It is a bright, warm Sunday in late April and I arrive at the Vestibule Garden around noon, as usual. I visit Great Aunt Sally in her Vestibule every Sunday. Occasionally other days, too; she prepaid for the unlimited plan, so I can go anytime. Aunt Sally could afford the unlimited plan because she made it big in stocks after Great Uncle Joe died. He doesn’t have a Vestibule; he died about five years before Vestibule Gardens were open to the public. My maternal grandparents also passed before Vestibules, not that they were wealthy enough to afford their own plans, anyway. I do not know the identity of my father, an anonymous sperm donor; whether he has a Vestibule or whether he still lives I don’t know.

My mother does have a Vestibule; Sally included her in the unlimited plan. It was quick work on my aunt’s part. My mother died by suicide, and those who pass unexpectedly don’t always have access to Vestibules; it’s difficult to glean all of the data needed if brain scans aren’t completed before death or promptly postmortem. My mother is located right next door to Sally. Sally felt sorry for her, I guess. Or maybe she felt sorry for me, her only child. Thought I’d want to talk to her. I didn’t; I still don’t.