For the same reason that they were raised within the community, I was signed into the National Society’s Association, which basically meant that I was now given a definite purpose to serve and protect my own homeland’s well-being from any possible threat. My family, the Goldbergs, had been a part of this collective for generations, and my parents were eager to get me to become a part as well. The age requirement is eight, but Mr. and Mrs. Goldberg started applying me for heroism when I was at least only four or five. They were intent on making me the class leader among other things since, as they described it, they were the leading members of this little circle of friends in their prime.
           
Over dinner following the announcement that I would be inaugurated into the society the following Monday, Mr. Goldberg explained to me in great detail, “Being a part of the society is something you should be proud of, Nate. Think about all the lives you’ll save during your tenure, eh? I wish I was you when I was ten. I didn’t get accepted until I was ten so I didn’t get as much experience as you will. I didn’t get to meet your mother until I was thirteen either so I didn’t have many friends either. You are in good hands there, son. Mr. Geraldine is a good friend of mine who will ensure you get the best rooms; the best position; the best friends. You just need to be polite. Be sure to write as well, you hear? I want to hear all about your first day as soon as it’s over.”
           
I simply nodded. My parents woke me up much earlier than need be in order to prepare me for my audition. They prepped me on my lines and my actions for an hour or two. It took them about a half an hour to get me into the wardrobe that they saw as the “most appropriate” for the occasion. We waited in the lobby for several dozen minutes before being called in. Usually parents weren’t supposed to accompany the children, but since my parents were so well recognized in the office they were allowed to escort me into the back.
           
For the next half an hour I was subjected to irrational questions about my hopes, dreams, inspirations, and expectations of the society. They sat me in a director’s chair and put me under a hot light that made feel more like a criminal than a potential candidate for statehood within their shallow community, but I did not think so in depth of their process at the time as I had only turned eight that Tuesday morning. Years passed and I contemplated in my bed, tossing and turning over distant dreams, over whether I had been raised in the proper household.
           
I felt violated. I stood from the chair, was told I was the best that they had witnessed that day, and told to leave the way I came in. I did so out of my own desire to be on my own again and sat down in the lobby as my parents went to speak to the woman, old and busty and incapable of being an influence to society, about when I would be inaugurated. It usually took people about a month before they heard back, but my parents were brilliant in their techniques of persuasion that I would be inaugurated prematurely the following week.         
           
Most kids in the lobby ignored me. It felt more like a doctor’s office with the amount of toys and televisions and books and magazines that were displayed to distract the simple minds of the younger generation from the determination of their destiny that was occurring without their consent. Yes, the kids ignored me, but they chose not to pay attention to anyone else since they were in an uncomfortable predicament where they were forced to act instinctually. They had no input on their environment; it was occurring whether they intended for it to or not. Some hid their social nervousness behind their entertainment; others hid it behind their parents’ jackets.
           
I hid nothing for I had nothing to hide. I was more so concerned yet intrigued by the actions of others. At the time of their auditions the kids were meant to be interacting within academies, but they were barred from such institutions until they were officially inaugurated with their “class.” At this point these kids had no idea how human interaction functioned outside of their daily discussions with their parents which consisted primarily of lessons that were meant to prepare these children for their imminent auditions. My parents were from a different perspective on things since they were part of an elitist sanction of the National Society’s Association that allowed for secretive social interactions for their children that was not available to the average consumer. Thanks to their fame and legacy, as well as my notable ancestry, I was allowed entrance into a variety of different clubs and gatherings that allowed me to understand what it meant to be a member of the greater society outside of my own home on Flood Avenue.
           
That meant that I was upper class now. All of my abilities were not influential to my future success since it wasn’t that that was driving me forward; rather it was the nobility of Mr. and Mrs. Goldberg that got me into the director’s seat so quickly. Under the spotlight, I spoke my lines and answered my questions, but they did not hear my attempts. They only saw the child of Mr. and Mrs. Goldberg and not Nathanial Goldberg. They only saw the offspring of the glorious Goldberg dynasty that had “chosen”, despite being predestined to such an unfortunate career path, to spend eternity under their close watch.
           
Sitting in the lobby as the children who had yet to audition were completely desensitized to the fact that they were already adults with the use of magazines and toys; I felt the need to get fresh air. The child locks were applied to all doors, however, which meant that I could only sit and wait until Mr. and Mrs. Goldberg were done socializing and bettering my role within the society by getting me the right connections.
           
There was another child next to me who had gained a similar idea to mine. He didn’t really mind where he was; more so he minded that the other children were not allowed to choose whether they did or not. He wore a green hooded jacket with tan cargo pants. He looked cold with his constant shivering, but he was completely straight in his face and alone. I looked away from him and scanned the room for people who shared a similar design to him, but everyone seemed so different. I turned back to him and decided to introduce myself since it felt like the right thing to do, “Hi there.”
           
“Sorry about your parents. They seem like the kind of people who never stop talking. Is that right?” The boy asked and removed his hood. He seemed like a well-raised man who knew how to speak to people. I had never met him in the meetings, however. He was a completely new face.
           
“You guessed right. It’s hard to get in a word at home.”
           
“They seem to be doing a good job of raising you, though. You an eight year old, right? Most kids your age can’t make a grammatically correct sentence for their life. You’re in the minority, though. How does that make you feel?”
           
“Makes me feel fine, I guess. You’re not eight?”
           
The kid rolled up his sleeves. He had tattoos lines both of his arms, which were more like forests, “Not quite. Eleven, but age is but a number now. I should have come here years ago, but didn’t really have a reason to fight at the time.”
           
“So you do now?”
           
“Yeah, unlike most kids.”
           
“Tell me about it. Imagine being born into this.”
           
