My hands feel a little stiff, which is normal for a winter morning. My fingers twitch a little as if they are trying to wake up on their own, but I make no other attempt to move. Eyes still closed, I remain in a preconscious state enjoying the last remnants of a dream, determined to remember details that just won’t come. Lingering images appear and then disappear just before they become clear. I almost come to for a moment, but my brain is still too occupied to give the thought of actually waking up any serious consideration.
The half of my brain that is half awake starts preparing myself for the cold sleepy walk from the bedroom down to the kitchen for some hot coffee. Oh, I probably have to make coffee. Grr. My thoughts quickly return to the cold log cabin with its icy wood floors. I wonder if there are still coals in the wood stove. I autonomously weigh the pros and cons of leaving my warm bed to do very work like things in the cold cabin. I don’t have the energy to start a fire, or fight the cold for some hot coffee. Not yet at least. I’m still so very tired. Five more minutes, then I will get up.
My eyelids slightly flutter, but the sun is blindingly streaming into the room. I immediately shut them. I’m still not ready to wake up yet. I don’t even want to move; I don’t even try. I am comfortable and warm. I take a deep breath which feels unusually refreshing. Air rushes into my lungs like I haven’t taken a breath all night long. Alive feels so good. Here in my warm bed on a winter’s day, indulging in the act of being lazy, I feel lucky to have such privileges.
Once again I flirt with the idea of actually waking up. The coals are surely dead, and the thought of doing energy expending activities like starting a fire just seems like a gigantic task this morning. I must have been asleep a while. When I sleep for too long, I have problems with what I call sleep-hangover. Seven or eight hours, and I am at my peak. But letting me sleep ten hours doesn’t turn out as nice as it sounds. I’ll consider actually waking up, I promise myself as I roll over and reacquaint myself with my pillow.
My mind indulges in the last bits of floating unconscious; I am not sure what day it is and am slightly worried I have a lot to do. I’m still too tired to think about my to-do list. Is today trash day? Do I work today? For some reason I am a little disoriented – which is not all that uncommon when I binge on sleep.
From what must be our computer room down stairs, I hear music. It’s faint, but very familiar. I know I should know this song. As my mind obsesses over figuring out the song playing, I’m suddenly aware I am alone in the bed. My husband must have already gotten up. Good, then there must be a fire going! I sniff the air for the smell of burning wood which often creeps up the stairs just after a fresh fire is started. Maybe, I think, but I reassure myself that if I can’t smell the fire then it must have been started a while ago, and I will wake up to a toasty cabin. The bedroom stays cold regardless, so I can’t rely on the bedroom temperature to tell me anything about the status of the fire. With these comforting thoughts, I allow myself to slip back one last time into the swaddling warmth of the bed.
When I wake up, I like to wade through my remaining preconscious state like one would wade through mud. I take my time to wake up. I am grateful to have the indulgence of waking gradually more often than not. Unless a horrid alarm clock is involved, then I usually wake up in an angry rush. I like to linger in my last moments in my warm bed.
Have you even noticed your bed feels so ridiculously good when you know you have to leave it? I remember when I was in high school, and had to wake up at 5am. My bedroom was at the top of the stairs, and my father would walk half way up, bang on the wall (usually three times), and shout in as loving of way as one could to wake up. That was my alarm clock for years. Maybe he spoiled me, and that is why I now detest alarm clocks. I would much rather be woken by a person.
Many mornings, after my body became adjusted to the schedule, I would find myself awake a few minutes before my father banged on the wall. I was always torn over those moments. On one hand, my bed felt so wonderfully inviting that I just wanted to lie there all day (why couldn’t it feel this good when I went to bed). One the other hand, the knowledge of my imminent human alarm clock would always cause my heart rate to shoot up making it was impossible for me to capitalize on the few remaining minutes I had in bed. And I would never look at the clock -that was a no-no. Thoughts of school and homework would start playing in my head, not unlike a commercial -annoying and unwanted. I would desperately try to ignore all waking thoughts, and lie in a quiet blank state. Some days it actually worked.
For a moment, I almost expected my father to bang on the wall. That’s weird, I wonder if I was having once of those dreams that I was back in high school. I hate those dreams. My patience with my shoddy dream recall was fading, making me mentally restless. The bed doesn’t feel quite as good. My mind becomes more occupied with reality, and I finish my trudge though the sloppy preconscious mud.
