I still remember my time in London. That horrible, wretched time. I was poor…so poor that I’d come close to death by starvation many a time. My mother and father were cruel. So cruel that every night, I lay awake and dreamed about running away. I had no siblings, no friends. Of course, that couldn’t compare the tower. The stench of sewage drifting up from the moat, the spirits of those dead and gone drifting around. The terrible loneliness. Of course, that was before she came…
Oh, I beg your pardon. Have I been rambling? Let me introduce myself. My name is Mary Litcott. I was born and raised in London, England in the year 1735. There, I was accused of murder at age 12 and imprisoned in the Tower of London. It was the most horrible experience of my life. I never had contact with anyone else. The only person I ever saw was the jailer, who was under strict orders to not even make eye contact with me. It was so lonely, I thought I might go mad.
And then I got a cellmate. Her name was Jessica Lear. She was the strangest girl I’d seen in my life. The first time I got a look at her, I thought I must be dreaming because it was simply too strange to be real life. She wore a short skirt...the shortest I’d seen in my life. In fact, that was the reason she’d been imprisoned: for indecent exposure. I’d never seen anyone even show their ankles in public, yet she displayed her entire calf for the world to see. But that wasn’t the strangest part. She wore the absolute oddest shoes. Most people I know wear boots with small heels. Yet she wore shoes that weren’t quite boots…I think she called them pumps? They covered the sides and heel of her feet, but not the top, and exposed her toes. Her toenails were purple!!! A sure sign of witchcraft, I thought. Of course, I didn’t bother voicing that suspicion; who would listen to me? The shoes also had a very long heel. I think they were at least 5 or 6 inches, and very thin. Her shirt was also very strange, but compared to the rest of her outfit I couldn’t even think anything of it. Her fingernails were black. Black, I tell you! Black as midnight. After she spent a little while in the cell, the strange glossy paint she’d used on them began to chip off. But I’ll never forget how menacing her fingers first looked when I saw them coated in solid black paint.
She spoke so strangely Many of her words I simply could not understand. She taught me much of her language, but when she first spoke to me I could not have been more confused. She used the word “cool” so randomly. I told her that I’d made my own dress, and she said that was “cool”. At the time, I simply could not see how on earth that was “cool”. Another time she told me I was cool. I told her, “It is December, and we have no fire”. And she laughed at me! She also used the word “suck” so strangely. Once, she’d said that the prison cell “sucked”. A cell cannot suck! It does not have a mouth! But most of all, it was “omg” that confused me. She said “omg” constantly. Every time she spoke, I always knew she would say “omg” several times. When I asked her why she said “omg” so much, she responded by telling me she was from California. After that moment, when she first told me where she was from, my life changed.
At first, she told me nothing of how time was involved. She said California was a vast country across the ocean that no Englishman has ever set foot on. She spent days upon days telling me fantastic stories about California. She told me of how people rarely grew their own food, of how the poor there ate like the well-off here, of how many a people in California ate like kings. She explained the wonderful dishes from many, many places. I could not believe my ears at first. Was it possible for a country to have such an abundance of food? Even in the winter? When she told me about how the amount of food in the winter was exactly the same as in the summer, how even the hungry went no more hungry in the winter, I was sure this was a thing of imagination. I was certain that she made everything up. But I was fascinated, and I let her continue. And then the stories got even more delusion-worthy.
She told me of a thing called “electricity”. She explained a complicated process about how atoms are involved, which I am still confused about. She said that electricity powered all their lights; how almost nobody used fire because of the danger, and because electricity so by far easier. She said people cooked their food with electricity. She told me all about computers and cameras, phones and iPods. It was lucky I had nothing else to do in the bare and plain cell; nothing to distract me, or it would have been hopeless attempting to explain to me. As it was, it took days for me to even begin to grasp the concept of what she called “technology”. I didn’t know what to think by that point. On one hand, it could not possibly have been real. On the other hand, who could invent so complex a thing from naught but their mind? By this point, I’ve learned how to use a computer. I have an e-mail and a Facebook and I’ve even put videos on YouTube. I think I understand the internet, too. Yet each and every time I turn on my laptop computer, I feel positively amazed.
There was so much more she explained to me. I wish I could tell you all about it, but I would never be able to. It’s all so fantastical, and I still don’t even fully understand everything. In fact, even Jessica doesn’t understand how things work. I asked her about how the internet works, and she told me that even she would never be able to “wrap her head around it”. I suppose that means something along the lines of understanding it…I’m still adjusting to the strange language they speak here.
Then, one day she asked me. She asked me the question that I’d been praying for since the day she told me about California. The day I’d been hoping and dreaming about. The question that I’d never, ever, in a million years had thought would come but that I was fantasized about regardless.
She asked me to come to California with her.
I was so delirious with joy, I said yes before she’s finished the question. I was finally going to experience the wonders and joy of California! I was going to see it with my very eyes! I couldn’t wait to see if everything was as beautiful and magical as she’d described.
