Never Take the Brown Bomber Jacket

When in Rome... I Mean London

“What?!” I exclaimed, standing abruptly. My memory was being erased? Why? How long for? And who was erasing it?

            “Holly, calm down,” England said, holding his hands up. “We’ll answer all those questions on the flight to London.”

            Did I ask those out loud?

            “Yes.”

            I frowned. I really needed to stop doing that. His words finally processed, and I grew angry. “No, answer them now, or I’m staying put.” To prove my point, I sat back down and crossed my arms.

            England sighed again. “Holly—”

            “Don’t ‘Holly’ me. Just answer the damn questions!” It was the first time I swore at them, and it felt good. Though this was turning out to be a horrible spring break.

            “Dude—” America started, but I glared at him and he shut up fast.

            “Okay, okay,” England finally gave in. “Only because Prussia will be sure to find you if you stay here. Which question do you want answered first?”

            I bit my lip. “Why? Why did you erase my memories?”

            “To keep the secret. You age half as fast as a normal human, so it takes you two years to age one year. You would’ve become suspicious, and so would everyone around you.”

            I raised my eyebrows. “You erased everyone’s memories?” He nodded. “Wow, that’s… Wow. So everyone in Camillus who knows me…” A look of horror crossed my face, and England immediately looked worried.

            “What is it?” he asked, taking a step forward.

            “Does this mean I’m actually thirty?” I asked shrilly.

            “Yes…?”

            My mouth fell open. “I’m old!”

            America laughed and England chuckled at me. “You certainly don’t look it, dude. Age hasn’t got a thing on ya.” He winked at me.

            “Not funny,” I growled.

            “Is that seriously what you are worried about?” England asked, still chuckling.

            “What?” I asked defensively. “It’s a valid thing to be worried about!” He just chuckled again, and I scowled. “Whatever. Who did it? Who erased the memories?”

            “I did, of course,” Iggy answered, serious again. “I was the only other country who knew at the time that practiced magic.”

            “Oh. Wait, at the time? How long have you been erasing the town’s memories for?” I was taking all of this surprisingly well. Maybe it was because nothing could shock me more than finding out that I wasn’t exactly human.

            England shifted his weight. “Well, I’ve been doing it every other December nineteenth, so…”

            I blinked. “Wait, are you telling me my memory was being wiped on almost all of my birthdays?”

            He nodded. “As well as being rewired in a way. That way, you would remember things that we wanted you, and the rest of the town, to believe happened while in reality they didn’t. It was for your own safety, of course.”