For me, it happen right before work one morning, in the kitchen, when I caught myself in the little mirror over sink, in my underwear. I was calling the cat with a rattling a box of Little Friskies and reading a Times spread flat on the countertop. I saw him in the mirror. So, this is what I’m going to be when I grow up.
People do not mellow with age. One day we finally just admit the truth. There is no slow, comfortable wallow into maturity that you try on like spongy sweaters until you find one you look good in. No. One day you open up the wrong drawer and it flys out with a lighting fist of meat and bone savagely gripping at your windpipe, smashing your face into the carpet and holding it there until you say uncle. The fancy tippy-toe images of your once and future life, swirl into fire breathing demons bellowing a single truth: today, right now, is the future. This is what you’re going to be when you grow up. This is how things turned out.
The little blond haired girl I loved in the front row married the wrong guy, twice, and now she sells real estate; a few years later, another one, a little brown haired girl, broke my heart completely in two. We didn’t get flying cars, O.J. did it, Britney got fat and went nuts. I don’t live in a thatched hut in Polynesia attended by sloe eyed, pastel lipped, beauties of Gaugin, the Red Sox finally won one.
I didn’t get what I expected and I have more than deserve. No mysteries left to solve.
Fraysters know how things turned out too. There’s not much to debate anymore. Only the few die hards living in darkness and denial can muster much conflict.
There were no WMD. Bush is a whack job. Iraq was a hubris infested fantasy. Lance Bass is gay.
China out smarted us. Reality t.v. is here to stay.
The price of gas went exactly where they said it would go. So has the stock market. Rush Limbaugh is a big fat liar.
The world is starving, but we’re growing corn to make fuel to drive to jobs that don’t exist any more.
The real esate bubble burst - just like they said it would.
Our prisons are full. Over the top, brimming full. The war on drugs is a joke.
There’s nothing left to debate. Only smoldering trash and nonsense is left. We’re picking over the barren carcass of some pathetic creature dead long ago.
The useless sniping and grousing over right and wrong is over, whether we like it or not. We know the answers, we have seen the future. The world has changed, or rather we are stuck dealing with the future.
This place will evolve into something that it has not been.
Tit for tat will be replaced by give and take. Ideas will be debated on their merit, and right and left will begin to be abandoned at the door. Not because zuko wants it, but because in this place, in the future, there is no other option.