There is a particular way I went about it. I woke up at approximately 6:00 A.M., much to my parents' distress. I then ran downstairs to make myself a plateful of waffles. I have a certain passion for waffles. I always have ever since I learned of their existence. I then ran back upstairs, got in the shower, cleaned up, got dressed, prepared my backpack and schoolbooks, yadda yadda, blah blah. Afterwards came my favorite point of the morning. Since school didn't begin until 9:00 and it was roughly 7:30, I went to my room and popped Final Fantasy II in the Super Nintendo, turning on the TV.

 

Final Fantasy II is the greatest video game ever made. This is a fact.

 

Mike introduced me to the game when I was very young, and I never really grew out of it. If you want to get technical, the game should be called Final Fantasy IV, the way it originally was in Japan, but that title will never symbolize the emotions I felt when I would play that classic Americanized version with the campy dialogue. What was it about the game that was so endearing? I think it was the wide variety of characters. The main character, Cecil, was a dark knight who's confused about his mission in life, and seeked redemption by becoming a warrior of the light. Of course, there was also Tellah, the wise old sorceror who vowed revenge on the man who killed his daughter from him. Yang, the ninja from Fabul, was unforgettable as well, particularly his scene of self-sacrifice for the rest of the group. Then there was Kain, who had always been my personal favorite, as he was Cecil's best friend, but was secretly plotting treachery on the party. Traitors oftentimes seem to have an irresistability to them. Perhaps the world would be an easier place to live in if they didn't.

 

I switched on the game and enjoyed the long introduction for the hundredth time.

 

It started with a fleet of airships, mammoth travellers of the skies sailing northward in formation. Aboard these vessels were the Red Wings, the kingdom Baron's mighty military force, and their captain, the dark knight, Cecil.

 

"Captain Cecil, we are about to arrive!" a soldier reported with his hand in salute.

 

"Good!" Cecil told them. The soldier looked up at his captain, a towering man, his face completely concealed by a warrior's helmet except for two eyeholes, through which he was constantly staring his troops down. It was never an easy task to read his expression.

 

"Why are we robbing the crystals from innocent people?" another soldier questioned.

 

The first, afraid of angering his captain, answered, "That's our duty."

 

"Do we really have to keep doing this?" the other persisted.

 

Cecil, listening to the conversation, hung his head in shame as his mind reflected back to the day's earlier events.

 

The Red Wings had stormed into the Mysidian crystal room. There, upon the staircase, stood the town elder. Positioned in front of him were three wizards.

 

"Give us the Crystal of Water!" shouted one of the soldiers.

 

"What have we done?" cried the elder.

 

"The crystal or your life!" answered the soldier relentlessly.

 

"Never!" a warlock yelled back.

 

The crew of the Red Wings looked back at Cecil, who was thinking the situation over. King Baron had ordered him to come and take the crystal from Mysidia. Why was the king seeking them? What purpose did they serve? Was it worth killing innocent people in order to do the king's bidding? "Then," Cecil said to his men decisively, "take the crystal by force!"

 

Within seconds, a wizard was lying dead on the floor, his screams still echoing though his soul ceased to thrive.

 

"No! Don't!" a Mysidian healer begged as a soldier approached him.

 

"Dare to defy us?" the warrior taunted. He drew his sword and lunged forward.

 

"My! All right," the elder said quite suddenly and much to the crew's surprise, "take the crystal."

 

The soldier who had just murdered the healer swirled his sword around and pointed at the old man. "You should have said it earlier!" A swarm of Red Wings then ran at the old man, beating him down into a corner of the room as Cecil ascended the stairs.

 

He looked down at the shining Crystal of Water, confused. As he stared at the object, the elder spoke the dark knight's thoughts aloud through mouthfuls of blood. "Why is the King of Baron doing this? Why do you pursue the crystals so eagerly?" Cecil could have honestly said that he didn't know. He was merely following orders. If he were the ruler of a kingdom, he certainly would never demand the death of innocent people so that he could obtain some obscure piece of jewelry. But his opinion didn't matter. He was only the captain of the Royal Air Force. It wasn't worth it to stand up for what he believed in.

 

He grabbed the crystal and walked back down the stairs.

