When we left Home, machines in the Box came to life: clocks, to tick away the seconds; odometers, to measure the miles. Grandfather put those devices there, though they had no purpose until we ran away. Home isn’t a place where anything happens. Space there is like it is inside the Box – if you’re measuring all the dimension in the universe, the space of Home doesn’t count. When we left, we winked into existence, entering the steady stream that runs from past to the future, emerging from the Box to become dimensional. Before that, I don’t even know if we qualified as being alive.