June 27th 2053
The day started at 10 AM. Well, at least the important part of the day that was. Will and I hit a thrift shop on the way up here from South Boston or "Southie" as he called it, and I walked out with a slightly scuffed up suit and tie.
Now Will was at work, and I was touring campus with a bunch of fellow incoming freshmen.
Interestingly, I did not feel as much out of place as I feared I would. Many were well dressed, but my peers (which felt weird calling them that) for the most part were a little more modest in attire. A man in a faded jacket and ratty tie did not attract attention much either way. There was enough variety in threads to be out of place.
The little welcoming ceremony had ended, which was a quick spiel about opportunity and how our graduating class would rule the world someday followed by a distribution of name tags printed for us. The next step was to find the advisor assigned to me.
It was a bit confusing, but I found mine and she spent the next 30 minutes or so talking about what to do for our first year.
First year students were supposed to be undeclared in their major which felt odd. She would go on to explain that our first year would be focused on General Institute Requirements that made the core of a transcript and oftentimes pre reqs for the more major required classes. Ones that would have a most forgiving grading scale of a, b , c, or "no record".
All in all, I'd need four courses for physical activities, eight for humanities, six for science plus a couple of labs and writing classes. I'd need a couple of electives too but, I'd sit down and read the course catalog later. Those that were emphasized, I marked on the one I got for future reading. It was starting to sound like this would be half of my degree, and I wasn't sure yet how to feel about that.
Looking around, I wasn't sure what the mood was on the matter, but I couldn't shake the sinking feeling that I was going to be the last man to find out about a lot of things.
The end of the event came eventually, and with it we were turned loose on the court outside the admin complex, to check boxes on the to do list (housing, possible employment, meet the department of electrical engineering and computer science), and see some of the clubs that were supposed to make campus life more interesting or at least bearable.
I spotted a pretty big booth near the edge for matters of housing and made my way there weaseling my way through the gathering crowd. The admin official running the booth was giving his rundown and taking questions as he went.
"Does it have to be on campus?" I could hear one person in the crowd ask what something I wanted to ask, and immediately had an ugly feeling about.
The man waited a moment for all eyes to focus on him.
"We have found that students perform better and are more likely to graduate if they spend a year living on campus, so yes. It does have to be on campus. We want everybody to get to enjoy our campus experience to the fullest."
I wasn't surprised by his answer, but that didn't mean I was happy about it. I'd seen the pricing on some of the dorms which were lower end of the price tag and they seemed overpriced if Will's word on nearby apartment rates were anything to go by (even those were obscenely expensive to somebody who had never lived in a proper city.)
There was a snicker behind me at the man's reasoning.
"Getting fucked by student accounts is part of the experience." I could hear someone say to another. By what I knew so far, though it wasn't much being a fresh transplant, was exactly my opinion.
I looked at the poster boards on the table. Between the two, I had a summary of what approved housing was supposed to look like. They depicted dorms clean, compact and of modern design.
I wasn't quite sure what to think of them at the moment. Accommodations weren't what I'd hoped for, but they looked much better than the places I'd lived in Georgia. And at the very least they did give something for a meal plan. At least there was that.
Still, it left me with a sour taste in the mouth when I put my name down to reserve a place and get my name in the system.
My visit ended by taking a few odds and ends from the table, mostly stuff on how to arrange payments. Many things could be put on plans, but I would still have to cough up quite a bit in two months time.
Next table represented the token presence financial aid had here. There was little to do except ask a few general questions and put myself down for an appointment later in the coming week.
Beyond that in the general population in the courtyard, there were other tables, though most I had been told did not yet have a presence on campus. Among the ranks I could see local churches, party organizations, and representatives from some of the houses of the Greek Quarter, I think they called it.
I'd read a little bit on the residential options for living the "Greek Life." I really wasn't sure what the appeal was. You paid enough for a dorm and a half to live in a better looking house with three random Greek words for a title. No doubt I was missing something significant. Maybe it was better food. Some did post openings for experienced executive chefs after all.