 

Suddenly, his mind was brought back to present day, onboard his airship with his crew surrounding him. "We take pride in being members of the Red Wings! Looting is out of the question!" someone was saying.

 

"Stop it!" Cecil ordered.

 

"Captain!" the soldier responded, turning to attention.

 

"We can't stand doing this anymore!" said another.

 

"Listen!" Cecil told them. "Possessing the crystal is an essential factor for our prosperity.  Moreover, His majesty judged that Mysidians know too much about the secret of the crystal.  We are the Red Wings, the air force of the Kingdom Baron!  The Royal Command is absolute!"

 

"Ahem," my father royally said from the doorway, "I command you to get out of this room and go to school!"

 

"Aw, but Dad!" I whined. "I haven't even started playing yet! I'm still watching the introduction!"

 

"Turn off the game and go catch the bus!" he replied. "It isn't worth it to stand up for what you believe in!"

 

So, rather than stay home all day casting magic spells and riding horses, I was forced into enduring another morning in Mrs. Barrow's third grade class. I was in my seat at the back of the room, writing down my D.O.L. while squinting at the board to read it. I had been doing this for a while. Usually Mrs. Barrow corrected and erased the work before I got done writing it. I figured that I was a slow writer. I never thought that I was some kind of freak until Mrs. Barrow asked that day when she noticed me squinting, "Joey, do you need glasses?"

 

It was more embarrassing than the time she had told me I was holding my pencil wrong in the front of the whole class, or when I went to the nurse and discovered I was actually scientifically unable to color within the lines. "My name is Klafterus," I told her, "and no, I don't."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Have you gotten your eyes checked?"

 

"No," I insisted, "but I think I would know whether I could see or not."

 

She didn't talk about it the rest of the day. Teachers are a sneaky type, though. She called my parents and told them that they should arrange an optometric appointment for me. "JOEY, GET IN THE CAR, WE'RE GOING TO GET YOUR EYES CHECKED OUT!" Mom yelled.

 

"My name is Klafterus and my eyes are fine!" I shouted back.

 

"NO THEY ARE NOT! GET IN THE CAR!"

 

"I don't need to! I can see perfectly! I'm not deformed!"

 

"GET IN THE CAR, NOTHING THEY DO IS GOING TO HURT! IT'LL BE JUST LIKE WHEN THEY DID SURGERY TO FIX YOUR TRIGGER THUMBS!"

 

"I never had trigger thumbs!"

 

"YES YOU DID! GET IN THE CAR!"

 

I still think she was lying about that. Despite my attempts to overpower her, it wasn't long at all before I was a bespectacled nerd. The moment I put the glasses on, the world felt out of proportion. I complained to the doctor.

 

"Doc, something's wrong! The whole room's gone topsy-turvy!"

 

"Welcome to real life," he chuckled. "I have granted you the gift of sight." 

 

"Are you kidding?" I asked, not rhetorically. "This isn't how things are supposed to look!"

 

"What you are seeing, Joseph, is what everyone else sees when they open their eyes."

 

"Maybe something's wrong with their vision then. Maybe I was the first one to get it right," I suggested. "And I hope you have it on my records that my name is Klafterus."

 

My social life, which was already skeletal, was completely destroyed. I could hear kids whispering behind my back as I stood at the bus stop.

 

"Eww, look at him!"

 

"Do I have to?"

 

"He looks like Rick Moranis!"

 

"Nah, more like Robin Williams!"

 

"You guys are stupid, he's the spitting image of Harry Potter."

 

"Hey!" I confronted them. "You guys are supposed to be my friends!"

 

"Oh, sorry," Andrew apologized.

 

"Won't happen again," Patric chimed in.

 

"What's 'spitting image' mean anyway?" Tyler wondered.

 

"Ugh, you guys, this is terrible!" I whined.

 

"Eh, it could be worse," Patric said, not reassuringly. "Besides, there's something cool that CJ and his brothers are doing over there. We should go check it out."

 

"What is it?" I asked, glad to change the subject.

 

"Some kind of trading card game with one of those funky Japanese names." I went to look with them, trying to hide how deeply it had hurt to see my own best friends, who alone believed that I was the Messiah, laughing at my expense.

