I was born on October 31st, 1881 in Worcestershire, England.
My father was a businessman and investor, my mother a socialite. I was the youngest of four siblings, two brothers and a sister.
We were fairly well to do, as my father was very good at what he did. He went where the money was, and he would travel a lot. Africa, India, you name it, he would travel there. If a problem would arise, off he would go, handling things abroad. I looked up to him, but I barely saw him when I was little.
Thankfully for me, after a few years he retired. Well, perhaps retired is too strong of a word. He quit.
My mother had become ill sometime in 1888, and he came home immediately when he heard. When he arrived, something in within him had changed. It was a rare sentiment at the time, but he wanted the best for us, and being rich and affluent was, in his words, "the least of his treasures." So, he stayed at home and took care of mother until she quietly passed away in her sleep.
While I didn't understand at the time, my father moved us all to America the in 1890, arriving in New York that August. I was only 9 years of age at the time, and making such a trip was far from the normal for me back then. Eventually settling in the city of San Francisco in June of 1891, my father purchased some property and a few businesses there, but left the work to his employees, only getting involved when matters were dire.
As my brothers and sister grew older we went our separate ways. My oldest brother, Eugene, took over my father's businesses in New York. My sister, Mary, got married. Oliver traveled north to Portland and with my father's help opened a business there. I stayed behind, helping my father wherever I could.
Those things ceased to matter when the earthquake hit. All of my past and my work did me no good as I vanished from this world. I read that my father looked for me. I have records of the money he spent on investigators.
They found nothing, and I wouldn't have ever expected them to.
You may be curious as to what happened to me at that moment. Where I went, what I did in the meantime... and I wouldn't blame you for being so. However I am not one to tell stories, especially long ones. I assure you, it is a very long story. One hundred and six years long for you according to the calendar. Perhaps one day I will have the time to write it all down, but I've had my hands full these past few years trying to acclimate myself to your society.
What I will say is that waking up in that hospital was a shock. To know how much time had really passed... everyone I knew, everything I had was gone. It has taken me quite a bit of time to get used to the times. Televisions and smart phones and internet and whatnot, it's insane how much has changed from what I remember the world being.
But perhaps not quite insane enough.
Comments