Content Warning: This fictional story has details of race play and, even scarier, politics
I was twenty-six years old when the calendar flipped over to the year 2039. Social media platforms were no longer the wild wild west; they were the mainstream culture. A shift was being felt throughout the United States as a new decade approached, and soon enough, its politics shifted to reflect that. Younger politicians saw spikes in public approval, as their youthfulness hinted at a bright future. And much to the delight of girls and progressives everywhere, the women in politics began having more and more power throughout the last decade, with no sign of that changing heading into the 2040s.
I walked under the yellow Nevada sun, its balming heat made worse by the rows of glass turning the room into a greenhouse. I liked it that way. My office in Carson City gave me a perfect view of the soft mountains in the background. And on days when working as a Nevada state senator stressed me out beyond belief, sitting and listening to the silent hills gave me comfort. In fairness, I was still getting used to the job, having only recently been elected in at a young age. It started with a degree in political sciences from Reno, and after paying my dues for only 4 years, I was on track to stay in Nevada's capital city for some time. I love politics. I hate politics. I play the game of politics. Everything from my social life to dining with other state politicians, which sometimes included Governor Sandoval, was focused on my voters and my mission.
Like usual, I wore clean, ironed navy work pants and a matching suit jacket; my dark blue colored clothes slowly becoming synonymous with my "Senator Chanler" image. I considered myself lucky to be in this position. Even though it was sort of a trend in modern day politics to have women in power and to elect younger politicians, it didn't mean it was easy getting to where I'm at today. And working for the state I was born and raised in filled me with some nationalistic pride. Even my political opponents were pleasant to work with. Governor Sandoval and his inner circle were made up of men, but still, they were popular. Despite being a different political party than me, they were one of the good ones.
It's no secret that I wanted more than being a state senator. I wanted to work my way up. Put in my time and make it to Congress. Maybe come back home and run for governor. And then maybe, become only the second female president is the history of the United States. That was still a long way away, and right now, I was stuck sitting at my wooden desk, staring out at the unmoving Nevada peaks. I looked down at my watch.
11:34
, the green digital face read. My lunch meeting at 12:30 with the Lieutenant Governor put me in an awkward gap of time. Not enough time to do anything else, but too early to leave. During these breaks, I often look out of the window and think of my dream. My goal. In a perfect world, the law I would put into place. Not a statewide one, but a national one.
Reparations; plain and simple. Other states already had reparation laws in effect, but not all of them. And in my eyes, not the ones that mattered. Washington and Oregon were the first states to implement their statewide reparation laws. A great start for me and my supporters, but not nearly enough for us to feel satisfied. California followed suit, and that was a massive win. The most populous state in the nation was sure to be a big sign for positive change, and it was. All the New England states followed suit soon after, along with New York.
Still our supporters were not fully satisfied yet; and they weren't alone. The states that needed to give out reparations; Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, the Carolinas, Indiana; had still not added a reparations law to their books. And the laws between each of the states were different. A single, nationwide, standard reparation law is what I fight for. It's what my supporters fight for. It's what 40% of Congress fights for, and just over 55% of US citizens wanted. Still, in 2039, the United States was not ruled by the majority.
I had lost track of time, and shook my head, waking up from my daydream. Just over a year ago, I could (and did) spend all my time thinking about it. Now, as an elected legislator, I was expected to do more than think about it. I have to do something, and there's nothing more I want to do than see my dream come to fruition.
12:06
; plenty of time for me to leave and reach the restaurant.
I strutted down the hallway, out into the midday sun, and around the corner. Other politicians liked appearing fancy; going to steakhouses or fancy sushi markets were a common place for me to have meetings. Lieutenant Governor Maxwell was not like other politicians. Instead of any formal dining place, his preferred lunch spot was Ned and Bart's Classic Diner, a standard roadside American diner. Eating at a place like this was perfect for Maxwell, and more importantly, helped further his down to earth, "fighting for the common man" public image.
I entered the old school diner and was immediately hit by the smell of eggs and stale coffee; a smell I found comforting. And as soon as I stepped onto the polished checkerboard tiles, I was (nearly) hit by something else. Herb, the waiter, dressed as dapper as ever in his clean white shirt and black bowtie. The older diner never required such a fancy uniform, but Herb was old fashioned, as was evident by his gray stubble beard and even grayer curled hair. Normally, gray hair wasn't a particularly flattering sign of growing old; but thanks to his dark skin, his aging hair color looked graceful. It didn't hurt that I found black skin ridiculously attractive anyway. And Herb knew it; we've formed a sort-of... friendship over the years as my trips to Ned and Bart's grew more and more frequent. He looked up at me and smirked a toothy grin. I responded with a silent smile of my own and nodded my head down in acknowledgment.
"Tattoo's looking nice today," Herb said, softly gesturing to her right arm. Just below my shoulder, high up on the side of my left arm, was the only tattoo I had. A spade shape, like the one you would see on a deck of cards, and almost entirely black. The sole disruption of the inky hue was the letter Q, perfectly centered on the tattoo. There, no ink was tattooed into me, allowing for my natural skin color to shine and make the capital letter stand out. The telltale sign of a 'Queen of Spades'.
"Thanks, Herb," I responded with a smile, forever proud of the mark. Herb smiled another toothy grin and motioned me to a booth in the corner, next to a black trimmed window. I walked across the diner, passing around a waitress in a white shirt and apron. I unceremoniously plopped myself down on the worn-out booth. The waitress promptly started across to me.
"Hi there! Welcome to Ned and Bart's. You expecting anyone else?" Despite myself, I couldn't help but feel a smile spread across my face, listening to her bubbly voice. As I looked up to face her, I was met by an Asian woman. I guessed most likely Thai from her facial structure. The waitress was certainly younger than me, but not strikingly so. I'm fond of my own auburn hair and rounder face, but I had to admit the younger Asian's black hair, with streaks of red, and slimmer face structure were pretty.
After a bit too long of a pause, I spoke. "Sorry...yes, I am. Uh... Three others." The waitress smiled politely. I figured she was used to being stared at, and I felt a pang of guilt hitting me.