 

What CJ and his brothers were doing was looking at Pokemon cards. Pokemon was one of the most phenomenal things in history. In my day, there were only a hundred and fifty of the little buggers. They were various monsters with different powers, which they battled each other with. Each card had a different Pokemon's picture on it. There were also some rules for playing the game, but no one actually did that. It was all about the pictures.

 

"Ooh, that's a good one!" Casey said to CJ, pointing to his brother's Poliwrath card.

 

"I got a better one!" Christian bragged, holding up his Alakazam in front of Casey's face.

 

"What are those?" Patric asked.

 

"Pokemon cards," CJ answered.

 

"I didn't know you were into witchcraft," Tyler said.

 

"Oh, come on! Don't tell me you guys haven't heard of Pokemon!" CJ gasped.

 

"Nope, sorry," Andrew said.

 

CJ explained what I just did about Pokemon.

 

"I'll give you some to start out with," he said. Then he handed each of the Rose Petals two cards each. Mine were Charmeleon and Koffing.

 

When we got to school, other kids were playing with Pokemon cards too. I went up to a kid in my class named Alex, who was carrying around his binder full of cards. "Hey, Alex, look what I got!" I showed him my new possessions.

"Oh, Charmeleon?" he said, opening up his binder. "I've got two of those."

 

"Woah, really?" I said in disbelief.

 

"Yeah, see, right here." He pointed to his two Charmeleons.

 

"You mean this is a common card?" I asked.

 

"Yeah, fairly," he said.

 

"Oh no!" I panicked. I looked down at his cards. He had more than one of most of his Pokemon, but there was a sort of cool-looking caterpillar one with a horn on its head that he had only one of. "Hey," I offered, "I'll give you both of these cards for that one!"

 

"For Weedle? Sure!" Alex handed me Weedle and took Charmeleon and Koffing, walking away and seeming happy.

 

I ran off to show CJ. "Hey, look at the trade I made! Charmeleon and Koffing for this guy!"

 

CJ looked down at my card. "For Weedle? Oh, you're screwed." 

 

"Huh?" I was confused. I ran to Patric. "Hey, look what I got for Charmeleon and Koffing!" I showed him Weedle.

 

"Interesting," he said. "Look what I got for Diglett and Rattata!" He pulled out a holographic Machamp card. "First edition, too! Those ones are even rarer!"

 

It felt like I had been stabbed. I looked down at my Weedle and read the description.

 

"Weedle: Basic Pokemon, 40 HP. Hairy Bug Pokemon. Length: 1'0", Weight: 7 lbs. Often found in forests, eating leaves. LV. 12."

 

In short, Weedle was the loser of all Pokemon.

 

Third grade passed away and I said goodbye to Mrs. Barrow and my memories as I transcended into fourth, where I would meet one of the most remarkable people I have ever known in my life. Her name was Mrs. Butto.

 

The first thing I noticed about Mrs. Butto was her tolerance. My fourth grade class was the worst behaved group of kids I have ever known. We were in a portable classroom, and the children were all Dennis the Menaces, especially one boys I remember quite well: Ryan Miller. On my first day of school, Ryan walked over to me and asked, "Do you fear death?"

 

"No," I lied. I find that when you are talking to someone who intimidates you, it is best not to show fear.

 

"That's good," he said, which scared me quite a bit until I realized what he meant. "Everyone else I've asked does. I don't fear death. Life is for the living. I'd rather die young and happy than old and useless."

 

"Yeah," I answered, hoping he would go away. He was such an idiot. Death was a horrible thing, and I had every reason in the world to fear it.

 

Whenever I am wrong, I tend to search hopelessly for evidence to support my wrong idea. This is an immature way to act, but it is also the moral roots of every decent comedian.

 

Despite children like Ryan, Mrs. Butto held peace in the classroom without getting angry. By the end of the year she had us controlled not through yelling at us, but by making us laugh. I struggled to find the education in her lessons. It usually seemed that she was completely ignoring the curriculum, and I sincerely thank her for it. I learned more from her than any other teacher I ever had.

 

One day that year, Mrs. Butto started class by saying, "Today we will be deciding who will run for class president."

 

They were words that affected me more than I would've expected them to. I suddenly imagined myself up onstage, holding my Certificate of Presidency, and saying things like, "This is what I've always dreamed of!" or, "This is so unexpected, I just don't know what to say! Thank you!" Without my brain telling it to, my hand shot up. "I want to run!" I said.

