TIME CAPSULE

INSTALLMENT THE LAST

But just as I closed my eyes, the smell of sweet perfume caught my attention. Perfume was a fluid preparation made from various chemicals designed primarily to scent a woman's body. The theory being: the more alluring the aroma, the more attractive the woman. Men wore a similar, but usually less pungent scent called cologne. Both odors usually attracted some sort of attention, either good or bad, from members of the opposite sex. As you know, perfumes have been replaced by natural scenting, available throu gh daily consumption of Vitamins 235 and LX.

I opened my eyes and saw the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was sitting next to me and, like myself, was leaning against the tree and staring out at the vast expanse of the sea. Her dress was quite simple but no less than stunning. It was a beautiful two piece outfit: the top half was jet black and made of the same stretchy material they made halters from. The lower half, the actual skirt portion, was a deep emerald green: the same color as grass after a lengthy rainstorm. And it was as tight as the anti-grav suits we wear today. But much more attractive. And her hair? It hung down across her back and, like her top, it was jet black and shone like leather. Leather was a material made from the skin of an animal and, when treated, had a shine like the coating we put on our aerocars.

Like I commented earlier: she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

"Great party, huh?" she said, not really to me but to anyone who would listen. I looked over at her and smiled.

"Yeah, real good time." She continued to stare out at the sea and me...well, I just continued to look at her, especially her body. Despite what anyone else might tell you, most people during that period in time took delight in the curves and physical build of a woman, specifically her breasts and buttocks...sometimes her legs. It was on these features that most men made their decision whether the y would like to spend time, sometimes the rest of their lives, with a certain woman. Intelligence and personality, unfortunately, had little or nothing to do with it.

"My name is Sandy. What's yours?" Still she stared out at the horizon. "Adam," I answered. "Adam Nicks." Finally, she glanced over at me and held out her hand; at that time, a sign of friendship. "I'm real pleased to meet you, Adam Nicks. Real pleased." She reached down, picked up the glass of wine by her side and brought it to her lips. "Feel like talking a walk, Adam? The beach is beautiful at this time of night." She was right. Under the dimming glow of the burning sun, the sand of a beach took on a str ange, fascinating image which I can't begin to describe. Unfortunately, the Cataclysm of 01 turned all these beautiful stretches of sand into solid glass which, while still maintaining a beauty under the brilliance of our sun, doesn't even come close to the image of those tiny grains when struck by sunlight.

So we walked and talked and finally ended up at an outcropping of rocks about a mile from Jeff's house. By this time, the sun had gone down and we had told every little thing we wanted to tell. She was a teacher; third grade, as I recall. And she loved what she did more than anything in the world. I remember her telling me how she cared for each and every one of her children like they were her own. And, at the end of each year, when they moved on to the next grade, she felt an immeasurable loss. She was si ngle and liked it that way. "I can be my own boss of my own house. And, when you have to spend most of your life being ordered about, it's nice to be in charge sometimes."

I told her about my life as an executive with Salem and Bachman: a well-paying investment firm which catered to the rich and famous. I had met all the stars and, once or twice, had even hoped to become one. But those dreams were quickly dashed when Charles Kinge made it a point to tell me I had no talent. So, rather than be at the head of the pack, I had opted to stay in the role of a team player. How I got from executive for Salem and Bachman to become a professor of History is a long story which really h as nothing to do with this one. This tale is about the changes I observed in my life.

And, in the twilight hours of that hot July night, Sand and I made love: an accepted term used to describe two people engaging in the sex act. Of course, sex out of wedlock was banned in Year 14, so most people today would only know what it is like to engage in it with one person. Back then, some men(and some women, for that matter) felt it was important to have as many lovers as possible. The theory: to be as experienced as possible so you can make the experience as pleasurable as possible for your partne r.

Pretty ridiculous when you think about it.

But Sandy and I made love that night and, when it was all over, we dressed and headed back to the party. By this time, Christine had finished with John and was up in Jeff's bedroom; engaging in sex with her fourth and fifth partners of the night. As is obvious, Christine was an example of that select group of women who felt it was important to have as many partners as possible. In her case, it wasn't for the experience. It was because she felt she needed all that love to make her whole. And that she neede d to give it to make her popular; something she had never been in her younger days.

Like all humans now and then, I needed love too. And I thought for certain I had found it in Sandy. She was warm and caring and yes, she was quite attractive. All these things were important traits needed in a relationship. She was the person I had spent my entire life to that point searching for. She was the jigsaw piece to fill the gap in my puzzle.

Flowery thoughts from someone considered to be so serious-minded might seem strange. But that's the way people fell in love back then. Today, you are matched up with a partner from birth. Since you have no choice in the matter, you accept it. But this was the way to be: free to find out for yourself if you were compatible; free to experience the good and the bad feelings that went along with it.

Sandy and I clung to each other until the wee hours of the morning, long after the area townships had set off their fireworks. Most of the people gathered there had either passed out from their alcohol intake or had left, either along or with someone they could call their "significant other". Christine was up in Jeff's room: fast asleep, with several other unconscious and naked bodies arou8nd her. Too many beers made my head pound like it does after you eat Barbeaulaw: that horrible, man-made excuse for fi sh. After low these many years, I still can't get used to eating fake fish made out of chemicals. Of course, we blew all the real fish to kingdom come in the cataclysm of 01, leaving the chemists to guess what they could make fish out of. I watched as the fire I had built to chase away the insects slowly began to die. I pulled Sandy close to me. "This has been quite the night, hasn't it?" She nodded and moved closer. 'Snuggling', as we called it back then, was a great way to show friendly affection and/or love. It was also a great way to keep warm on those cool night. People don't 'snuggle' anymore. I guess it's sort of tough to get romantic in anti-grav suits and sterilized second skins.

