I turned one hundred the 7th of may 1957.
It was a surprise, really. One doesn't expect waking up one day and realize they've been alive for a century. The truth is, hadn't I made some calculations, I wouldn't have believed I was so old. I felt good, fantastically good, as if the twenties were eternal.
I touched my hair in front of the mirror. I felt it well nourished and abundant; I hadn't gone bald. I cut a small lock and some red hairs fell on my hand. Nice. I touched then my just showered skin. It was wrinkleless. To be sure, I covered myself in a bit of talcum powder and yes, it was.
"The potion," I thought, "must have altered my aging."
Well, that was better for me. Science in the 20th century was really interesting and I had a happy life with my friends…since my real family was surely dead by then.
I had moved to Manhattan during the first days of the Great War and my new job, apart from the errands, was to publish articles for and by monster about what was cooking at the surface and in the underground city. It could be said that everything was going great.
The day of my birthday I got lots of mail from my friends, all very generous for such a special date. Wayne and Wanda sent me a special edition of the Origin of Species, bitten by their pups–they had their second litter by then–; Frank and Eunice, a microscope; Murray, papyrus, amulets and other Egyptian curiosities; and Drac, an invisible suit to go unnoticed with without having to be naked. Mavis had slipped a letter in the package his father sent in which she congratulated me and begged me to let her go live with me. "Dad's so tiresome, he doesn't let me do anything.", she said. I laughed when I read that. Oh, those seventy-four…
I gave them thankful letters before going to celebrate on my own to the Lucifer disco, in Brooklyn. Maybe my luck changed and I went back home with company.