The kid took a gander at my parents, who were still talking at the front desk despite the old lady looking like she needed to get back to work with the stacks of applications that were piling up around her, “You’re in good hands, and whether or not that’s a good thing is entirely up to you. At least you’re not in my shoes. Day in and day out I’ve had to work to get here. That’s sort of a reason why I’m late to the auditions by a couple of years.”
           
“Yeah, well, being born into this type of thing has its ups and downs, you know?”
           
“Absolutely,” The kid took off his jacket and set it to the seat beside him, “I’m Edmund.”
           
“Nathanial, but most call me Nate.”
           
We sat there, admiring the fact that we both encountered someone of a similar lifestyle. We both understood what it meant to be a component to society. Edmund’s case was strange since he shouldn’t even understand anything. Being an eleven year old without tuition shouldn’t be leaving him like this. He seemed on par with my own intellect, if I do say so myself.
           
As we enjoyed the understanding that we were not alone with our way of thinking, I could sense two things, one of which was the creeping truth that my parents were departing from the front desk. The other was that Edmund wanted to ask me something. He sat there, calm and collected and still shaking despite choosing to take off his jacket, and remained looking at the door where kids go through for their auditions. He finally turned to me and asked, “How are you so different?”
           
“Excuse me?”
           
“You’re only eight; you were born into this noble family; you’re pretty much guaranteed entry into the society, but how did you come to be so different? If anything you should be blind as well.”
           
There was no feasible way for me to answer his daunting question before my parents could retrieve me and leave the office. As we left out the door I took a glance at Edmund to see if he was waving, but he had put back on his jacket and resumed sitting still. The three of us left down the hallway and stepped into the elevator. Mrs. Goldberg leaned against the metal railing on all sides of the elevator, apparently exhausted from what I didn’t expect to be such a laborious conversation.
           
My father stepped over to her and sort of moved me to the opposite wall where I remained while they whispered to each other. From the look on her face I suspected my mother to be distressed by something, but nothing was evident that could prove to cause such a commotion of emotions. It was probably just something the lady said and I left it at that. She was better by the time we were home so it was assumed to be nothing that really mattered to eight year old me.
           
Later that day it was made known that I was the society’s first pick for inauguration. That meant that I had done excellent in my audition, which actually meant that my parents had done a good enough job of prepping me for the occasion. Thus the Goldbergs spent the rest of the day celebrating by going and signing papers to various companies that promised me insurance and benefits in the event that I was badly hurt during my stay. It was an odd thing to do since these companies were just subsidiaries of the National Society’s Association, which meant that they were practically non-existent in the first place and costing my family even more. It wasn’t my money that was on the line anymore, so worrying about that was the last thing I should be doing.
           
At dinner that day we had this large pizza covered in pepperoni, pineapple, and sausage from Tony’s Diner, which was what my father co-owned with another man. My father was able to get it for free, which is something he seldom ever did for us. His deal was that we could only have something if we paid for it, including anything that he or Mrs. Goldberg owned within their respective companies. For the first time, as far as I could remember, we had gotten free food from Tony’s Diner. Something in Mr. Goldberg must have clicked since under no circumstances would he change.
           
As we sat around the table, he decided to speak up to me and say, “Being a part of the society is something you should be proud of, Nate. Think about all the lives you’ll save during your tenure, eh? I wish I was you when I was ten. I didn’t get accepted until I was ten so I didn’t get as much experience as you will. I didn’t get to meet your mother until I was thirteen either so I didn’t have many friends either. You are in good hands there, son. Mr. Geraldine is a good friend of mine who will ensure you get the best rooms; the best position; the best friends. You just need to be polite. Be sure to write as well, you hear? I want to hear all about your first day as soon as it’s over.”
           
As stated before I simply nodded. Sleep deprivation was never a concern prior to now, but I just wanted to go back to bed. Thinking about being on my own was tough to do since I was indecisive on my feelings of being such a highly heralded candidate. My mother sat to my right and refused to eat that night. She folded her hands and looked at her napkins, “I think I’m going to go to bed now.”
           
“Are you feeling okay, dear? Do you need medicine? A doctor? I can get you one right now if you need one.” Mr. Goldberg asked.
           
“I’m feeling fine, Andrew. I just would like to rest a bit. I’ll be up later.”
           
My mother excused herself from the table and retreated to her room where she closed the door loudly. Mr. Goldberg sat in silence, chewing his slice of pizza quietly and wiping his hands and mouth on a napkin. He looked back up at me and noticed that I was done eating. He closed the pizza box and set it aside, “I noticed you were talking to that one kid in the lobby. What’s his name?”
           
“Edmund.”
           
“Edmund? That’s a pretty crafty name.”
           
“Pretty okay.”
           
“What’s Edmund like?”
           
I didn’t really know how to describe Edmund, so I just replied, “He’s kind of like me.”
           
That seemed enough for my father. He nodded and stood up from the table, “I’ll be in the sunroom. Don’t wake your mother, please.”
             
There was a slight buzzing coming from somewhere within the dining room. With me as the only person present to hear it, I was able to comfortably let my curiosity show. I stood up from my seat, stepped around the table, and approached the wall where the sound was presumably coming from. I pressed around behind the glasses and decorations that littered the counter to see if anything was there, but only a few mousetraps that we had set out.
           
The sound was still there. I could hear it, but I was nearly completely confident that no one else would be able to since this sort of thing had occurred much too often in the past. I looked back at my pizza, which was soon to be devoured by flies, and realized that I had not eaten in the longest while. Should I feel hungry soon?
           
I could hear my father audibly yawn from the sunroom. It was getting late so I figured it would be a decent idea to maybe go to bed. To sleep would be wasting time until I am stripped from my home the next week, however, so I wasn’t too keen on the idea. Instead I returned to my seat, stared at my food, and waited in conscious time.