lead and sets up with his own homework. Of course he barely has his pencil in his hand before thoughts start going about what if they just kissed instead? What if Jet stuck his hand down Albert's pants and made the older teen moan and writhe on whatever surface they found themselves on? What if they were on the table? What if he had Albert half undressed and pinned to the smooth wooden surface, his hands on that broad body and--

Heat bloomed across his face and he had to take the pressure off the pencil that threatened to break against the already lead-marred page. Homework was going to be hard if he didn't start actively trying to concentrate.

"Maybe...we should work on this stuff together...till your ma gets home..." Which he actually sort of hoped would be sooner rather than later just so his temptation to jump his best friend right then and there wouldn't be as strong.

"Uhh... y-yeah, sure." Though being right next to Jet as they pretend to pour over their math or English while really trying to concentrate on not noticing the curve of neck and shoulder under Jet's shirt, how his bangs have gotten so long in places that they nearly brush his jaw but catch the light in brilliant copper and bronze. How long his fingers are when he sets down his pencil, how tapered, how good they feel when they run up Albert's sides or down his legs...

"I gotta use the bathroom first!" He bolts, mostly to dunk his head under a freezing tap.

"U-uh...o..kay." Jet stared at Albert's retreating back as he ducked into the other room, both confused and slightly grateful the temptation to stick his tongue down his best friend's throat wasn't still there at the moment.

He forced himself to focus on the paper in front of him and get as much of it done as he could before Albert came back and Jet was put back in the position of staring blankly at the paper while his mind devoted itself to the shorter teen.

Luckily, he has almost all of it done by the time the bathroom door opens again.

At the same time Albert is emerging from the bathroom, hair wet and shivering from having dumped cold water on himself repeatedly, the front door rattles open to reveal Edda Heinrich, bustling in to set her purse on the counter. She raises an eyebrow at her son as he comes padding back into the kitchen. "Warum sind Sie nass?"

"I, uh..." Scheisse. "Etwas war in meinem Haar." Nice save! Only not. He sits back down at the table as Edda eyes him sidelong while she removes her coat and hat.

"Have you finished your homework?" This time she speaks in her heavily accented English, addressing both boys present.

He can't help but smirk a bit at Albert's misfortune when he sees the other teen's all wet; cold water, no doubt. Good to know he wasn't the only one having a hard time.

When Mrs. Heinrich speaks in English, however, it vanishes and a slight layer of nervousness rushes through him. "Hello, Mrs. Heinrich. I'm...almost finished, yeah. With this, at least. I've got one more thing too." He glanced over at her with a small smile he's pretty sure betrays his nervousness and quickly looks back to Albert, hoping the attention to his answer would take any off of him.

"Gut. You can come here for homework each night."

Albert lights up. "Mutti, dank-"

She raises one finger and her son falls silent as she resumes talking to Jet. "But you can't stay all night each night."

The silence that falls is so thick it has actual presence, an entity silently cackling at the horror on Albert's face. He's struck speechless. He was so certain she would see how important this was.

"Warum?" It's a single helpless word and Edda grimaces as she turns away.

Jet looked away and nodded, trying desperately to keep his emotions off his face. "Thanks. That sounds good." How could he argue when he couldn't blame her for not wanting him to stick around?

Of course, now he had a choice: he could stick with their hair-brained idea of him keeping shop on the roof for as long as that would last before someone noticed, or he could try and go back home. And possibly not come back if his pa was pissed enough.

He felt that twisting antsy feeling that made him want to bolt, but he remained seated and focused unseeing eyes on the paper in front of him.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject