I yank my ear buds out as I arch my back in an attempt to wake up. I hear a few cracks in my spine, but they extend my body in an awakening way. My head throbs a bit from listening to music the whole night through, so I waddle out of my bedroom and into the bathroom where I take a couple big gulps of water. I catch my own eye in the sparkling mirror, and see what I see every day. Long, wavy, reddish blond hair, deep set green eyes that are the shape of a cat’s, and a curvy but petite frame. I remember I used to wear glasses, but I don’t need them anymore. I can see everything just fine, maybe even better than I did Before. I don’t look at my reflection often, because I know nothing is changing. My hair does not grow, my face does not wrinkle, and I don’t grow an inch. It’s almost as if every time I see myself, I’m looking at a picture from Before.

            I enter the small kitchen in my home, which is bright from the sunlight flooding in. The floor is warm despite the falling snow outside. There is already a fire burning in the sitting room. The home is quiet, but it isn’t unusual. It’s been empty since the beginning, and I do not seem to get lonely.

 I have every thing I’ve seemed to long for; a narrow home with a dark interior but white furniture, a blue-and-white wrap around porch and a wooden swing hanging on the tree that overlooks the small lake outside.

Since I was a young child, I had wished for a home exactly like the one I live in now, and when I first arrived Here, I was quite please to find it just as I had imagined. Only, when I was a child, I had seen Mama and my young sister Ruth Here too. Mama would be stirring in one of these red pots, making some sort of cake. The kitchen would always smell of sugar and coffee. Ruth would sit by the fire, or would bundle herself in clothes to go swing on the tree. I would be able to hear her laughing and singing to herself in her six-year-old way, her blonde hair twirling around her. Mama would spin around the kitchen, dropping cups of sugar on the floor here and there, but she wouldn’t worry about the mess. She would just burst into a laugh and continue to twirl about. Mama would love these ovens. Ruth would love those televisions that show moving pictures; she would clap her hands and giggle at the sight.

Since Mama and Ruth aren’t Here, I wake up every morning and eat the breakfast that sits warm on the wooden table. I used to think it was a gift from God himself, everything that just appeared from my wishes, but I became less thankful when it became the same thing every day. Of course, I could do anything I pleased; I could turn the season to summer and swim in the warm lake, or teach myself to drive into big cities similar to my old home in Philadelphia; the only thing I didn’t have was my dear family. I wished for them to appear so many times after they both passed away. Ruth passed when she was but fourteen, just two years younger than I was when I did. Mama passed of the fever just weeks after Ruth. When they did, I thought they would just come to my home. But I learned that when you come Here, you’re in your own world. When my family lived, I was able to watch over them in my sleep. I would see Ruth grow, follow Mama’s steps to cooking in the kitchen. She would dance in my old dresses, and then collapse into a heap, crying. She missed me so dearly, I could see. I watched her grow, become more and more beautiful every day. Many men courted her, but she never seemed quite satisfied. I saw that when she contracted the fever at a mere thirteen, she looked unusually relieved to finally leave. I watched her go, in her sleep. And Mama, she didn’t cry or speak or eat. She let herself die without any medical assistance. She had lost her own daughters to the fever, and didn’t want to be without them anymore. I cried often thinking of how alone they both felt.

            I didn’t keep track of time anymore since it had been so long, but today I look on the table at the calendar that sets itself. Today is June 11^th, 2019. I drew in a sharp breath, as I realized I’ve been Here for 261 years now. It sounded like an eternity. I wasn’t allowed to view the New World often because it reminded us all of what we lost. I receive the items that come along with the era, though. I received a television years ago, and kitchen appliances even before that. I was jealous of the Worlders, of their fortunate health. If one of them contracted Yellow Fever, they would get a quick shot or pill to take instead of decaying in a bed, vomiting black liquid and having to be bled.

            One time, apparently years ago, I was allowed to view the Worlders. Every 100 years, I have now realized it is set. When I did, 61 years ago, I saw that my family line had been cut off. Of course it had, my sister and I were never old enough to have children of our own. There were no Van Etten children milling about in that wonderful world, which also made me quite jealous and angry of those who got children and grandchildren, and even great-great-great-great-great grandchildren that maybe resembled them in some way. When I get my next chance to see the New World, I do not think I want to view it. What is there to see, really? I have no interest in what I can’t have in a World where everything is given.