Albert Heinrich (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jungfuchs) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
makinglies2013-11-19 02:19 pm
jungfuchs) wrote in makinglies2013-11-19 02:19 pm
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.
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.
no subject
"I think," he starts, all but carrying Jet up the stairs. "You just realize I can, after punching that schweinhund in his stupid face."
He might still be a little angry. Seeing Jet vulnerable like that, or even like this tonight, it makes him want to fight anything and anyone who would do that to someone he held so dear. He would, too, which is so strange when he thinks of how quiet and shy he used to be, always doing what he was told and never rocking the boat even a little. Now he's punching boys in alleys and all but yelling at his mother and instead of being appalled at himself he decides it feels good to have his emotions on his sleeve like that. It's not for all the time, and he'd still rather go by the rules otherwise, but knowing that he has it in him when it's really important is empowering in a way he'd never felt before meeting Jet.
"So for right now, you can just let me take care of everything. You just worry about getting warm again." He fumbles for his key, but the door opens before them instead, revealing Edda's broad form and a wave of glowing warmth from the little pot bellied stove that can be felt even from there.
Edda doesn't say a word, she just stands aside to let them in and then retreats to fetch blankets.
no subject
The warm air that blasted through the open door was like the air of a bonfire to his frozen everything and he nearly shied away from fear of burning, but it was too inviting to do anything but allow himself to shuffle towards it with Albert's support. Edda stood like an imposing mountain over Jet, impressive considering he was taller than her, but her presence wasn't nearly so stormy and dangerous as it had been when he'd last seen her.
His brain was too frozen, his thoughts too sluggish to come up with anything that wasn't base emotion. His eyes stayed glued to the floor and their feet instead.
In a matter of moments he found himself sitting in front of the stove that was radiating that searing heat. It hurt more than helped to start, but something was beginning to thaw. He shivered harder.
"...I'm s-s-sorry." It was so quiet and shaken by his body trying to warm itself up that he wasn't even sure she'd heard it. He wasn't even sure he wanted her too in case it just made things worse.
no subject
"Liebchen, you just don't..." She starts to say, suddenly aware of her son's piercing eyes on her despite what she'd thought was a soft and gentle tone. She looks back at Albert, defiantly this time, and says her piece. To both of them. "You don't know any better. But we'll talk it out in the morning. Warm him up and get me if he worsens."
She lays out the blankets, one over Jet's shoulders, another at his side, and the rest on the couch before she disappears into her bedroom. It seems for now she doesn't want to talk about it.
Albert, on the other hand, mutters German epithets under his breath, not directed at his mother so much as at her attitude. He lets it drop when the kettle whistles and he brings the cocoa to his boyfriend. Like his mother, he's decided that now is not the time. Jet's health matters more.
"Are you feeling warmer?"