It was, yet it wasn’t. The things she had described were just as she had described them: wonderful. The food was plentiful, the electric lights nothing short of magic, the spacious house incredible. But there were so many things she had failed to tell me of. The school, for one thing. In London I’d never attended school. I had far too many responsibilities at home to worry about school. But people in California were required to go to school. The first day I went to school with her, it was nearly worse than prison. The sheer number of people overwhelmed me incredibly. She’d told me it was a massive school, but I was completely unprepared for the tremendous wave of people crushing on me. And what they taught there was so complex. I couldn’t follow along with anything. Jessica offered to give me private tutoring sessions, but I just couldn’t do it. I knew I would never keep up with the rest. I did find that in time, I got the gist of what the teachers were talking about and wasn’t quite confused. But even now, I know I’ll never have the brains to do what the other can.
The other downside was the quality of the food. Back in the prison, Jessica had talked about the bread we were served as though she had never tasted anything better in her life. After she explained to me the riches of California, I was confused by this. But I quickly realized she meant riches in terms of quantity, not quality. All the food here tastes either sickly sweet or like something I’ve never tasted before. Jessica describes it as tasting like chemicals or plastic, but I’ve never tasted those. Many foods certainly have the texture of plastic, however. It tastes terrible. I’ve been taught to eat what I have and never complain, because that’s how woman were meant to be in London. However, I just couldn’t eat much of it. I decided to stick to the unprocessed foods served; mainly fruits, vegetables, and some meat. I used to live mainly on bread, but the Californians have done such horrible things to the wheat that it’s no longer bread. Jessica calls it “genetic modification”, but all I need to know is not to eat it.
There are many, many downsides (such as the loss of open space and gorgeous scenery) and many, many upsides (such as woman’s rights, freedom of self-expression, all sorts of wonderful freedoms). But when it comes together, I love California. It’s rather confusing and overwhelming and the food tastes horrid, but it’s a wonderful place. After moving here, it took me a while to get past the shock of all the people and all the technology and most of all, when Jessica told me that I was not, in fact, in a country across the ocean but actually hundreds of years in the future. But I realized that all along, all I really wanted was freedom. And that’s exactly what California offers. I can be any religion I want to be. I can dress however I want to dress. I can say nearly whatever I want to say. I can be anyone I want to be. I even have a chance at making it to the top class, a part of the elite, even though I’m currently among the common people. I never will of course, being so far behind in my academics, but the possibility is always there. And the equality is amazing. I don’t have to bow down to men anymore; I am their equal and even sometimes above them! Often I feel giddy at the sheer freedom of it all. I will never go back to London. I couldn’t bear to return to 1735 after the amazing things I’ve experienced here…I just couldn’t bear it.
Oh, I beg your pardon. Have I been rambling? Let me introduce myself. My name is Mary Litcott. I was born and raised in London, England in the year 1735. There, I was accused of murder at age 12 and imprisoned in the Tower of London. It was the most horrible experience of my life. I never had contact with anyone else. The only person I ever saw was the jailer, who was under strict orders to not even make eye contact with me. It was so lonely, I thought I might go mad.
And then I got a cellmate. Her name was Jessica Lear. She was the strangest girl I’d seen in my life. The first time I got a look at her, I thought I must be dreaming because it was simply too strange to be real life. She wore a short skirt...the shortest I’d seen in my life. In fact, that was the reason she’d been imprisoned: for indecent exposure. I’d never seen anyone even show their ankles in public, yet she displayed her entire calf for the world to see. But that wasn’t the strangest part. She wore the absolute oddest shoes. Most people I know wear boots with small heels. Yet she wore shoes that weren’t quite boots…I think she called them pumps? They covered the sides and heel of her feet, but not the top, and exposed her toes. Her toenails were purple!!! A sure sign of witchcraft, I thought. Of course, I didn’t bother voicing that suspicion; who would listen to me? The shoes also had a very long heel. I think they were at least 5 or 6 inches, and very thin. Her shirt was also very strange, but compared to the rest of her outfit I couldn’t even think anything of it. Her fingernails were black. Black, I tell you! Black as midnight. After she spent a little while in the cell, the strange glossy paint she’d used on them began to chip off. But I’ll never forget how menacing her fingers first looked when I saw them coated in solid black paint.
She spoke so strangely Many of her words I simply could not understand. She taught me much of her language, but when she first spoke to me I could not have been more confused. She used the word “cool” so randomly. I told her that I’d made my own dress, and she said that was “cool”. At the time, I simply could not see how on earth that was “cool”. Another time she told me I was cool. I told her, “It is December, and we have no fire”. And she laughed at me! She also used the word “suck” so strangely. Once, she’d said that the prison cell “sucked”. A cell cannot suck! It does not have a mouth! But most of all, it was “omg” that confused me. She said “omg” constantly. Every time she spoke, I always knew she would say “omg” several times. When I asked her why she said “omg” so much, she responded by telling me she was from California. After that moment, when she first told me where she was from, my life changed.
