2019
Aliens. Every one of them.
With their green, lopsided hair, blue lips and too-tight pants. I met a man early on, who had chains hanging from the massive holes in his earlobes. Another woman had chains hanging from the door-knocker-looking ring in her nose. They attached to a black velvet choker. It sorta’ reminded me of the bridle of a horse, but I didn’t dare say anything.
This is not my time, after all. I’m the odd woman out here.
I’ll admit it’s a bit breathtaking, this future with its glass towers that scrape the sky and its automobiles that no longer look like automobiles--rather resemble some sort of spacecraft on wheels. When I first set foot out of the lab, they warned me to brace myself, that the world had changed a lot from when I was initially frozen in 1952. And that went without saying. But I had no idea it had changed this much.
Not that I’m complaining. The farther advanced the better. I was never content with my own time anyway. When the esteemed Dr. Ronald Haloran of Haloran Engineering began his highly-publicized experiments regarding cryogenic stasis—better known as suspended animation—I was among the first to volunteer as a lab rat. My mother had just passed, rendering me an orphan. As an only child I had no siblings to stick around for. And at thirty-five I was virtually an old maid, unwed and childless. The eyes of my era saw me as a pitiable creature, a good decade beyond her prime. It was my hope that with time would come progress; that I would find greater solace and acceptance in the arms of the future.
So I signed my life away, and put my fate in the hands of a man I barely knew. At thirty-five you’d think I’d have better sense than that. I was always scolded for my irrationality, and that’s probably why.
“Yo!” I look up to see a young man walking toward me. Another alien. An illuminated rectangle rests in his hands. Most people carry them nowadays. I’ve yet to find an opportunity to ask what they are, but they must be something special, because everyone I’ve met seems quite enamored by them. “Uh, you look kinna’ lost, bruh. Need any, like, directions or anything?”
“Oh, yes, thank you,” I smile warmly. “Do you have any idea where 412 Grenadine is?”
“Uhhh, that’s real specific-like. Can you be more broad, Ma’am?”
“East side? I used to live in an apartment there. The building itself was painted a sickly shade of pink.”
“Oh, yeah. That way,” the man pointed. “Though I think they...tore that place down when I was little. Can’t remember so good.”
“Yeah, I remember when it had that fire in ’49. They almost condemned it then. I’m amazed it held out as long as it did.”
“Uh,” the guy narrowed his bleary eyes. “How...old are you? You look, like, twenty-something.”
“I...” my voice caught. “I guess I don’t really know how to answer that. Biologically I suppose I’m still thirty-five.”
“Biologically? Yo, are you a vampire?”
“No. I’m an experiment.”
“Oh! So you’re more like Frankenstein’s monster. Cool. Cool.”
“I was cryogenically frozen. Do you know what that is?”
“Yeah. I think they did that on Cowboy Bebop.”
“They did that with me. In real life.”
“Woahhh. What year are you from?”
“Fifty-two.”
“Can I get a selfie with you? Lady, you’re like a living artifact!”
“Your grandmother was probably alive in nineteen-fifty-two. I wouldn’t exactly call us artifacts.”
“Yeah, but my gramma’s my gramma. You’re...kinda’ hot. Wait,” he paused, his forehead gathering as he attempted to think. It looked like he was quite unpracticed at that. “Dude, I just called someone my gramma’s age hot. Ewww...”
“What’s a selfie, by the way? I’ll gladly agree so long as it’s not vulgar.”
“Nah, man. I just hold my phone out like this, flip the camera to us, and take a pic.”
“Is that what the rectangular bar is? A phone?”
“Yeah. Duuude...you don’t know what a phone is? You got so much to learn. I think you’re gonna’ love it here.”
I laughed a bit.
“I already do.”