The alarm blared with a strict ring for precisely five seconds, waited two beats silently, then carried on its ring. This pattern cycled ceaselessly, expelling into a white walled room. A bed in the middle of this room held what could've been a dead body placed neatly beneath simple white covers. It was laid out so carefully, that if it moved, creased one bed sheet, you would think something was wrong with it to cause it to blanch out. Its hair, cut off evenly at the chin, was put down perfectly against the shoulders. Its pale eyelids were hit bluntly with hard light invading through lightly curtained windows. Sounds of firm footsteps coming from outside the room seeped under the room’s door, but only the clipped ring of the unyielding alarm awoke the stiff figure. It arose with only slight delay at the second ring, and walked over to a small dresser decorated with polish and papers. The being was poised with a square-like grace guiding the way it moved. Getting dressed with only a slight hurry, an old, light gray coat, slid over its dainty shoulders as a final part of the ensemble. Only slightly too big, it covered a plain dress shirt, fit appropriately on feminine shoulders and hips. These clothes were used for important events. Though any day resembling anything of importance she often took to herself to classify a day worthy to dress in these clothes. Today, though, happened to be an actual suitable day for these clothes that her father would agree upon to be so as well. It was relieving to her that she wouldn't have to look at the stoney impatience of her father’s face as she explained why it was an “important” day. She was glad she would never have to see the look again; soon she’d be expected to wear these clothes every day. She looked up into the mirror kept against the wall above the dresser. She did her best impression of a smart citizen; back straight, fancy clothes, yet simple, kept unwrinkled, hair straight and bob styled, eyes perfectly genetic brown. It wasn’t set on paper that these requirements had to be fulfilled to be considered a good smart citizen, but it is what smart citizens seemed to show up as in everything from books to Tv. Everyone always has good posture, brown eyes and either brown or black straight hair- at least all the good guys do. Lucky for her, she was attired perfectly for a smart citizen, despite that she was slightly too short and small to fit into the normal range of size for a 18 year old female.
At least she wasn’t curly headed. She can always eat a haul full of food at lunch before gym class during the fitness testing week, weight and height day. Height is helpless, but she’s only two inches smaller than the normal range. Curly hair would be a lot harder to deal with, at least it looked so. She used to be friends with someone with curls in early schooling- Ellen. She never knew she had had them though until when Ellen and she were both eleven years old. Their biology teacher sprang the surprise: she had gotten access to the school gardens earlier than planned. Everyone in the class started to flutter and chirp like birds, very ready to get out of the disinfector smelling lab room. The gardens were held in an indoor facility where it was a temperature so warm it would make you sweat the second you entered. Moistness was chuged from the vents into the window plaqued room, and dew drips would form on your skin easily.  But it smelled sweet, and it was the prettiest place in the primary school; sometimes you even saw butterflies. Ellen happened to look flushed and wide eyed at the news though. “Excuse me, Mrs. Forda, I am not feeling very well. Could I please be excused from this activity?” Was about what Ellen had said. She remembered better the way her voice held a sort of quiver under a formal tone. “Dear, I’m sorry, but Brian (She thought she remembered as Ellen’s partner’s name) is out today and you need to be a good partner and collect his notes.”
The school systems gave every student a partner to look after and trust, starting from first grade. It is essential to be able to bond and have closeness with another to learn how to form relationships; it is important to future education and job life. “Mrs. Forda, I could write the notes for the both of them” She had volunteered. Ellen seemed to be holding her breath. Her face was crinkled at her forehead and eyes. “Thank you, Josie”  she gave in a small gasp. But, “No.” Mrs. Forda had vetoed. “That is very nice of you Josie, but Ellen needs to fulfill her responsibilities. You don’t have to stay there long dear, when I pass out the experiment instructions and data chart, as soon you get it all done, you may go sit down at the nurse's office for twenty minutes. If you really feel bad I will print out the notes you will be missing and call home. But it would be very inconsiderate to your partner for embarrassing him, to have me have to repeat lessons everyone else already have been taught.” the voice was edged. “Oh Mrs. Forda, no, I will be fine. Thank you, I will gratefully use just the twenty minutes after the experiment, I’m pretty sure the feeling will go away.” Ellen’s face crinkled up again. Mrs. Forda nodded unsatisfyingly and headed to the lab room door. All the students lined up with their partners, brown and black heads all in appropriate order. Josie didn’t remember much of anything else of this day, except one more flash that gave off as prominent as the memory of her graduation, and earning her goal scores on big tests. She remembered when it got quiet. They had gotten to the gardens and everyone was working on whatever experiment it was they were working on- something like pointing out quantitative and qualitative differences between six different types of plants. Halfway through, Ellen’s name had been called, so imploringly it hit and ricocheted off the sudden silence. Work was stilled as the air seemed to turn heavy. Everyone was looking over at Ellen. Her cheeks swirled harshly with red, eyes the sort of eyes you saw on a deer just before you hit with your car. She had her hands over her head, but you could see it as plainly as you could see past wide farm fences. Her hair was twisty. It wound up into circles, with frizz outlining. It looked so complicatedly turned and expertly twirled, it buzzed at Joise’s mind. Ellen ran out of the garden her hands never stopping to try to hide her head and Mrs. Forda ran after her. She wore bandanas to school her mom had ordered during garden days next time, but Josie remembered the garden room’s air always remaining heavier. Ellen had moved to a different state a year later.
