Three Cups (one-shot) (Uk/Arg+Falklands)

Even though I’m not human, I still have an age, I’m still fourteen years old, but only physically. Even if I’m stuck in time, I excitedly watch the snow falling down ever winter. And even though my death probably won’t happen, at least in this century, blood still runs through my veins, my heart throbs, and I, too, can get ill. My symptoms are not different from a normal human being’s, and I, too, get educated like children my age.

Many don’t understand that, while others accept it as a reality beyond question. They treat us normally, but when themes such as my age come out, the difference between us and them gets more evident. Sometimes, I play with the kids from my islands, even if I have more things to worry about, I can’t help it, but I try not to do it too often, too.

When our fun comes to an end I see them leaving along their progenitors, those who gave them life. They don’t talk about anything of the kind, when they realize I’m left alone, and with the years I’ve heard some mothers telling their children: “Nations don’t use to have parents”, believing I wouldn’t hear them. I use to look at my feet, make a little snow pile with them and then leave, go home.

Humans will never understand us.

I think I’ve Heard those words long ago, but I can’t remember where from. Was it Argentina, or England? Or maybe someone else? I’m not sure.

I only know I have something that makes me feel similar to human: I do, too, have a mother and a father.

I have an overprotective father, who worries about me and wishes to see me more often that what our situation actually allows us to. I know he cares about me, despite the distance, I know he appreciates me, and that’s why he always remembers to call me.
I have a mother, her tearful face is still engraved in my memory, I’m far away from her, but near at the same time. I know she likes me very much, possibly more than what I would ever love her. I remember events from before that tragic war, and I only see her as someone cold and distant.

It’s like if I had been holding her hand… And then without a reason, she let go of me, abandoning me, and when I got lost, my father took that hand of mine. But my mother came back, and I didn’t want to go back with her.

It’s sad, that’s what I use to think when I’m alone in my house, looking through the window, watching the autumn leaves fall. I like my home, it doesn’t lack anything: There’s health, there’s food and protection. I like it. Sometimes I feel a little lonely because I don’t have many visits, that’s why I always smile when I see mister Arthur arrive.

My peaceful lifestyle doesn’t get altered, and when the weather’s good, we indulge ourselves having tea outside. He takes out the table, and I help with the chairs. He always buys sweets when he’s over, and I put them in porcelain plates, the ones he gave to me as a gift decades ago. It’s always very nice, having tea outdoors.

But, I remember a special time in particular…

Argentina isn’t allowed into my territories, because she always makes trouble and wants to make me live with her. I don’t like that, that’s why I almost dropped the plates when I saw he ron the other side of my grille, staring at me. What worried me the most was that look, it was a mix of sadness and envy. I left the plates on the table, stepping a little back, calling England. I don’t hate her, I’m not afraid of her, and I didn’t want her to be kicked out. I didn’t know what to do.

When Arthur came out and saw her, his eyes reflected as much surprise as mine did. It was like the return of a mother who had abandoned her husband and children. And when I saw Arthur getting closer to the grille to talk to her, I thought they would fight again.
It’s always the same.

I can live a happy life, I can be in peace, but between mom and dad, there will always be fights… and I will be in-between them. I know they both got along well in the past, I can’t remember myself but father had told me about those days. He exaggerates the details, those that are probably fake, but while telling me about those days, there’s always that light in his eyes that makes me hesitate about if they’re false or not. Sometimes, even if I don’t want to, I start thinking that my existence is what triggered all of their fights. In that way, I think I’m like a normal teenager, stuck between the fights about who gets the custody, who loves me more, who protects me the best.

Generally, when they fight I let out a sigh, I pretend to be indifferent. I don’t interfere. I state my position, I like being taken care of by the United Kingdom, and I don’t want that to change.

Because of that I always end up hearing comments about my cold personality, if they argue because of me, if they ask for my opinion and I answer honestly… I always end up being disapproved by someone. Humans won’t ever understand how hard it is to hear thing like “The Falklands are Argentinean”, “Falklands doesn’t understand how much Argentina misses her”, “Us Argentineans won’t give up” . They wouldn’t understand it, that I’m sick of it. I may not be sovereign but I have my own opinion… And I want it to be respected. They weren’t the only ones suffering. And please stop calling me “Malvinas”, that’s not my name anymore.

Because of these skin deep emotions, because of the fear of being in the middle of a new argument, I was surprised… I was surprised when I saw that between them, there was no hostility.
Father asked her what she was doing there… and mother looked at me for an instant, just to turn around to see father again with a frown in her face, answering that she just wanted to see me.

She got into my islands with her human name that was a fact. Sometimes she visits me, every April the 2nd she does so. We don’t fight, sometimes she talks to me about being Argentinean territory again, but we generally omit that topic.

-You can join us for tea.

When I heard him, I instantly looked at him with doubt filling my eyes, I’m sure, because he smiled briefly at me before focusing on my mother again.

-Are you… sure?

