Only Eye

Talk of War - 2030

I can't believe that it's already the fall of 2030. I have been dreaming of college life since I started high school. My parents, both teachers, insist that I could have had a better go over the past four years if I had tried a bit harder at making friends. What they didn't know is I had tried. Hard. But we weren't the richest family in town and I had little athletic ability outside of running. So I was stuck focusing on my grades and spending endless hours alone in my room.

I look down at my college textbook, Politics: Intro to Government. One day, I want to run for office. If I am in Congress, I can make a difference for my country. The memory of mentioning this during my senior year in history class makes my stomach flip. It is still embarrassing. "I always get the feeling that I am destined for great things," I said, and the class erupted into laughter.

No one takes a kid my age seriously, even those who are the same age.

Shaking my head, I tune back into the professor. "Now why do you think the war with China, Japan, and North Korea could have been theoretically avoidable?"

I raise my hand. "You," the professor points at me.

"I am a true believer that war is a crappy business that rich people think of as a game. Crappy court cases like Citizens United put this country on a slippery slope."

The class chuckles, but not to mock, to agree. A tall blond kid raises a brow and grins. The professor smiles. "Oh, it's all about the money. Don't let anyone fool you."

I like this chick. She sees things the way I do.

"Nevertheless," the professor continues. "At least we are a free country. Right?"

The class chuckles again. I grab my iPad and start looking for additional interesting information so that I can read more on the topic. I come across an article that makes me smile a bit. It says that it has been foretold that in the year 2035, women will be faster and smarter than men, because they are mutating at a faster rate than men.

"What's your name?" The professor asks, pointing at me.

Her tall stature towers over me. Her long face with the big, round bun on top of her head casts a shadow over my desk. "My name is Ryan," I answer, smiling.

"What about the Government interests you, Ryan?"

"You know, professor, I find it fascinating that there hasn't been a woman president yet."

A few girls in class cheer. The blond kid elbows another guy near him and nods toward me. My heart beats faster. I hope this isn't a repeat of high school. I didn't feel like getting my ass kicked today. "Ryan, that is an excellent point, one that social and political scientists could not figure out. Of course, there are many theories, but the reality is that it is not something that can be easily explained. What do you think, Ryan?"

Everyone in the room laughs. I have no clue. To me, women are just too emotional, though I would never admit it out loud. I watched my mother spend most of my childhood in fits of depression and alcohol fueled rages. While my dad drank too, he never acted like her. She could be downright nasty. Such a departure from the doting teacher and mother she played during the day.