Josie looked gratefully at her straight black hair, plain brown eyes in the mirror. They were they the most general color, most general style. It’s great smart citizen material. Josie would often think back on the garden day and think about Ellen’s strange hair a lot though. It must of been awful to deal with, every day, straightening down an untamed, disparate type feature with a clothes iron to be able to be seen like a regular smart citizen. Josie remembered wanting to ask her questions, to see it curly again. Josie was very curious, as were a lot of students. But Ellen only ever answered monotonically “It’s a conceited gene I was misfortuned with.” Then she moved. Maybe she suffered an emotional problem about it. A lack of confidence because of it and her family decided to go where nobody knew about it. Josie knew she would. It would be the family shame.
Josie walked out of the room into the kitchen where her tall, office dressed mother stood at the table, her tall, office dressed father stood at the stove. They weren’t cooking anything. They turned their eyes toward their daughter. “Ready to go Josie?” “Yes, could you grab me- thanks.” And her father, mother, she and an energy granola bar went out the small two story to the driveway, fit into the blue four door. “Josie” Her father began, Josie turned her face into the seat felt decorated with millions of tiny little holes. “The US has been naive and cold in the past. What with the history of slavery of all types. We are very lucky, that by today everyone’s races are so mixed that we all are generally the same race. A complete mix of them all. The trade boom, not extremely long ago, where everyone had profitable, in demand exports,the business era, where all the races mixed about equally, give us, the people no terrible diversity problems” “ Now everyone looks are close to one another, and jealousy won’t come up from unnecessary jealousies, yes father” The tint of mock interest in josie’s voice made her mother snap “Be practical. Is how you said that really essential?” “Is dad repeating himself for the millionth time practical if I can recite it to myself?” “He- we have a reason why we say this, just, shh, just listen, Josie.” Josie tapped her feet on the car mats. Her mother squeezed her hands together tightly. “John.”She cued. “Okay, well, yes, you are right, though the tone was not appropriate. People get defined solely based on their talents now, something they get when they work hard to get it. Traits are not something they worked hard for and should not be necessary. But you always see in the old literature everyone being jealous of another because there looks. If someone is jealous, they should be able to reach the standard they wish to be able to rise to, with just some hard work. Not be haunted that they should not be able to look like someone they desire to. It is a vain wish as well, it gives humans less depth. It’s an unimportant, self-declining quality.” We got to the large gray building, US stripes embellished the “immigrant check.” We walked out of the car after parking in our reserved spot. “We are lucky that the business era occurred” Her father continued again. “A time of great trade where it seemed every country was hitting a high peak in profiting, and all the trading mixed the races all together pretty well. Different color skin does not cause very much of a problem anymore, but when skin was shocking shades different from another, every country seemed to have gone through at least a type of discrimination because it. Racial diversity starts wars, and the aftereffects of racism are shown to trail on never ending. It’s like a scab that's always picked, by millions of people.” This information had been given to her ever sense she young, born probably, and now these past weeks her parents have been stressing it, but they information slid over off her shoulders. It wasn’t really hitting her “Father, since you have been repeating this rant the past few weeks, could you tell me why it’s so important, seeing as I’m going to my  job interview right now. I have a feeling it’s important to actually understand what you're trying to get at.” They were up nine floors from the lobby by now, but the rooms were still enthusiastically covered with welcome to America in some sort of matter, in paint on the walls, floors, on flyers, or post-its. “Me and your mother feel you should be informed of the requirements there is to be admitted here in America before you're told them all in your interview.” Josie didn’t see the connection, she was too nervous for her interview. She was going to be the one to sort through foreigners profile pictures and qualifications for the US.  Her mom had gotten this job, her dad too, when they were her age. Her grandparents had this job, and probably even her great grandparents. Her younger brothers would try for this job with her when they were done with schooling. Plus her partner Angelina was going into this section of work as well. So the pressure was on to be a good interested listener, have fast comprehension of what she was told, follow the rules, and be a smart citizen. This calm comprehension mode she was in seemed to numb her father’s words. “Well, because of all the past problems that different looks and features had resorted in, anyone who has majorly different features is not allowed into the country. We are trying to have a smart Nation here, and diversity in looks is just a prompt to start fights over them. Anyone noticeably too small, too short, not roughly in between the range of appropriate weight. Curled hair, people not willing to have their hair styled the US’s uniform cut. Varying colors brought up from recessive traits, in eyes, hair, skin sometimes, though skin is not as common, is a liability for this country we just can’t have.” The information filed into her. It made sense. It was practical. “Okay.” Josie let the information sink into her common knowledge. Her parents were telling her this and it made sense. But she kept remembering Ellen with her hands over her hair, her wide eyes. Ellen telling her classmates her hair was a conceited trait. A really good friend moving away. But this sentimentl wasn’t good to have right before her interview; she accepted the information. “Alright.”