I moan for my husband, but I don’t think I was loud enough. Before I summon the energy to moan louder, I hear something. What IS that noise? I still hear the music in the background, but there is this other sound- a very annoying sound- cutting into the music. Beeping. I hear beeping.
I’m more annoyed than curious as the sound is too much like an alarm clock, but it’s not an alarm clock. It persists. I try to move my body, but I seem particularly stiff. Since when did I have this many problems getting out of bed? I’m too young to feel this old.
My brain suddenly realizes the beeping is in sync with my heart. My anxiety spikes. A cold sinking feeling engulfs me. The beeping speeds up. Where AM I?
My body is stiff. I try to call out for my husband, but don’t seem to make any sound other than a labored moan. I hear a commotion around me. And voices, many muffled voices echo like I am listening though a tunnel. The beeping rapidly continues, but that familiar music is still playing and is currently my only source of comfort. The bed –my bed- I was enjoying so much just a minute before now feels completely foreign. But I know this song. Someone knows me and must know what is going on.
“Sie”, I hear a voice say.
Sie….Sie…my mind repeats the word in my head as if I were a child learning to talk for the first time.
“Sie”, the voice calmly repeats.
I don’t know if the voice is male or female, but I feel calmed by this voice speaking my name. Oh! Yes! Sie is my name! The brief comfort from recognizing my name fades as I then realize I had forgotten my own name. As if I had had the ability the whole time, my eyes opened wide. Nothing looked familiar. I was not in my room, or my house, or anywhere I had been before -at least that I could remember. I seemed to be having problems remembering thing.
“Sie, nod if you understand me”, said the person whom I now recognized as someone who looked like they knew what was going on. They seemed friendly. And they seemed to want to tell me something. Now I was even more alert and terribly curious, at least when I wasn’t being too preoccupied with my confusion. Oh yes, I need to nod my understanding. The beeping slightly slowed.
“You are safe, don’t try to get up just yet, just listen to what I have to tell you, Sie”, the man with the answers had a very soothing voice.
“Sie, try not to be alarmed, but you became very sick.” The beeping increased slightly and the nice looking man briefly paused, waiting for that to sink in before finishing. I tried to remember what had happened, but could only seem to remember the cabin. And high school. Why do we always remember high school?
“Sie, you are well now. You are OK. But, you need to know something” The beeping slowed slightly, but the anticipation of what he had yet to tell me was concerning. Do I have my legs? Ok, I can feel my toes. I can move my toes. I’m good.
The nice man stepped closer, and took my hand. His hand felt warm, and mine was still slightly stiff. The human contact gave me a slight release of endorphins. The beeping slowed a little more.
“Sie, you signed up for cryonics in 2010. Many years later you fell ill and were placed in long term cold care here. Technology has now allowed us to cure you, and repair your body. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
I nod slowly. I want to convey I understand, but I am overwhelmed with this new information. I tried to remember, but all my memories seemed more like dreams. I only have a general gist of what happened, but currently can’t find words to describe these memories. Every so often a clear freeze-frame picture memory pops in my head, mostly faces, but I don’t know who they are. I just know that they are (or were…oh no!) important to me. As if the nice man could read my mind he said, “Don’t worry if you can’t remember, we will help you with that”.
His reassurance calmed me and brought my attention to the present. I suddenly realized I must have been asleep for many many years. My curiosity can not be contained. I struggle as if I am relearning how to use my vocal cords, but am finally able to get out a gruff, “Year?”.
“Sie, you are in the year 3012.”
With that short statement, my concern for the stove, hot coffee, that song, and even for those remaining dream like memories instantly faded. Surely this was a joke. If so, it was a very well planned joke. I was not amused. But maybe it was real. As I gained the ability to focus on objects around the room, I quickly realized this had to be real. No questioning, this was real. I was in the future.
I awkwardly rubbed my eyes to make sure. Yes, this is really happening. Everything is clear now. Even the trees outside the window. Clear! Of all the ways to verify that I was indeed in the future and not the subject of some cruel but well planned prank, my glasses, or lack thereof, were a dead giveaway. I now have perfect vision. I am alive. And I am in the year 3012.