"Let's start getting our stuff together and move on before Jeff tosses us out. " We picked up our shoes and whatever refreshments were left over, bid adieu to our host(not that he could remember the next day), and walked to her car. En route, I considered the predicament I was in. Normally, as was tradition following a first date, you would hopefully be lucky enough to receive a brief kiss from your partner. Since it would be brief and nowhere near as satisfying as you would like, your conversation would g o in the direction of a second encounter at a later time; an encounter better known as a second date.

here was my dilemma: what is there to look forward to from a sexual standpoint on a second date after you've done it all on the first? Truly a puzzlement which I felt I had to answer before we reached her vehicle. I realize it all sounds so confusing, but this was a basic part of the courting ritual. It may have been archaic but it was something which had to be done.

On this wonderful night, Sandy saved me the trouble. "I get real busy at work sometimes and I'm not always home. Why don't I call you up some night and we'll go out for dinner?" By her asking that one question, Sandy saved me all the headaches, confusion, sweat, and worry and all else that went with the action of asking for a second night together. Of course, this could also be viewed as a put-off: a chance for her to leave me and not be obligated to another meeting. This was a ruse which was used by both sexes during the ritual of courting each other.

So, ever after we had shared the sexual experience, we engaged in the obligatory kiss and she left the party, leaving me to stand in the street and dream of what had been and what was going to come. That's also the last thing I remember that night.

Apparently, all the liquor finally caught up with me and, shortly after Sandy departed, I slipped into unconsciousness. It was late the next day when I finally woke up to find myself on the floor of Jeff's living room. The living room of a house was the central room in any house, where guests were entertained and families came together to watch video programs. Now you've probably heard people of the last century talk about something called a hangover. It is a combination of things: strong pounding in the head, nausea, a feeling of being disoriented, soreness of the eyes, exhaustion and guilt. The guilt aspect usually involved the swearing that one would never do it again. Of course, the individual always did, not remembering until the next time how painful the last binge had been.

I woke with the most severe of hangovers. It was one which featured all the previously listed ailments plus what seemed to be a whole lot more. Back then, coffee was the common cure for hangovers. Why? Good question. But it worked. It probably had something to do with the amount of caffeine force fed through ones' veins. All I know is that it took some 64 ounces of the brown liquid to get me somewhat functional again. In fact, that's about what it took to get Christine up and around too.

So that's my tale, as asked to be documented by the great leaders of our world. They wanted to show our children's children's children just what it was like way back then and why thing today are so wonderful. No drug abuse, no substance abuse of any kind. No unwanted children. No crime. None of the bad things which only hastened the end of the world I knew.

Of course, there are some things I miss about the old days. Today, you have no choice in who you spend your days with. There is no real expression of love. There can be no sex without approval in writing at least 10 days prior to the event. No wildlife. No remnants of nature. No rock and roll.

And what happened to the people at the party-the ones who exemplified the life and the spirit of the times? Jeff, as I have said previously, died in the Cataclysm of 01 and is on ice at the Carmenion Labs. His cousin John became one of our greatest heroes, winning event after event during the Year 16 Vid-Tech Wars. Now he works for the military, training other potential Vid-Tech warriors in the techniques of a champion. Christine became known world-wide as one of the most popular pornographic movie stars i n the history of the industry. She appeared in well over 6,000 films and videos, not to mention the numerous appearances in magazines. When the law was passed in Year 4 which made pornography illegal, Christine became a news person for the Worldwide Vid Network. Today, she is retired and lives in New Adrienna.

And Sandy? She and I dated for nearly two years after the Fourth of July night. but, during that time, she began hanging around with what I thought was a bad crowd; mostly rock and roll musicians and such. She began drinking quite heavily and taking medicinals just to keep her going. Her appearance became haggard and it became difficult for me to see her and not comment. One such comment led to her telling me that she never wanted to see me again. Shortly after that, her best friend got married and, believ e it or not, this caused her whole precious world to cave in around her. Back then, we called it a nervous breakdown. Today, we call it Limbaferri and treat it with Roximuse.

Sandy's answer to the mental breakdown in her life was to end her life. She was buried on her 30th birthday in a quiet plot on the East Side. The spot's now gone. In fact, the whole East Side was obliterated in the Cataclysm of 01. I'm sure glad she wasn't around to see it happen.

And I'm glad she isn't here now. To see this world so peaceful yet so devoid of the natural beauty she loved so much would have torn her apart. Rest easy, Sandy.

So now we make do with what we've got: scientific advances, peace, worldwide harmony and wealth beyond belief. People like me can live on almost eternally. I could be frozen tomorrow and wake up in another 1,000 years if I so desire. Disease is a word no longer in our vocabulary. We have all the things we fought for and died for thousands of years. So, after all these years of this new regime, I have only one real question: without all these things which made life what it was, what is the sense of living after all?

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