Yours Truly, 2095

Day 1: Here is the News-3

I picked up the ViewPaper again and slid the blue tab on the top from the right to the left. The front page of today’s news appeared on the screen. I stared at the words above the headline. I had been running them through my head, trying to make sense of everything. A part of me hoped that, when I turned on the ViewPaper once more, the words and numbers would be different. But they hadn’t changed at all.

There they were in plain text. At the top of the ViewPaper, right above the headline, read today’s date.

Sunday, February 27, 2095.

I slid the blue tab back and tossed the device on the bed. I sat next to it and ran my fingers through my hair. Was I really in 2095? Everything felt real. Other than waking up more than one hundred years in the future, nothing about it felt like an ordinary dream. Was I crazy?

If Julie lived here too, then why were there only my clothes in the bedroom? I didn’t notice any female toiletries in the bathroom either.

These questions needed to be answered. Sooner rather than later.

I decided to stay home and wait for Julie to return, unsure if that meant I would miss my rendezvous with Bruce. I went back to the bathroom to dress. Afterward I looked around the house for a television set. Maybe it would give me more insight as to what was going on. I never found a television, and the closest thing I could find to any sort of news device was the ViewPaper.

I let out a frustrated sigh. It was already familiar enough in my hands to handle. As I sat down in a chair in the living room to relax, I turned it on and read stories of the future. One was about a new pill on the market for people who experienced something called rocket lag. The article boasted that this particular pharmaceutical elixir was the best approved cure. I enjoyed half ridiculing the article until I read the specifics of why travelers got rocket lag. It wasn’t caused by the length of time they were in flight; it was the destination!

The ViewPaper almost slid out of my hands once again, but I gripped it at the last moment before it fell to the ground. Could all this be for real?

The ViewPaper’s time read a digital two o’clock in the afternoon on the screen. I still had time to decide whether or not to meet up with Bruce later. For the moment I decided to focus on scanning through the other news stories of the ViewPaper to keep me busy and informed. Time passed faster the more I stopped paying attention to it.

There was something called the World Convention that apparently had offices in London, Madrid, Paris, New York, Hong Kong, and Rome. Whatever the World Convention was, it held a lot of power. It reminded me a lot of the United Nations.

I had come to the Classifieds section, and I noticed an ad for a brand-new 2095 Monte Carlo hover car. It boasted that the vehicle came equipped with all the latest technology: a moon roof, quadruple exhaust, and headlights that moved with the steering wheel. So these flying vehicles are called hover cars.

I got to the Sports section to discover the football season had recently been extended. Since it was the end of February, the World Bowl was next month. World Bowl? Apparently American football had become so popular that there were teams from almost every country. This year the New England Patriots were up against the Rio Bossa Novas. If only this place had a television set …

I flipped the page again and headed into the Business section. On the back of my hand, I noticed a fading scar that began at the base of my middle finger and ran the length of my hand to my wrist. The scar had obviously been there for quite some time, maybe even decades. When did I get that scar?

I brought my hand closer to my eyes and studied the squiggly road map on my skin. I touched it lightly with my other hand. Then I remembered another scar that I had gotten as a child, from receiving stitches after playing with a sharp gardening pick. I had thrown the pick into the dirt and, instead of sticking in the garden, it impaled my toe and cut off the tip.

I hastily took off my sock and placed my foot in my lap. I took in a quick deep breath and held it as I looked at my toe. It was completely intact with no scarring. What was happening to my body? Old wounds were disappearing while traces of new injuries appeared that I couldn’t remember.

I headed for the bathroom, tossing the ViewPaper on the bed as I went. I flipped on the bathroom light and stood motionless in front of the mirror. Nothing else seemed different about my body. I leaned in over the sink until my nose was almost touching the glass. I ran my fingers through my hair. I could see the same gray traces. A familiar birthmark on the left side of my lips was in the right place.

Then I saw it. Or rather I didn’t see it. The chicken pox scar that should have been on my forehead over my left eye was gone. Perturbed, I stripped my clothes off as fast as I could and almost tumbled to the floor in the process. I was entirely overwhelmed by confusion and panic. I looked at myself in the bathroom completely n***d. I felt like I was an archeologist at the dig site of my own body.

After quite some time conducting a thorough search, I found my other usual birthmarks, teeth, nails, and hair were all familiar. Only the really old injuries had disappeared or been replaced with new ones. I was still freaked out, but I was finally satisfied with my inspection. I got dressed again.

When I went back into the bedroom, I just couldn’t bring myself to pick up the ViewPaper. I needed a break. I flopped onto the bed with no intention of sleeping, but, like everything else lately, my intentions had no say in the matter.

I drifted off to sleep and slipped into a dream as easily as a hover car floating down the highway.

“Can you hear me?” she asked.

My dream placed us sitting on levitating chairs as we faced each other.

