Memory Girl

by Singleton, Linda Joy

  “We’re honored to be here,” Greta adds with a polite head bow.

  “I taught Greta over twenty-five years ago.” Instructor Penny bends toward her former student, no longer separated by youth and Instructor status, both bearing the smooth, attractively mature faces of age twenty-five.

  “It seems much longer since I’ve been here,” Greta says.

  “Enough time for you to grow into a fine, respected citizen,” Instructor Penny says warmly. “Greta was in the last group of youths—only her name wasn’t Greta.”

  “I was called Abigail, and that was my study station,” Greta says, pointing to where Merry sits in the front row. “I’ve changed much since then. Abigail was a timid girl, never raising her hand to answer questions, much less standing in front of a group as I’m doing now. As Greta, I have gained much confidence and happiness with my Family—especially Monroe. My husband.”

  At the word “husband” I suck in a gasp, as do several other youths. Our Instructors taught the basics: math, communication, history, science, faith, citizenship, and Family relationships like sister, brother, and parents. But even though most Instructors have marriage partners in their separate Families, they don’t discuss their intimate relationships. When youths ask what goes on privately between a husband and a wife, the answer is always, “You’ll understand with memdenity.” Still, rumors of shared beds and nakedness cause much whispering after dark in my dorm room.

  “Abi—I mean, Greta—please tell us about your Celebraze experience,” Instructor Penny says, then slips into her chair.

  “I was a youth much like you, eager to bond with a Family,” Greta says, pushing up her scarf, embroidered with the Hu Family emblem—tiny hooves curling into the letter H. “I read every Name Book, and the Hu Family was my top choice. At my Celebraze, I was joysome when the Hu Family Chose me, and I proudly Chose my forever Name—Greta Hu.”

  “How wondrous to get your top choice,” Lorelei says with a wistful sigh.

  “It was. But the best moment came when I met my dearest husband.”

  Monroe smiles shyly at Greta, saying nothing, but the way he looks into her face says more than words, as if his dark eyes see only her.

  Bob, a freckled youth with cropped-short red hair and a stubby nose, raises his hand. “Did it take long to adjust to living in a Family?”

  “No. They were very kind to me. Although before my first memdenity, when I knew nothing about my role, I worried about disappointing them.”

  “You were perfect,” Monroe says quietly.

  “See how sweet he is?” Greta beams. “I expected to love my Family but not to have the deep love I feel for my husband—even before my first memdenity.”

  Merry, who sits in the front row, raises her hand. “Did memdenity hurt?”

  “Not at all!” Greta chuckles. “It’s like going to sleep and having wondrous dreams of new people and experiences, then waking to find these experiences really happened to you—at least through memories. My second mem was the best. That’s when I remembered all my firsts with Monroe: first meeting, date, and our beauteous wedding.”

  “Ooh, I hope it’s like that for me,” says Polly, a quiet youth who shares my interest in reading retro-books. Many rainy days we’ve sat together in the reading nest, a cushioned seat surrounded by curved windows, traveling to faraway places with words.

  “Blah! Too sappy,” spits out Homer. “Tell me exciting memories, like in retro-century when people went brain-crazy or the Attack on ShareHaven. If I’d been there when that the terror-mob Attacked, I would have ripping kicked those—”

  “Homer!” Instructor Penny slaps her hands together, a gesture for silence. “You will not speak rudely.”

  “But I want to know about—”

  “Homer!” She rises in her chair warningly.

  He opens his mouth as if to argue, then slumps his shoulders. “I apologize,” he mumbles.

  Marcus, in the chair beside me, lifts his hand. “May I ask a question?”

  Instructor Penny nods, clearly relieved. “Please, do, Marcus.”

  “I was wondering about the other youths from the last born-group,” he says slowly, as if carefully choosing each word.

  “Yes?” Greta says, turning toward him. “What would you like to know?”

  “You each went to different Families. Do you still see them?”

  “Oh, yes.” Greta nods. “At City Center, faith service, and Sunday Fair.”

  “But is it the sameness?” Marcus gnaws his lips. “Are you still friends with all fourteen of your born-mates?”

