Something Worth Remembering


Time capsules had come along way since the 20th century. We weren’t jamming baseball cards into a shoebox and burying it 3 feet underground. We weren’t putting copies of our favorite Vonnegut stories into metal canisters to be retrieved in 20 years when Slaughterhouse Five would surely still be in print and worth $10 at any major bookstore. We were sending a slice of our lives to be captured by VR software and uploaded with encryption techniques that computer scientists estimated would take 500 years to solve.

Like the more mundane time capsules or old, it was an exercise in vanity. In believing that who we were and what we were doing now would be of importance or significance to the people of the future. Most likely no one would waste a full 24 hours reliving the day I decided to upload. Most likely no one would even bother spending computer cycles trying to decrypt it. But in case someone did, I was going to make the most of my day. I would do something worth remembering.

I started with a decadent breakfast. Fluffy waffles with chocolate syrup and chocolate milk to pair it with. Plenty of calories to sustain me for the day to come, and a time period correct meal for the future viewers to enjoy.

I visited with my family and tried to pretend it was a normal day. I pointed out my previous place of work at an art gallery near the mall as I drove by it. I showed off my personal paintings, amateur though they were. I opened up the hood of the vintage car I’d been working on and spoke about what I had tried to get it running again, back when I had the energy to care.

I turned on my favorite music as I went back to the hospital. I hummed one of the tunes as I went back to room 423. I climbed into the familiar bed, but without the usual coldness of the sheets against my bare legs. I’d opted against wearing that awful gown; it hadn’t been a hard decision.

I gave my final, short speech to the future, potential viewers. “We beat the measles and the plague and malaria and a lot of other things. But not everyone is saved in time. I don’t blame us for not trying hard enough. Just remember to never give up. I hope by the time you’re hearing this, you’ve beat cancer too. Don’t cry for me. I won’t miss life or this earth. Not so long as my hair is gone and my skin has sores and every day hurts more than the one before.”

I’d allowed myself a moment to complain but I cut myself off. Thanking the stars I was in a country where this type of thing was legal, I motioned to the doctor standing by. He pushed something - I hadn’t thought to ask what - and my world grew dark. It didn’t feel like falling asleep. But it did feel like falling. And after no time at all, it stopped. 500 years later, I awoke and brushed the bangs out of my eyes.