I first noticed Gary's obsession only a few months after I got to know him.

I remember the exact moment. We were sitting at a plastic table at school, drinking grape Kool-Aid and discussing the Power Rangers. Then Gary abruptly changed the conversation.

"What do you want to do when you get older, Pete?" he said. "When you're a grownup?"

"Oh, I dunno," I told him. The rest of the seven-year-olds in my second-grade class all had a good idea of their future occupations; the girls would be ballerinas, and the guys would be firefighters. At the time, I was leaning toward a policeman, but I've always had trouble making up my mind. Gary, on the other hand, didn't hesitate.

"I'm going to be king of the world!" he proclaimed with a flourish of his chubby, sticky purple hand.

Even at age seven, I knew that was a stretch. I can't recall exactly what I said, but it must have been something fairly skeptical, because the next thing I knew, Gary was detailing his plan to me.

"I'm gonna do good in school, and then be governor, and then be senator, and then be president, and then be king of the world!" he said, ticking each task off on his fingers. Now that Gary had used a few words I didn't know, his plan seemed much more plausible, and I went back to my sippy cup much chastised. It was clear that he had put some thought into it.

Over the years, Gary never mentioned his career goal again, and I soon forgot about it. But if I had been paying attention, I would have realized that he hadn't. For instance, he was always bringing up politics. Nobody under voting age that I knew, let alone elementary students, were interested in what laws a random senator or representative was supporting. But Gary seemed fascinated by the world of political intrigue and was always spouting off what the latest politician had done wrong. 

© 2009 by Adam Rowe