“Yeah, I can hear you fine.”

I focused my attention on her face. She could be so strong, yet seemed so frail. Her dimples gave her a playful quality, but the small wrinkles around her face demanded respect. It was probably her long curly black hair that I admired the most. Sometimes it was the little things that—

“Jeff?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you even listening?”

“Sorry, I was—”

“Off in your head again. I know,” Julie said. I could hear the annoyance that had compounded over the years. “We don’t have a lot of time. You could wake up at any moment.”

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Nine twenty-nine.”

“That’s the same time it was when I woke up this morning in the strangest place.”

“It’s always 9:29 in here.”

“Morning or night?”

“Both. Neither. Does it matter?” Julie replied.

“I guess not. Do you know what’s going on?”

“That man who you met in the coffee shop wants to meet you again.”

“At the Sidewalk Dancer.”

“That’s right.”

“Who is he?”

“I have no idea. This is your dream. I only know what you know.”

“Where are you?” I asked.

“I’m right here with you.”

“No. I meant outside of this dream. Where did you go after you dropped off the groceries?”

“I really don’t know, Jeff. I already told you. I don’t know because you don’t know.”

I stood up, and the levitating chair knocked over backward. My feet landed softly on what felt like nothing.

“Why are you so short-tempered with me lately? Don’t you love me like you used to?”

“Julie, I love you sincerely. I love you more now than I ever have.”

“You sure don’t make me feel like that anymore! You know it’s true, or I wouldn’t be able to say it in here.”

“I guess.”

I picked up the chair and sat down again, leaning forward to grab her hands. She snatched them back and pulled them closer to her stomach.

“No. Don’t. Not in here. In here, we can talk as much as you want, but I’m not comfortable with you touching me.”

I felt the wood of the chair press against my back, and I sighed.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want to feel adored again. I want to feel special again when I come home from work. I miss being loved. I want to feel like your wife.”

“You are my wife!”

“I just haven’t felt that way since you started taking me for granted.”

“Is that what you think?” I retorted.

“No. That’s what you think I must think, or else I wouldn’t be able to say it in here,” she replied. “It has nothing to do with questioning your love for me. It has to do with how you’ve been treating me.”

After a long silence, I finally built up enough courage to say her name out loud.

“Is it Susan?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she answered.

“Do you think there was some resentment after we finally had to return to our normal life?”

“That’s not what I think. That’s what you think. My answer can’t be anything more than your own feelings.”

I closed my eyes. I tried to conjure memories of my daughter, but to no avail, it was futile. I just couldn’t seem to picture her face anymore. Feeling defeated inside my own dream, I opened my eyes.

I placed my hand over my mouth which had dropped open involuntarily. I breathed in quickly until my lungs were completely full of air, and then I held my breath.

“What?” she asked as she slowly stood up.

I held up my free hand to her eye level and pointed to the back of it.

“I don’t under—”

My heart was beating dangerously fast for having been lying down and motionless. I forced the air out of my lungs that I had sucked in during my dream. I frantically looked at my left hand to check. The foreign scar was still right where it was before I fell asleep, but it hadn’t been in my dream.

I looked at the digital alarm clock. How long had I been out?

Nine twenty-nine.

I rubbed my eyes as I frantically searched my brain for an explanation. I sighed heavily in frustration. I picked up the clock, slammed it down as hard as I could, and the flashing 9:29 became a blank screen. I waited to see if it was going to reset itself. As the clock sparked back to life, its digital numbers scrolled through a random sequence. It landed on what seemed like a more appropriate time.

Five seventeen p.m.

My dream had left me with twinges of guilt. Did I really treat my wife as poorly as she had claimed? Had it gotten so bad that our marriage was being affected?

If Julie still wasn’t back at the house by 6:45 p.m., then I would have to leave and meet Bruce. My mind eased slightly as I walked into the kitchen and finally made myself a sandwich from Julie’s cold cuts. I was tired of waiting and had become hungry. As I leaned over the counter, I hadn’t realized how light-headed I was until I ate. Maybe the hunger and low blood sugar was to blame for my dream with Julie and the levitating chairs.

As I swallowed the last bit of my sandwich, I stood up straight and decided to inspect the vinyl wall of the living room, which was obviously designed for some specific purpose. It felt like sandpaper that had been smoothed down. While it didn’t necessarily feel like some futuristic paint, it certainly didn’t feel like wallpaper either. It was a different material altogether and felt cooler than the rest of the room. There were no seams, and it stretched from corner to corner and ceiling to floor. As I rubbed it in a sweeping motion, I could hear a key being inserted into the lock of the front door.

I ran to the window, almost tripping over the desk in the process. Julie’s bright red hover car was parked in the driveway. The front door swung open nonchalantly as Julie walked into the house and closed the door behind her.