 

The entire class looked at me. I suddenly realized what a silly idea it was to run for class president, as I would have no voters.

 

After class, Mrs. Butto called me up to her desk along with Amanda and Ben, who were the other candidates. "You all need to prepare speeches that you will get up and say in front of the rest of the class by tomorrow," she told us. "Then we will conduct the voting." I felt as if someone had dropped a rolled-up rug on my head. I didn't know anything about writing a speech. I was turning to leave the room when Mrs. Butto said to me quietly, "And you'll have to use your 'real' name, all right, Joey?" I might have stopped and appreciated that Mrs. Butto at least took the time to acknowledge my name of preference if I hadn't been so worried.

 

Walking home from the bus stop, Patric said to me, "Hey, as soon as you put your backpack and stuff away, you wanna come out with us?"

 

"I can't, guys, I'm sorry. I've got to write a speech."

 

"Ooh, bad idea, Klafterus," warned Tyler. "My parents always say never to get involved with politics."

 

"Despite the ill logistics of listening to parents, I think Tyler's right about that," Andrew said.

 

"Whatever," I droned, not really caring. "See you guys tomorrow."

 

Hours later I sat with my notebook open in the family room, my mind completely blank. I finally turned to the second to last people I ever would have gone to for advice (the last person I would have gone to was some goofball I saw on this weird website once). "Mike, Dave," I asked, "do either of you know anything about speeches?"

 

"Those are things you don't write and then say to a big crowd of people," Dave answered.

 

"I'm serious," I told him. "I need to write one. I'm running for class president."

 

"Well, you should make up a really clever opening sentence," Mike offered. "Like, 'Hi, I'm Joey Hines. I don't make ketchup.'"

 

"You should use bribery, too," Dave added. "Bring a whole bunch of candy to school."

 

"Yeah... okay!" I said. I quickly began scribbling notes on my paper.

 

The next day at school, the speeches commenced after math. Luckily, I was selected to read mine last, so I had the advantage of seeing what my opponents' strategies were before attempting to entice the class.

 

"Hi, I'm Amanda, and I should run for class president because I will bring peace to the classroom! I will work hard to enforce the school rules without making things too hard on you! So vote for me, Amanda C.!"

 

I was shocked. It was clear she had put some thought into that speech. She had even made it rhyme at the end.

 

"Hi, I'm Ben, and I am here to tell you the truth! Amanda, that girl who just talked to you, is a drunk! It's true, I have proof! And that other guy who's running, Joey, is part of a secret religious cult! It's true, I have proof! Are you going to allow this sort of corruption in your system? No! You people are good enough for the truth! Vote for the real candidate!"

 

Of course! I found myself wishing I had done some digging on my opponents' backgrounds before writing my speech! I wondered if Ben had actually gotten that information from a reliable source; my part, at least, wasn't all that far from the truth.

 

"Joey, it's your turn," Mrs. Butto called.

 

I nervously walked to the front of the classroom with my fingers near my mouth as if I were biting my nails, but I wasn't. It's quite strange, ever since I have seen people bite their nails, I have tended to place the tips of my fingers near my mouth when I am nervous, but I have never actually bitten my nails.

 

"Hi," I began, trying to read the expressions of my audience's faces to no avail. After a long gulp, I spoke again. "I'm Joey Hines. I don't make ketchup."

 

The room erupted with laughter. Everyone, including Mrs. Butto, was laughing at the silly opening to my speech. I didn't really understand why. Ever since I learned of Heinz ketchup, I have associated it with my last name. I found it hard to believe that none of them had yet made this connection.

 

"Why should I be president?" I continued when they finally quieted down. "Because I have a big bag full of candy."

 

I then picked up my big bag full of candy and passed it around the room. "Wow! Free candy!" people screamed.

 

Mrs. Butto stood up when the din had ended. "Voting will take place after lunch," she announced.

 

At lunch I sat with my fellow Rose Petals. "Who do you think's going to win?" I asked them.

 

"You, obviously," Andrew answered.

 

I was completely surprised. "Woah, really?"

 

"Sure! Didn't you hear the way they laughed after your opening line?" he said.

 

"Yeah, everyone's saying they're gonna vote for you," Tyler agreed.