  Her tawny skin pales as she glances over at Monroe, who gives a terse shake with his head. Greta’s smile stiffens as she answers, “I am friendly with all of my community.”

  Marcus’s brows knit together, and he picks at the dirt under his thumb like he always does when troubled.

  Greta goes on to describe her community role in the Role Assignments Office, where she organizes communal work hours, and her daily Family chores of tending livestock and gardening. She glows when she speaks of her Hu Family relatives: three sisters, a brother, five nieces, seven nephews, and a grandfather who is the only Family member who appears older than twenty-five, a founding member of ShareHaven who didn’t cease aging until the rare age of fifty-two.

  “Gramps refuses hair shading,” Monroe adds with a pearly grin that dimples with humor. “He says he earned every one of his gray hairs.”

  “He certainly has.” Greta grins back at her husband.

  “I’ve met many of our founding citizens and they are so wise in experience,” Instructor Penny adds, then glances at the wall timepiece with surprise. “Graces good, we’re out of time. This has been such an inspiring talk. Thank you so much for sharing with us.”

  “I’ve enjoyed coming here. I know I learned much here, but I remember little of those youth years.” Greta gazes around the room, from chairs to work stations to the large table stacked with Name Books. “When I think of my childhood, I visualize a tall building in a faraway place called Chicago. My home was a two-bedroom apartment on the ninth floor, with a balcony blooming with potted flowers and a sparkling blue view overlooking the lake.”

  “But you’ve never left the island,” I blurt. “What of your Abigail memories?”

  “They aren’t important,” she says with a toss of her scarved head.

  I want to argue that youth memories are important; fifteen years together makes us a family too. But Instructor Penny is giving me the look. I remember her harsh tone with Homer and don’t want to ruin our last day together.

  “It’s unhealthy to dwell on the past,” Greta adds with smiling conviction. “I have a fulfilling role with my Family—especially my darling Monroe, and I could not be happier. Monroe is more than my husband. He’s my soul mate.”

  Soul mate?

  In the retro-books I’ve read, the idea of soul mates—two people destined only for each other—seemed to be made of fantasy, like unicorns and wishing on a star. How can one person be mated to another by a soul? An unsensical concept with no scientific proof. Our faith lessons teach that science created a circle of life and death—the natural way for thousands of years—until our scientists discovered the cease-aging process, transforming life’s circle into a line of infinity. Belief in a soul is merely a myth from long-ago religions. There is no physical organ on the human body labeled “soul.”

  Yet the way Greta and Monroe look at each other, as if they’re touching even when they sit apart, gives me a strange longing.

  “It’s so romantic,” Lorelei whispers.

  “Confusing,” I murmur, but she doesn’t hear me because everyone is clapping. Chairs scrape the floor as my born-mates gather around our guests, following them to the door, asking questions about Family meals, clothing, work assignments, and other ordinary topics.

  But it’s the unordinary, unasked questions that trouble me. I stay in my chair, thinking. What if the soul truly exists? Is it physical like blood and sk
in? Does everyone have one? When someone has an accidental death and their memories are saved, is a soul a part of those memories? Does that mean the souls of Abigail and Greta now share the same body?

  I concentrate on my own body, aware of my beating heart, my skin’s heat, and a faint stinging from the cut on my arm. My mind churns through memories and knowledge, conscious of thoughts. But I sense more to me, something deeper than thoughts and emotions. Could this be a soul? If so, where does body end and soul begin?

  Glancing over at Monroe, who shadows close to Greta, I think about the first Greta. If she hadn’t died, she’d still be his wife—or maybe she still is his wife. Reborn inside of a youth who was once called Abigail. Is Monroe in love with one woman or two?

  And I wonder what will happen when I take on the memdenity of someone else. Who will I be?

  “Jennza!” A voice jerks me out of my thoughts.

  Startled, I look up at Marcus. I’m even more startled to realize we’re the only ones left in the room. “Where did everyone go?”

  “To the dorms. Didn’t you hear Instructor Penny announce it was time to prepare for the Celebraze?” he asks.

