Tomorrow is the day. The glorious day of decision… or better yet lack thereof! Tomorrow was test day. We get to sit in a room, already exciting, and then we test and test on everything worth testing; Math, Science, Writing, and History. And based on our abilities (at test taking) we are given our jobs for life. God, don’t you just vibrate with excitement!?
When I was in first grade, I remember I took a test. It was terrifying at the time although I don’t remember why… My parents cried when I left the car but that seems strange now. Well, anyway I took the test and they said I did excellently! And I smiled and got a high five from the teacher and then a man came in.
He was a leonine man, with fiery hair, and sharp green eyes. He reached out his hand and spoke “Welcome to the top”
And I remember laughing. Thinking it was one of those adult jokes that people love to say, that go over our short heads. Then I turned to leave, I reached out my hand, gripped the handle, and pushed the door open to see the sunlight which I had longed to go out and play in (ridiculous really, imagine the germs), and most of all I remember my father crying. My childish mind was gripped with terrified confusion. I had never seen my father cry before.
Strangest of all, I don’t remember them. Don’t get me wrong I remember my mother’s long elegant arms, and her humming when she did laundry, I remember my father’s giant hands blackened by his work, I remember them hugging me simultaneously and so tightly, almost afraid.
But I don’t remember their names… I don’t remember my mother’s favorite color, or my father’s favorite car. Maybe my mother loved mechanics, and my father’s hands were black because he painted sets for musicals. I don’t remember. But I do remember writing my thesis in psychology on it and getting an A- and sobbed to my roommate who patted me on the shoulder while she wrote her report on the gibbon evolution.
After the weird, pointless crying episode that wonderful emerald eyed man drove me to my happily ever after. It was called the GAT’d community. We always laughed about the slang… Improper English is for stupid people. GAT stood for gifted and talented,  and of course because we were surrounded by a fence.
White. That’s was my first thought. The white Villas that those who succeeded in school got to live in enshrouded in roman architecture, white collared shirts and dresses, white desks and computers. All to ensure nothing could distract us from our goal… Education.  It was so cool. But I remember on the first day I ran from my paradise. I screamed for my mommy, grabbed the chain link fence, and cried. And I stayed there all day until I collapsed from exhaustion.
I woke up in class, beautiful class. I remember on the first day in that utopia which was education I watched a teacher write something on the board and I was told to write it down. Then we all said it together, I remember how fun I thought it was! The next week we were quizzed on what the teacher had written the first week and if you studied and memorized your notes you got an A! The game was so fun.
The game went for four years. The subjects kept changing and the terms became harder to memorize but I pushed through it. I was one of the top students. Teachers always reminded us of how we had to work hard if we didn’t want to end up washing floors. I don’t know what “washing floors” is but I’m pretty sure our maids do it. See all these reciting games culminated in one test. A test where we bubbled in the answers that we had worked so hard to memorize and if we could recite the most facts in a certain subject, we were given that job. Architects could tell you who built the most buildings, mathematicians knew how to solve the most equations, writers could quote the most people, and those who didn’t work hard enough were given mindless work.
Today was the test… So, we were given the entire day off to study. I was well prepared, this would be a day of relaxation; so I did my usual morning ritual of quoting all of Poe’s the Raven and doing one hundred math problems then went for a walk. I liked to walk by the gate, the chain link fence which peered out into the low scorers; where the one story houses had disgusting color and illegal painting and people played outside for two hours instead of studying. I liked to look at what I must ensure I do not become.
Today there was someone waiting there… In the way of my judgmental glare. He was a tall, slender young man. His skin was tan and he had a tattoo on his arm. He was gingerly lifting a cigarette to his mouth and inhaling the red hot poison in one hand and holding a long case in the other. He looked up neutrally at the houses that were so beautiful. He looked… bored.
I walked towards him, me and my friends loved to confuse these simpletons. His apathetic stare bore into me the entire trudge toward him.
“Hello” He spoke.
“Hey, what are you doing?” I asked
“Standing here smoking a cigarette”
“Well, obviously. Did you know that they build up layers of tar in your lungs until-”
“Have you ever smoked one?”
I smirked “No because putting anything in your lungs other than oxygen is not good for them”
“How do you know?”
“Well” I paused for a moment “I was in class and Mrs. Malburo was explaining how tabacco is-”
“Why do all you white shirts call this place gated?”
“It stands for gifted and talented now as I was saying”
“Has anyone ever gotten in for being talented?”
I pondered for a second. “Talented… at remembering”
“This is a trumpet” He held up his case “I know how to play it, am I talented?”
“Well yes but-”
“I’m not talented enough? I can play you something”
“No that’s not necessary, you aren’t the right kind of talented”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“That’s not a complete white shirt kind of answer”
“Because the test didn’t say you were”
“But the test never asked if I played the trumpet, you remember it don’t you?”
“No, but I remember being told I was good at it”
“Do you like music?”
“I can tell you that the first piece of written music found was in-”
“Do you like music?”
“I’m trying to tell you”
“No you aren’t, just answer whether or not you like music”
“Well I’ve never heard it I guess”
“That’s sad.”
“What is?”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“White”
“Why?”
“Because I see it so often”
At last the scary (stupid) boy turned his back to the fence and stood for a moment.
He leaned his head toward me taking a last whiff of his cigarette “You don’t seem to know much at all, white shirt”