I miss the future

I miss the future.

Not the current one: nano-bot, cyber-full-emersion, remote-controlled-warfare, post-911, the-oceans-are-rising, fat-free gluten-free future of today.

I miss the old one.
Where the Cuban missile crisis loomed.
And the two great powers balanced each other.
Where there was one Enemy and everyone knew what it looked like.
And the flight attendants still wore white gloves and straightened your pillow and offered real food.
And the greatest threat to humanity was nuclear warfare and not the loss of GPS navigation.
And tanks were the most robotic machinery out on the battlefield.
And the Bedouin tribes still roamed Sahara with their camel trains.
And cavalry charges stood for valiance.
And turbans stood for Muslims, not for extremists.
And France was not yet a Socialist country.
And Germany wasn’t yet paralyzed with guilt.
And there was, even if it was Soviet, a Union.
And each European country still had their own (traditional, culture-induced, bled and sweated over) currency – and an independent fiscal policy.
And Georgians and Russians were still friends, and they still drank with each other and laughed with each other and called each other ‘brothers’.
And Russian and Chechen women still visited with each other on the hot Grozny nights, and sat together on park benches and gossiped about the foolish youth.
And iodine was still considered an effective treatment for recovering amputees.
And sanitariums were places where one went to rest, and take mud baths and drink healing spring waters – and not insane asylums.
I miss old cars, made of metal and not Plexiglas.
I miss old tape players that would work after being dropped into a river.
I miss the smell of real (!) garden-grown cucumbers and I miss see-through delicately pink apples with an occasional worm in them.
I miss a time where courage and not technology decided the tide of war, and when soldiers still wore trench coats and marching boots and (on special occasions) a dress dagger at their sides. And there were real dog-fights between real airplanes piloted by real people.
And the space-race promised progress.
And true heroes had the opportunity to risk their lives doing exploration in the name of the Greater Good.

And everything was so comfortably simple: the blue against the red; and everyone knew that death would rain from the sky, and monthly drills taught school children how to defeat it…………..

That wasn’t so long ago – such a time – was it?
50, maybe 60 years?

But it has passed us by.

And though we can still see it’s trace in the distance – it is forever out of our reach….


About Julie Deshtor

Julie Deshtor grew up in the Soviet Union during the turbulent 90's, and moved to the United States shortly after the Soviet Empire collapsed in 1991. A bilingual author, Julie writes both fiction and poetry, as well as translating poetry and lyrics. She brings her rich cultural and life experienced to her fiction, exploring the psychological struggles of her characters with compassion and insight, as they navigate the murky waters of the modern society. Julie currently resides in Utah, USA. Her interests include art, world literature, zoology, anthropology and urban subculture
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