At first, she told me nothing of how time was involved. She said California was a vast country across the ocean that no Englishman has ever set foot on. She spent days upon days telling me fantastic stories about California. She told me of how people rarely grew their own food, of how the poor there ate like the well-off here, of how many a people in California ate like kings. She explained the wonderful dishes from many, many places. I could not believe my ears at first. Was it possible for a country to have such an abundance of food? Even in the winter? When she told me about how the amount of food in the winter was exactly the same as in the summer, how even the hungry went no more hungry in the winter, I was sure this was a thing of imagination. I was certain that she made everything up. But I was fascinated, and I let her continue. And then the stories got even more delusion-worthy.
She told me of a thing called “electricity”. She explained a complicated process about how atoms are involved, which I am still confused about. She said that electricity powered all their lights; how almost nobody used fire because of the danger, and because electricity so by far easier. She said people cooked their food with electricity. She told me all about computers and cameras, phones and iPods. It was lucky I had nothing else to do in the bare and plain cell; nothing to distract me, or it would have been hopeless attempting to explain to me. As it was, it took days for me to even begin to grasp the concept of what she called “technology”. I didn’t know what to think by that point. On one hand, it could not possibly have been real. On the other hand, who could invent so complex a thing from naught but their mind? By this point, I’ve learned how to use a computer. I have an e-mail and a Facebook and I’ve even put videos on YouTube. I think I understand the internet, too. Yet each and every time I turn on my laptop computer, I feel positively amazed.
There was so much more she explained to me. I wish I could tell you all about it, but I would never be able to. It’s all so fantastical, and I still don’t even fully understand everything. In fact, even Jessica doesn’t understand how things work. I asked her about how the internet works, and she told me that even she would never be able to “wrap her head around it”. I suppose that means something along the lines of understanding it…I’m still adjusting to the strange language they speak here.
Then, one day she asked me. She asked me the question that I’d been praying for since the day she told me about California. The day I’d been hoping and dreaming about. The question that I’d never, ever, in a million years had thought would come but that I was fantasized about regardless.
She asked me to come to California with her.
I was so delirious with joy, I said yes before she’s finished the question. I was finally going to experience the wonders and joy of California! I was going to see it with my very eyes! I couldn’t wait to see if everything was as beautiful and magical as she’d described.
It was, yet it wasn’t. The things she had described were just as she had described them: wonderful. The food was plentiful, the electric lights nothing short of magic, the spacious house incredible. But there were so many things she had failed to tell me of. The school, for one thing. In London I’d never attended school. I had far too many responsibilities at home to worry about school. But people in California were required to go to school. The first day I went to school with her, it was nearly worse than prison. The sheer number of people overwhelmed me incredibly. She’d told me it was a massive school, but I was completely unprepared for the tremendous wave of people crushing on me. And what they taught there was so complex. I couldn’t follow along with anything. Jessica offered to give me private tutoring sessions, but I just couldn’t do it. I knew I would never keep up with the rest. I did find that in time, I got the gist of what the teachers were talking about and wasn’t quite confused. But even now, I know I’ll never have the brains to do what the other can.
The other downside was the quality of the food. Back in the prison, Jessica had talked about the bread we were served as though she had never tasted anything better in her life. After she explained to me the riches of California, I was confused by this. But I quickly realized she meant riches in terms of quantity, not quality. All the food here tastes either sickly sweet or like something I’ve never tasted before. Jessica describes it as tasting like chemicals or plastic, but I’ve never tasted those. Many foods certainly have the texture of plastic, however. It tastes terrible. I’ve been taught to eat what I have and never complain, because that’s how woman were meant to be in London. However, I just couldn’t eat much of it. I decided to stick to the unprocessed foods served; mainly fruits, vegetables, and some meat. I used to live mainly on bread, but the Californians have done such horrible things to the wheat that it’s no longer bread. Jessica calls it “genetic modification”, but all I need to know is not to eat it.
There are many, many downsides (such as the loss of open space and gorgeous scenery) and many, many upsides (such as woman’s rights, freedom of self-expression, all sorts of wonderful freedoms). But when it comes together, I love California. It’s rather confusing and overwhelming and the food tastes horrid, but it’s a wonderful place. After moving here, it took me a while to get past the shock of all the people and all the technology and most of all, when Jessica told me that I was not, in fact, in a country across the ocean but actually hundreds of years in the future. But I realized that all along, all I really wanted was freedom. And that’s exactly what California offers. I can be any religion I want to be. I can dress however I want to dress. I can say nearly whatever I want to say. I can be anyone I want to be. I even have a chance at making it to the top class, a part of the elite, even though I’m currently among the common people. I never will of course, being so far behind in my academics, but the possibility is always there. And the equality is amazing. I don’t have to bow down to men anymore; I am their equal and even sometimes above them! Often I feel giddy at the sheer freedom of it all. I will never go back to London. I couldn’t bear to return to 1735 after the amazing things I’ve experienced here…I just couldn’t bear it.
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