 

"I haven't heard anyone," I said skeptically.

 

Just then a group of girls walked behind me, whispering frantically. "Oh yes, that Harry Potter kid! I'm voting for him! He's sooooooo funny!" one was saying.

 

"Wow, I guess you're right," I said as I watched Ryan Miller, who was a cafeteria aide, drop a pizza on the floor, pick it up, place it on a plate, and serve it to some kid.

 

I returned to the classroom to find small voting ballots on all the desks. When the bell rang and all the kids were inside, Mrs. Butto explained, "I want you all to fill these out. Do not put your names on them, your votes will be completely confidential."

 

I looked down at my paper. The choice was obvious. I decided to forget about being a good samaritan and voted for myself.

 

As we walked home from the bus stop, everyone was discussing their confidential votes. "I voted for Joey!" said someone.

 

"So did I!" said someone else.

 

"I voted for Amanda," said Jordan, "but only because I know that Joey is going to win, and I have a natural urge to be obnoxiously different."

 

Andrew looked at me. "Well, it looks like you've got your work done. See you tomorrow!"

 

"Yeah, tomorrow!" Tyler repeated.

 

"It seems to happen rather often that two of us say something, and then the third has to say it too," Patric observed. "Tomorrow!"

 

Tomorrow came, and when I walked into the classroom, the white board had "JOEY IS PRESIDENT!" written in large letters on it.

 

"Congratulations! You're president!" Carolyn tried to give me a high five.

 

"I can see that," I said, declining her hand. I was rather disappointed that there was no Certificate of Presidency. I walked to the board, erased "Joey," and wrote "Klafterus."

 

"Class, you can go to lunch," Mrs. Butto told us later that day. "Joey, stay here, please."

 

"Yes'm," I answered.

 

"So, how are you enjoying the presidency?" she asked.

 

"It's all right," I said. "Not what I expected."

 

"Do you think you deserved it?" she inquired.

 

"No, not really," I answered honestly. "It was more of a popularity contest than an election. I basically won because I made people laugh. Personally, I didn't think the joke was even that funny."

 

"It's a gift that's becoming more and more valuable in society," she commented. "Look at me, most revered instructor in the school, and I haven't got any teaching ability."

 

"But you're funny as Hell."

 

"Exactly."

 

"So, what now? Are you going to hold another voting, kick me out of the running?"

 

"Well, no. There are a lot of presidents who get elected for dumb reasons. If Clinton got appointed to office because he could play the saxophone, I think I can let you get away with this." She winked at me.

 

"Well thanks," I told her. "Much appreciated." And that's how I became the unrightful president of my fourth grade class. What she said that afternoon demonstrated everything I love about that woman. The idea that popularity often took people farther than organized thinking did was extremely pertinent to my life. For a period of time, I was my class's popular president, but I discovered I felt just as much like a loser as I ever had before. Even when people began to notice me, they didn't appreciate me. They supported my campaign in hopes to befriend President Joey, not Klafterus, the real me. They cared about associating themselves with my public image, rather than honoring my hopes and dreams. It seemed that the world was even more superficial than I had suspected, now that I had a clearer view from a higher spot on the social ladder. A prime example of this was illustrated by an event that took place one Tuesday, ironically the most ignored day of the week.

 

It was just another day when I woke up and began my morning routine. Just another day.

 

I woke up at approximately 6:00 A.M. and ran downstairs to fix myself a plateful of waffles and turn on the TV. Pokemon came on at 6:30, and I did not want to miss it. I delighted in the warm mixture of butter and syrup as I watched some now-forgotten adventure of Ash Ketchum as he travelled the world to become a Pokemon master. When the episode ended, Hysteria came on. It was a show that mixed comical cartoons with history lessons. I disliked anything educational, so I did not feel as if I was missing anything by going upstairs and getting dressed. Then, as the morning drew to a close and I prepared to set off for school, I decided to use my last bit of free time to play a few minutes of Final Fantasy II.

 

Cecil walked off the Red Wings airship and through the doors of Baron Castle to find the king's assistant, Baigan, waiting for him. "Oh, Cecil! Is it the Crystal of Water?" Baigan asked rhetorically.

 

"But... Mysidians were so helpless..." Cecil protested, exhausted from battle.

