The Future Is Overrated
(1989 Edition)

Meg Walker
October 12
English Period 3

Where I’m Going to Be in 20 Years
By Meg Walker

This is supposed to be inspiring.

A feel-good assignment where we imagine our futures, write about our hopes and dreams, and pretend like we all have equal shots at getting out of this town.

Spoiler alert: we don’t.

In twenty years, I’ll still be here.

That’s the truth no one wants us to say, right?

Still in Bellingham (surprise!) working some soul-killing job that pays just enough to keep me stocked in Dinty Moore.

Maybe I’ll manage a weird little video store downtown or run the night shift at a 24-hour gas station out by the highway. Something with flickering lights and bad coffee. Something anonymous.

I'll live in my mom’s house. Like I am now. Since she bailed this summer. I guess it’s mine. The roof leaks when it rains, and the windows are painted shut. Maybe I’ll have a cat. Or I’ll just name the rats in the walls and pretend they’re pets. Steve the Rat. Maybe a whole band. The Rats. Opening for Motley Crue.

I’ll drive the same truck I have now, except more rusted. Or it’ll finally die and I’ll just walk everywhere.

That’s fine. I like walking. People don’t expect much from you when you’re on foot.

I’ll probably be single. Or dating someone who doesn’t talk much and leaves me alone when I want.

Kids? Nope. Not screwing anyone up the way I’ve been screwed up.

Maybe I’ll write a book no one reads.
Maybe I’ll drink too much.
Maybe I’ll make another mixtape—Side A: angry girl, Side B: sad girl—and play it loud enough to shake the windows.

Maybe I’ll make it to forty without disappearing completely.

I know I’m supposed to say I’ll go to college, or travel the world, or do something big. But that’s a lie. And I’m tired of lying to adults who stopped listening a long time ago.

Ziya’s going to be a millionaire. Bianca’s going to Harvard. CeCe wants her own TV show. Like Oprah. Allison’s going to be a doctor helping kids.

I’m just hoping to survive graduation.

Mrs. Landry keeps saying this is “an opportunity to dream.”

I’m dreaming of erasing the whole chalkboard with my face just so I don’t have to listen to another word.

So yeah, in twenty years?

I’ll still be Meg. Still an outsider. Still angry. Still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Or maybe the world ends first.

Hopefully after prom. I already bought the shoes.

—Meg