There were four denominations for the churches. You had the Catholics and non denominationals of course. Further down were the Pentacoastals and the Lutherans. I found myself wondering what parts of Boston each group represented.
I'd seen enough to get a pulse on what the Catholics around here were like. Will had suggested I better acquaint myself with the church if I really wanted to network. It was the surest path to meeting girls and finding a decent job. I really didn't want to go down that road, but I definitely found myself considering it. I started there and gave them my name when asked, hoping for the best.
From there, I went down the rows table to table. There was a model train club. I liked trains enough to make half the journey here on them, and I found the model aspect oddly fascinating.
"Electrical Engineering you say?" One of the guys at the table asked with a wolfish grin. "You ever seen the kind of electrical work that goes into a serious operation?"
I shook my head, which prompted him to whip out a binder with all sorts of stuff on their projects.
I whistled at the sight of one of their featured electrical diagrams. Even the ones the more simple designs, like maybe an oval with two switches, required a good bit of expertise.
"I'm in," I told the fellow. Literature was taken and a name was left.
Next table to catch my eye was one for energy. They were interesting enough to talk to, and were very happy to talk about their place on the cutting edge of alternative energy research.
It wasn't quite the vision of alternative energy one would see from the other side. Where the term there might focus on windmills and solar panels whose effectiveness depended largely on developments in electrical engineering, here the focus was on the next generation of nuclear energy with possibilities not seen since the discovery of Thorium breeding, though hopefully more practical.
To hear them suggest it, we were only a few years away from solving looming energy troubles.
"So how long before I start seeing fusion cars back home?" I asked them while overplaying my Georgian.
"Hell if I know," The fellow closest shrugged. "Somebody has to develop the car that incorporates the reactor for that to happen. Maybe five years if it were ready tomorrow. Even then, I don't think people down there will have the money for one."
I knew what he meant. Cambridge might have been part of the Union but it was like a very different country up here; a country at the cutting edge of the technological curve that had money for nice shit.
"Where are you from anyway?"
"Southeast Commonwealth," I answered while regarding the man.
He was a thick barrel chested fellow with a thick ginger beard for someone who looked barely 21. Most curious though was his t-shirt which he seemed to wear without a sense of irony.
"Interesting shirt for a club like this. I wonder what they'd think."
He gave a big shit eating grin. "Surprised? Poseidon does like energy research. They'll be paying me a good salary out of Houston for that when I graduate."
"But they sell fossil fuels, last I'd heard."
"They do, but that stuff is volatile and the price will stay high no matter what. Investors want energy sources that aren't just oil, gas and coal. Can't get bread on the table for resources that suddenly aren't there."
"I guess not. So Poseidon is transitioning away from oil?" This was news to me.
"To the extent it's possible. I mean Transportation and petrochems aside, we still have seventy something power stations nationwide and a lot of contracts with energy and defense to fill."
That made sense enough. If you could run utilities on pigshit you could probably allocate more oil to other sectors without really denting the steady inflation of a barrel price.
"They make you a recruiter?" I asked the man.
"Nah, I'm just a lowly hire doomed to get six figures out of school doing the stuff I love. Unlike Noel over here who signed on with Mass Fusion."
He pointed to another man at the table. Noel was the kind of dark haired man with a hooked nose, who just simply looked Jewish.
"I haven't heard of Mass Fusion. They better?" I asked him all noncommittal like.
"Of course," came his almost automatic response. It's not as established as say Poseidon but it's a good startup and I'm happy to get in on the ground floor while it's small. Come next fiscal year, they'll be putting out fusion wells that anyone can get. Energy independence for normal people." He waxed on about the virtues of his organization. "Best part is that you get to sell excess power to the grid. At least until Poseidon lobbies against that."
He shot a look at the Poseidon man who rolled his eyes.
"I'm pretty sure those wells you people keep hamming up aren't very safe. I mean when my pals at competitive intel crack one open, I don't think they'll find any kind of clean fusion that hasn't been tried. If Mass could be traded today I'd be asking my broker to get puts on your company."