 

"What are you trying to say?" Baigan said inquisitively, tilting his head to one side quite like a dog. "This way, Cecil." Cecil followed Baigan deeper into the castle. "Please wait here," he said when the reached the hall outside the throne room. Cecil did as he was told.

 

Baigan walked into the king's chamber, a massive room bordered with gold. "Your majesty, I'm afraid Cecil has developed quite a rebellious air!" he reported.

 

"Truly!?" the king said incredulously. "Well done, Baigan! We must do something. Call him in!"

 

"Yes, your majesty." Baigan gave a small bow before walking back to the door. "Cecil! His Majesty summons you. Please come in."

 

As Cecil walked into the throne room, something remarkable happened. My life actually became the video game. I had become so immersed in Final Fantasy II, that now, instead of watching Cecil walk into the throne room, I, Klafterus, was walking into the throne room.

 

"We thank you for successfully completing the mission," Dad said. He was sitting in King Baron's chair. "Now, where is it?"

 

"Here, my liege," I replied. I turned to where Baigan had been standing to see my brother Mike. I handed the crystal to him. He walked to my father.

 

"Yep, Dad, it's the real crystal," he said.

 

"Good! Joey... you may leave now."

 

I began to leave, heading off to get some sleep before my next mission with the Red Wings, but then I thought against it. I turned around, deciding to finally say what I had been wanting to say to that tyrant for so long. "My name is Klafterus."

 

The king turned to me, amazed that I would say such a thing. "Disobeying me?" he asked.

 

"No, I don't," I tried to explain what I had meant.

 

"We do know of your discontent, Joey," he told me. "If you can not follow my directions, I can no longer place the Red Wings in your command. You are dismissed from your post!"

 

"Dad!" I cried out helplessly.

 

"I have thought up a punishment for you," he said, taking a small brown package out of his cloak. "Take this package to the Village Mist and deliver it to the summoner woman who lives there. Now! Begone!" He tossed the package at me.

 

Then something amazing happened. Normally, at this point in Final Fantasy II, Cecil's friend Kain comes in the throne room and argues with the king. Instead, I saw none other than Andrew Swaney walk in the doors. "Mr. Hines! Klafterus didn't..." he began.

 

My brother Dave, who was stationed next to the throne, charged forward and began pushing us out of the room.

 

"If you're concerned about Joey that much, go with him, Andrew!" Dad laughed evilly.

 

"Dad!" I begged.

 

"Now! Leave with the package!" he roared.

 

"Please!" I pleaded.

 

"And throw a load of clothes in the washer!" he added as we were thrown out of the doors.

 

I picked myself up off the floor. "Aw, sorry, dude," I apologized.

 

"Don't worry," Andrew comforted. "He'll put you back in command of the Red Wings after this mission."

 

I sighed. "We better get going, then."

 

"All right," he agreed. We walked out of the castle into the surrounding fields. "In order to get to the Village Mist, we've got to travel through that cave to the northeast."

 

"How do you know this?" I asked him.

 

"It's a video game thing," he said. "I'm that obligatory character who's obviously done everything you're going to do in this adventure before, and is here to help you along in case you're ever stuck. You should be thankful, it's quite convenient. In real life, you wouldn't have someone like that."

 

"I suppose you're right," I shrugged.

 

We hiked over to the cave and entered, somehow not worried at all. Then, just as we were approaching the opening to the other side, where the Village Mist was located, a voice asked, "What are you doing?"

 

"Who is it?" I nervously whispered to Andrew.

 

"Where are you going?" the voice called again.

 

"I think it's a monster," he replied.

 

"Did your father send you? Ooh, I'm going to kill that man! Thinks he knows everything."

 

"Wait, I know that voice!" I said with sudden realization. "It's my mom!"

 

"Turn back now, or I shall destroy you," Mom ordered.

 

"But we must deliver this package!" Andrew insisted.

 

"Then you leave me no choice!" Mom concluded.

 

I watched as my mother materialized in front of us. "Come on, do your worst!" she taunted. Andrew lunged forward with his spear. Mom wrenched the weapon out of his hands, and twisted it as if it were a straw wrapper. "YOU DARE TO CHARGE AT ME?" she yelled.