Argentina’s eyes went back to me.

Although she claims I’m her little sister, she’s always been to me more of a maternal figure, but her silhouette starts vanishing with time.
I saw her pleading eyes, without daring to ask it with words, which wasn’t normal on her. Even I know she’s an extroverted person. I looked at her, examining her from head to toes, as if remembering something. I nodded my head in response, without taking my eyes off her.

I saw her smile, thankful and extremely happy. England told her he’d immediately open the door. As soon as he was gone I took out another chair, glad they were so light, and when I came back to grab another teacup, I looked at them. They always argue, my memories about them are based in two furious people, with their eyes full of hate. But I have other memories too, like the day I got flu. I remember dad talking on the phone down the hallway, talking to Agustina, asking her what he should do when I’m sick.  I think I lost consciousness after that, because when I opened my eyes again she was taking care of me, with Arthur by her side. And two days after that, when I was finally conscious of what surrounded me, I found them both on the floor, tangled up into a under a blanket, hugging each other and holding hands.

Maybe there are some things about them that I don’t know, maybe they don’t actually hate each other and they only show that side of themselves t the rest of the world, while in private, they maybe laugh together, like that instant in which they believed they were alone at the entrance hall. I took the teacup and went out immediately, not without looking at them first. I think I saw them blush, but I think I must have been hallucinating because of the surprise.  

When I finished the preparations, Argentina cameo ut the house… I greeted her as always, and I’m sure I made her a bit sad with my lack of enthusiasm. I don’t know what she was hoping, even when I let her hug me, it’s not like she’s a mother I desperately miss, she makes me feel more nostalgic than happy.  

She looked at the table and father criticized her because of her expression, alleging that she doesn’t protest because of the tea when they have dinner together. They started arguing, I think they both forgot that I was there for an instant, only my puzzled question, “Do you eat together?” seemed to make them notice. They both blushed, so much it was obvious the answer was a “yes”, but both tried to give me excuses, which didn’t convince me at all.

They would have kept on fighting, I know, that’s why I had to comment after a while.

-I think… the last time you came here, Argentina, you gave me a thing to drink mate…and you left a mate bag too.

I saw her radiant smile, before she stated, a little embarrassed. –But it must be humid by now; it’s been months since you opened it…

My silence made Arthur laugh with superiority, while she let out a defeated sigh.

-I’m sorry, Agustina, I never opened your mate bag… I prefer British tea…

After half an hour, both of them were happily having their respective drinks. I was the only one without one… so it began, as I thought. Them, arguing about what I should drink. England insisted in that I should have tea, as the lady I am, and I agreed with him at the beginning Argentina claimed that I should have mate even if she didn’t drink it, because mate is better than tea. The discussion went on… and I couldn’t stop feeling like a human teenager hearing her parents arguing about what clothes she would wear and things like that, because I’m soure normal parents wouldn’t care about if I had tea or mate. But of course, between nations, these little details are more relevant than what a normal human could expect.

They approached each other a lot while they argued, trying to intimidate each other, so I swallowed and said, in a tone louder than usual, that I wanted to have warm milk.

Both looked at me, speechless, it seemed they couldn’t believe I didn’t choose any of them. They looked at each other and both started laughing, in a little of a forced way. They said things like it was the best I could have, after all I was still growing, that it’s healthier tan tea, more sophisticated than mate. At least they both agreed on what I would drink, besides, I like sugared milk.

We ate without haste, I Heard them talk, about music and books, though they didn’t share their likings about TV series, but they laughed about their memories or their friends’ several times. And I… laughed with them. When I finished my milk, I hugged my lamb, getting more into the conversation.

I remember the wing blowing, carrying away some leaves.

I looked at Arthur and thought: What a nice dad I have, he behaves like a gentleman, though he can be scary at times…
I then saw Agustina and though: What a  nice mom I have, even though she scares me a little when she talks about football…

Of course they will never know those thoughts, England won’t know I think of him as a father, and Argentina won’t know that for me, she’s a mother, even if we don’t spend that much time together anymore nor we appreciate each other like we used to.

I remember curling up, feeling my little lamb’s wool brushing my cheeks, it felt so warm.

-What do you think about that, Malv…..? –I opened my eyes, looking at her carefully. Argentina blinked, and then smiled in such a maternal way, she even made me blush a bit- Falkland.... –she corrected herself. –What do you think about that silly thing Brazil made at the match?

I remember dad’s smile. It wasn’t a victorious one, he would never mention that fact, I know. He was thankful, because he didn’t want to stop enjoying that wonderful moment.
What mom was talking about had nothing to do with politics, nor about giving up, She said it in order to make me happy. For a second, she left aside her enormous ego for me, I saw it in her eyes.

I buried my face in wool again, feeling my lamb moving a bit.

I guess they think I didn’t notice, but I saw them… they were holding hands.
I really enjoyed it, I loved that day like no other.

I loved having tea with mom and dad.



END