"Ken," Noel shook his head and wagged his finger. "You might want to wait till we're both working full time before you rack up gambling debt."
"What are puts?" I asked Ken. I had a feeling they were talking about investing but understood nothing beyond that.
"It's when you place a bet that a stock is going below a certain price before a certain date," Noel answered the question before his colleague could but in. "If it happens you make money and if it goes up," he looked at Ken. "Then your stupid bear ass gets squeezed and you buy back the shit you short sold for premium."
"Wait, how is that possible?" I was a little confused trying to understand him.
Instead he shrugged. "We're not brokers here, but there is a trading program with a table somewhere around. If you do chase a career in energy, you might get plenty of money to throw at them. Hundreds of thousands a year even."
I laughed trying not to think about all the money being waved in my view. There wasn't much I knew about Mass Fusion except that it was up and coming. Now Poseidon on the other hand...
It was said that Poseidon was a great company to work for if you weren't some disposable filling station clerk making hourly wage. Not that I felt comfortable bringing that up here. I might need these people to introduce me to hiring managers one day.
"It does sound like an interesting club you're part of," I mused aloud. "I thought about being a double E major for this kind of opportunity."
I took a pen and scribbled some notes about the organization before putting down my name.
"See you folks in a few months, I suppose." I departed on those words, looking for another table to divert my mind.
In the end a few tables were visited to that end.
There was Economics whose members wrote impact assessment reports for various perks.
The CIT Agriculture club was another to draw the eye. Their table showcased an optimistic vision of what the future of farming could be like (that didn't involve one day going back to horses when the oil went dry).
After that came the Pentacoastal fellowship table. Maybe I should have run when I made eye contact, but there was something keeping me there.
The people at the table were well dressed though not enough to outshine those who had come in their best. Clothes did little to make them it seemed.
There was something else about them that drew focus, I decided as one of them called out to me.
She was a dirty blond, with sharp features and high cheekbones. Her dress was a simple blue outfit with floral patterns.
"You seem lost stranger," she inferred, looking me down.
"I wouldn't say I'm lost or anything," I chewed on the meanings of her observation, not sure what she meant or how to respond. "I prefer to say I'm exploring. I only got here yesterday after all. I'm Joseph by the way."
"Lauren Trad." She had blue eyes that seemed to sparkle.
She spoke of the greatness of God and the importance of fellowship with his children.
"Aren't we all God's kids?" I wondered about her meaning. "Couldn't have fellowship with anyone?"
She giggled and we struck up a conversation. They started by asking about my roots.
"Chattanooga," I lied through my teeth.
"You get here on a Chattanooga choo-choo?" One of them whimsically asked in a way that made me hesitate.
I mulled over it for a moment. "You could say that. Northbound freight."
I gave them my cover story sprinkling on as much truth as I dared share. They didn't need to know that I had eloped, or about how I raised money through it all.
Will had loved the story of my hitchhike to Boston, but this was more elite company.
Helen Newton always had a word to describe it. Uppity. It had a few meanings to her. She'd used the word many times after all.
Talking about a driver's license was being uppity. Doing anything extracurricular was being uppity. Wanting anything from her besides food was uppity.
She said it in public plenty too. A clerk not running to fetch their manager was uppity as was expecting a tip for anything. If they looked dark enough (the word was used even more with them), even eye contact was a sin which I never understood.
We plantation kids were expected to make eye contact yet I'd seen her yell at the Coloreds for doing what we were supposed to do. Were we, the trash of white trash allowed to be just uppity enough for that?
Part of me feared people in this place looking at me and who I was the way Helen looked at them and it made me uncomfortable. At least these folks didn't have any authority over me or the means of getting it.
I didn't regret telling it the way I did, that was for certain. For one, the expressions were priceless as they seemed varied. I saw awe, horror, and discomfort written on their faces, and it felt satisfying.
