Handling a Crisis

Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Second Presidential Debate

Sorry this is a little late! My internet decided to go out on Friday and Wattpad also decided to delete the chapter on Monday. I took a small break, but I've been frantically trying to rewrite the chapter as fast as I can. I did it, but I haven't proofread it or anything, so I have no idea what exactly is on here. I'm a bit scared, but y'know, we're vibin'.

Also, THIS IS OVER 11,000 WORDS. Slightly scared. What on Earth have my raw, unfiltered thoughts conjured up?

Uhh, have the video above as an apology for my tardiness (courtesy of a friend of mine). I hope you laughed, because this chapter will probably not do that.

Chapter warnings: talk of racism and xenophobia, Trump

October 22, 2020; the day of the second presidential debate.

Was America terrified? Yes, yes he was, and he had every right to be. Everyone was going to be watching again. Additionally, the last presidential debate was a total trainwreck. He finished watching it on his own and things did not improve from the time he ran out of the house to fracture. Who's to say this next one wasn't going to crash and burn just like the first?

America was pacing around in his room, tapping the bottom part of his palms together. He stopped pacing and sat on top of his bed criss cross applesauce, held onto the shin that was out in front, and began rocking back and forth. He looked around, letting his mind run while steering it away from politics. He was going to be doing a great deal of thinking about that when it was time to watch the debate.

His eyes landed on his phone and headphones. America picked them up, connected his headphones to his phone, and slipped the headphones on. If he distracted himself with really distracting music– he wasn't sure that was the best way to describe it– then maybe it'll distract him enough. Yeah, yeah! If he's too distracted by one thing, then he won't focus on the debate that was happening in a few hours!

America picked a random song– "My Mother Told Me" by Rachel Hardy– and closed his eyes, looking down while he turned the volume up high. He tapped his hands together during the intro and when the singer, Rachel, started singing, he stopped tapping, turning his head up as if to look at her in his mind's eye. When more voices entered, America twisted his head from side to side as if he were looking for the other voices. With every new hum, America's arms went up, and eventually, he started flapping his hands up and down. When the harmonies came in for the main part, America started curling his fingers in and out in addition to flapping his hands and looking around. Once the song got rid of the background humming, America stopped flapping his left hand and started looking around more with each sudden crescendo.

The song ended and America listened to more songs, letting the music fill his mind. He didn't notice that someone was knocking at his door and calling his name until he caught his door opening. He drew his arms in and froze, petrified with fear. He didn't like it when people caught him doing this. He did it a few times in public when he was younger and always got weird looks. He was even dubbed a freak because of his actions.

America had reacted too late, though. Russia had poked his head into the room. He was concerned for America since he didn't answer, and he's been knocking for a good minute. "Hey, arrre you okay?" Russia asked.

America paused his music and pulled his headphones off, looking down at his left knee and folding in on himself. He felt so embarrassed. He knew that Russia knew he occasionally did some of those actions he was doing, but Russia's never seen him do so many at once and it was never like this. What would he think of America? What on Earth could America say to make things better? Perhaps it was best that he stay silent. He doubted he could even say anything without going into a panic.