Felt like I should do a short something for Canada Day~
Canada was, in a word, misunderstood. People saw him as shy or clumsy, or didn't see him at all. He was too often confused with his brother America when so much of his influence came from England and France. He was his own person now, his own government, his own traditions, but he was still so young. England and the others would be laughing about the glory days and the messes they got into (especially during the pirate stage), but Canada hadn't been around then, he had nothing to say.
July 1st, 1867, barely any time had passed at all for him, today he turned 148. All of the other countries barely acknowledged his birthday, not that he'd expected them to.
But one girl noticed, she always noticed. Because she knew the real Canada, the man he became inside his own borders. Without the pressure of the other nations, Canada could truly be himself. Tiffany never understood why no one else noticed him, he was beautiful! What other country had such stark mountains that pierced the bluest skies, who else had such tall forests, older than Canada himself? Who else had great expanses of plains where you could see for miles? And who else, but Canada, would cherish every bit of it?
"Matt? Where are you? It's time to go." She peeked her head around his bedroom door and laughed at the sight of him. Maple leaf boxers, and nothing else. A variety of red shirts were strewn across the chair. He turned towards her in surprise, "Tiffany", her name came out to calm himself at her random appearance, but there was a breathiness to it. For a moment, he forgot his dress-pants-or-jeans- dilemma, and focused on how adorable his girlfriend looked. Red flats, white shorts, a red shirt with the words "happy birthday eh" in big bold writing. But his favourite part of the outfit had to be the little fabric moose antlers attached to her headband. His insides melted like they did whenever she made an unconscious gesture like this, like he was suddenly made of marshmallow and had been held over a campfire for too long. He wasn't sure if she knew the extent he loved her all dressed up in Canada, but it made him love his birthday in a way he'd never imagined.
"Come on, you're not even dressed!" She chastised him with a smile, and walked over to his closet.
"Dress pants or jeans?" He asked, holding up the two options.
"I think I'm definitely more a fan of the boxers" she gave them another glance before picking out what she'd been looking for, "but you are Canada, and it's July. I think shorts are a better idea."
He chuckled, accepting them and put them on while she searched through his shirts. She soon tossed a red collared shirt at him.
"There, now you're fit to go outside." She walked over to him and snuggled herself in his open arms, glancing to the mirror on the dresser. He was so tall, so much taller than everyone gave him credit for, with broad shoulders and large hands. In a word, she would say he was steady, rooted to his country and his morals like the tallest of his trees.
Through the mirror, she watched his hand lift to trail his fingers along her cheekbone, only now noticing the small maple leaf, one of those temporary tattoos all the children would be wearing.
Those fingers fell to her chin and lifted her face to meet his, as his lips descended on hers, a feather light weight, but somehow deep, like she was drowning in him and his country and everything he was, reeling her in and binding her there. Her lips moved more insistently, craning her neck up to meet more of him.
"We've got to get going,"
Tiffany sighed, "I suppose,"
He chuckled, his fingers interlaced with hers, not wanting to let go just yet. Turning, he squat down, "piggyback?"
She laughed at her immature boyfriend, but then she was just as excited, hopping on and wrapping her legs around his waist, his large hands cupping her thighs.
And then Matthew was running, his smile wide and his soul laughing. This is what it meant to be Canada. Being Canadian wasn't about being young or inexperienced or forgotten, it was about freedom and love and family. It wasn't about making a name for yourself, it was about having names for each other. As he joined all of the people on the streets celebrating the day in a sea of red and white, and heard the ecstatic laughter of the woman perched on his back as she found the beavertail cart with a skill honed through many excursions for the dessert, Canada looked around him at the smiles and cheers, and knew this was his home, here was his family.
In the true north, strong and free.