"You had a lot of faith to come here for that to be your only path." A man with a silky shock of blonde hair regarded me as if voicing the judgement of his colleagues.
"It was the path God laid out for me." I said the words as though it was a walk to the nearest corner store, looking absently at the ground. "I don't think he meant for me to have a nicer way to get here."
"You know, you sound alot like the missionaries from my church back home." That girl piped up. "They went to Indochina."
Southeast Asia was a brave place to be a missionary, especially down in Kampuchea where Christians were always in season with no tag limit. Especially since I didn't know how to do the jungle guerrilla lifestyle.
"I imagine it's a pretty beautiful place to visit but I'm happier here in Boston. Got enough stories getting here. You should try some time on the road. You get to meet some interesting folks that way."
She giggled again, it was a charming sound.
"Life on the road isn't my calling," she said.
"Do you know yours?" I asked curiously.
She shook her head when pressed as though she was as confident she would know as she was that she knew what was off the table.
Changing subjects, I asked about the church, to which she gave information. Unlike the non denominationals apparently, they were open year round.
I thanked her and moved on. It was weird walking away. Part of me knew I should put more distance between me and those folks, but I wasn't sure what I wanted to do.
I met back up with Will when about the time he got off the clock. I would miss some of the festivities whatever they were, but I wasn't about to head to Roxbury or Glocksbury as Will called it on my own.
Not that it mattered, I'd seen enough for one day and would rather decompress somewhere quiet. I'd already sniffed out most of the free food anyway which was more important anyway.
"Tough first day at school sweetie."
I returned a shit eating grin. "Yes mommy."
He looked at me blankly for a moment before laughing.
"What? I'm sure not calling you daddy. How was work?"
"It was the balls, and not just because it's payday." His voice was upbeat.
"Oh," I raised an eyebrow.
"My friend Chuck is coming over," he looked at his watch. "He'll be here in a few minutes. Good news for you too."
I was maybe a little confused.
"What's the news?"
"A couple other pals at work heard what I said about your story." Will grinned. "One of them knows a guy who hires under the table. Pays well though."
Part of me was on edge when I heard that last bit. It probably wasn't for a construction firm that looked the other for an undocumented applicant.
"What's the job?"
Will shrugged, then handed me a card.
"Fuck if I know, but I did get a fake ID through them. They should help you there too." He handed me a business card.
I pondered the implications as we waited for Chuck. Chances were it was something very illegal.
Oh what the fuck was I kidding? If documentation was on the table, maybe as payment for services rendered, then of course I would be breaking the law.
I was digging myself into a deeper hole. In a sense, I was already a criminal. It was not for anything I considered wrong at this point, but that didn't matter.
Getting caught was bad no matter how serious the offense. Sure there would be risks, but going on as I had the last month was a risk.
I flipped the card in my hand and read the four lines of print that dominated it.
Ron Trevino
Fratelli Pizzaioli
37 Main st. Charlestown MA 02129
(617) 148-3369
Oriented on the left half of the card, were two mustachioed men standing back to back tossing dough.
I breathed a sigh of relief. How bad could it possibly be?
AN: The most entertaining part of writing this is having someone with limited understanding of this environment react to the stuff incoming students would expect to be bamboozled with.
Before anyone judges the main character's mindset let me reiterate that the people here good, bad or otherwise are a product of the time which leads me to imagining that time. In this timeline I'm not sure what path civil rights would have taken but it makes sense that reorganizing the states into regional Commonwealths in the late 60's might have been a response to things such as civil rights assuming they made any significant headway at the time (I suppose we'll find out if we ever get a fallout game in the South). This means certain attitutes and vocabulary will rear their unholy head at times.
On religion, we're gonna be talking about it now and then (shocker I know). There's gonna be a fair amount of perspective between denominations. I may end up murdering a sacred cow on occassion when the topic comes up. On the flip side if you're hoping for a neckbearded scREEEd on the evils of religion, you may be disappointed. Just setting expectations.
I've probably broached enough spicy subjects for one chapter.