They told me it would look like mud, but all I could see was the depths of the earth.

The rich, deep soil that nourished the most radiant of flowers.  Strong, dark coffee, white cream swirling in the steam. A winter-bound leaf falling from an amber tree.  A ray of sunlight filtering through a glass of whiskey.

A thousand images flashed before my dull blue eyes as I got lost in hers.  I had seen them in pictures before, documentaries, textbooks, the whole liking.  I knew what they looked like. I knew the color. But to see them now, in person, with my own…

Why the hell had it been removed?

“As you can see,” the tour guide continued, her drone projecting from the back of our group, “this young woman possesses the brown-eyed gene, which was the first to be removed from the gene sequence in twenty eighty-one.  The brown-eyed gene has been extinct for sixty-four years, longer than both the green and yellow genes.”

Her words meant as much to me as I’m sure they meant to herself.  We all knew the stats; they’d been taught to us in every history class since the Fourth Level.  The entire human race was one stinking example of the mutation of genetics and the Strive Towards Perfection movements in twenty ninety.  There was nothing in the books left to learn.

Which was why I had begged for the last spot on the tour.

My grades were good.  Fine. Honors classes, the standard piano lessons, track practices, and CoreLit books on my reading list.  I managed to never get anything lower than a B. But these kids, the rest of my stuck up group never failed to get lower than an A+.  I had to beg and plead and make promises that I knew I could never fulfill to earn the last spot on the educational Tour of the Past, meant only for students going into history fields.  

I don’t know why, but some part of me knew that the year twenty nineteen would be worth it.  And it was.

The girl picked up the small silver tube, the same one she’d used two times already, and began putting the paste onto her eyelashes again.  She did it expertly, making sure that each individual hair was covered. Even through the jerking movements of her dancing and her off-key singing, she managed to put it on without smudging.  

“The song playing is called Despacito, a popular song written by the famous composer Justin Bieber.”  The tour guide added. A few murmurs from the students could be heard, likely from the music-lovers. Pop-culture students, the ones who were obsessed with old composers, like Ariana Grande, Madonna, Taylor Swift, Maroon Five, along with Justin Bieber.  “Bieber’s music is famously known for beginning the tradition known as Homecoming, a ritual dance done by people from ages fourteen to eighteen. Homecoming symbolized the start of a new beginning to the educational cycle, one that, unlike today’s, only lasted eight months of the year.  This woman is preparing herself for Homecoming.”

She spent so much time around the eyes.  A thousand shades of powder, several layers of paste, a crayon, and a weird pointy paint thing.  When she was done, she leaned forward into the mirror, coffee eyes circulating her face to make sure that everything was in place, everything was how she wanted it.  She decided it was, I think.

A huge smile broke across her face.  

I had to stop my heart from melting.  The corners of her eyes tilted down, and a small intent made its way onto her cheek.  The abnormalities of dimples would never have been allowed today. It was disturbing, at first, to see the dimples on her face.  I had only ever seen them in the books before.

“Yes, queen!”

Her voice was filled with such pride and vigor and happiness that I nearly jumped back in awe.  I knew what she meant by the term “yes, queen,” of course. We had annotated texts that used the language; stories filled with historically famous quotes.  Yes queen, bae, hit the whip.  Though the books made me yawn, it was fascinating to see terms being used in the atmosphere of twenty nineteen.  

I hoped that the rest of the group couldn’t see how intensely I was watching her.  

“And just ahead of us, we have the Space Odyssey Trials of twenty seventy four.”

What?

Panic surged to my head as the people surrounding me began to migrate forward with the tour guide.  I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to leave her. I wanted to cling as hard as I could to the coffee of her eyes and her dimples and stay there, away from the cold hearted blue eyes that plagued society today.  I wanted to just stay there, in twenty nineteen.

“Right this way.”