 

I ran forward, swinging my sword wildly. She dropkicked me in the stomach, sending me flailing to the ground. "Don't attack when she's angry! All offense is futile at that point!" Andrew explained as Mom produced a chainsaw from behind her back.

 

"Joey! Get out here, now!" Dad called.

 

"Hey, what's King Baron doing here?" Andrew asked me. 

 

"I don't know," I said vaguely, confused. "It sounds as if it were something... outside the game..." But that didn't make any sense. A world outside the game was a ridiculous thought.

 

"Joey! Come on, get out here, I've called you a thousand times!" Dad repeated.

 

I continued to fight. I seriously doubted that Dad had called me a thousand times.

 

"Joey! A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center! Get out here!" he commanded.

 

My mind snapped back to reality. There on my TV screen where I had been standing was the dark knight Cecil, where Andrew had been was Kain, and where Mom had been was the Misty Dragon. "That's nice," I told my father angrily. I just wanted to play the game and beat the dragon. I didn't even know what a world trade center was.

 

"JOEY! ONE OF THE TOWERS IS FALLING DOWN ON TV! GET OUT HERE, NOW!" Dad yelled, sounding more like Mom than ever. He proceeded to come in my room and drag me out.

 

"Geez, all right, I'm coming." I squeezed out of his grip and walked slowly behind him to see what he wanted to show me. I didn't understand what was such a big deal. I had seen buildings fall down on TV plenty of times before.

 

I spent the rest of September 11th, 2001 on the couch watching the terrorist attack in New York with perfect 20/20 vision. I didn't go to school. My parents were too frightened to send me. There were discussions on the news about possible attack targets in Vegas. I think, however, what really kept my eyes glued to the TV that day was the incredible hypocrisy of people. On September 10th, everyone had been their same selfish selves as they always were, not caring about anyone else. Then three thousand people got killed, and suddenly, the population cared, after it was too late to do anything. They didn't care because they respected the people who died in those attacks, they cared because it was what all "Americans" were supposed to be doing. An entire nation's people was being controlled by bandwagon advertising. It was as superficial as it was possible to get. I spent that morning immersed in a video game. I am not proud of it, but I am not going to lie about it either. Some people will say that before 9/11, they were terrorist-hating patriots who would've stepped forth and died to save their country. The majority of them are liars. The majority of them were just as immersed in themselves as I was.

 

Several days later, the Rose Petals met up at the bus stop. "I hate the Middle East," Andrew said. "We should just blow up the whole region. So much of the world's conflict comes from them."

 

"That's racist," I told him. "Saying that is like writing a book that portrays all black people as meat-loving dimwits who have rap battles all the time."

 

"And that's completely, utterly wrong," Tyler stated, taking a bite out of his T-bone steak.

 

I heard Alex ask CJ from a distance, "Hey, you wanna trade some Pokemon cards?"

 

"No, man," CJ replied. "Pokemon's stupid. No one plays with those anymore."

 

"You guys realize the 90s are over now?" Patric asked.

 

"Huh? It's 2001, Patric, they've been over for a while," Tyler answered.

 

"Yeah, but, they haven't really been over. When 2000 came, nothing special happened. It still pretty much felt the same as 1999 did. This is that huge event everyone was waiting for. The entire atmosphere has changed. The new decade has finally begun," he explained.

 

"It's sad that it takes such a great tragedy to open our eyes," I said, "and then that some people still don't get it."

 

"What do you mean, that some people still don't get it?" Andrew asked.

 

"Oh, come on, I know you see them too," I told him. "Those people who walk down the streets crying, and hang American flags in their yard. You can tell they're just doing it because they think they're supposed to. You can tell they don't care at all about the people who died in those attacks."

 

It seems that every generation is marked by a war. My grandparents had World War II, my parents had the Vietnam War, my brothers had Star Wars, and now my generation was stuck with the War on Terror. Quite frankly, I was disappointed. It seemed like such a stupid, pointless war. The history books always made those old wars sound like revolutionary, epic struggles with righteous heroes. This war seemed like it was being fought just because it was scheduled or something, like someone said, "Oh, it's about time to have a war now. Load the cannons."

 

The four of us got on the bus to school and contemplated whether our president was elected because he had written clever opening sentences for his speeches, and whether we would ever have "just another day" again.