  My cheeks burn as I rise to my feet. “I must hurry to my dorm—”

  “Wait, Jennz.” His voice lowers. “I want to speak to you.”

  “Aren’t you already doing that?” I say lightly.

  “No, I mean … I have something to give you.” He pushes his waving hair from his eyes, furrowing his brow. “But not here.”

  “Oh?” I stare at him, puzzled by his intense expression.

  “No one else must know.” He tugs on my arm. “Come with me.”

  FOUR

  I follow Marcus down the hall to the boys’ dorm, where I hear rushing footsteps and excited voices behind the door. While Marcus goes inside, I wait in the hall, since girls aren’t allowed in the boys’ dorm, nor are boys allowed in our dorm. I impatiently tap my boot, unable to guess what Marcus wants to give me.

  The door bursts open, and there’s Marcus, clutching a rolled paper.

  I eye the gray hemper, a paper used commonly for youth lessons. “What’s this about?”

  He glances up and down the hall, then even though no one else is near, he lowers his voice. “I’ve wanted to … um … talk to you, but Lorelei is always around.”

  “There’s nothing you can’t say to me in front of her.”

  “Oh, there is.” The paper rustles in his hand. “Remember when you asked me to climb the Fence with you?”

  I stiffen, hurt feelings rushing back. “Two years ago.” I press my lips together. “You refused.”

  “I wanted to go but couldn’t break an important rule. Still, I kept your secret.”

  “I know, and I’m grateful,” I say softly.

  “Rules are important to me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to have fun too. My best memory is of carrying boards with you and Lorelei into a tree and making a platform and watching a bird build a nest. After that you started collecting feathers.”

  I laugh. “I wanted to fly and thought I only needed to build big wings.”

  “I believed you could do it,” he says solemnly. “You always surprise me with things you say and do. I’m ready to join a Family, but it makes me sad because I’ll miss you.”

  “You’ll miss Lorelei too,” I add.

  “Yes, but not the same way.” He clears his throat. “Lorelei isn’t you.”

  I suck a sharp breath, aware of Marcus as if we were strangers meeting for the first time. Do I truly know him? I’d never guessed he favored me over Lorelei, especially after that awkward “kissing” moment when we were younger that he pretended never happened. I didn’t even tell Lorelei, embarrassed and heart-stung.

  “I’ll miss you too,” I finally say, swallowing a lump in my throat. “I dread leaving here and going to different Families. We won’t spend days together.”

  “Maybe we can,” Marcus says mysteriously. “I’ve put much thought on this and researched the relationships in Families. In retro-century, Family relationships were a product of DNA and age. A youth couldn’t care for itself, so the parents took a nurturing role and the responsibility for their children. As the parents aged, roles reversed—children caring for their parents. Family structure was a means of survival, the stronger caring for the weak.”

  “But no one grows old in ShareHaven,” I say with the same pride for community I hear every day from our Instructors. “Everyone, except founders and youths like us, are age twenty-five.”

  “Exactly. Our roles have changed—and so have the rules. In retro-century, it would be illegal for a brother and sister to marry. But now any unmarried person has the freedom to marry a Family member. Edward Salazar, a youth from three groups ago, married his own mother. There have even been allowances for unmarried people to marry into another Family if the Leaders approve. So it’s important to belong to a Family with a forward-thinking Leader. There are ways for us to stay close, but it depends on the Family you join.”

  “Which I have no control over,” I remind him.

  “So you need to be ready with the best Name.”

  I stare down at a floor tile with a scrape mark like someone slid to a sudden stop. “You know I’m not ready. I’ve barely studied.”

  “That’s why I studied for you.” Marcus pushes the rolled paper into my hand, his proud smile reaching deep inside of me. “Here’s a list of suitable Names from the three Families most likely to Choose you.”

  “Oh, Marcus,” I say, humbled that he broke a rule to help me. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “I wanted to … for you,” he adds softly.

  “But how could you know which Families to study?”

  “There are patterns in the selection process, like patterns a bee hive displays in the presence of its queen. I analyzed records of past Celebrazes to come to my conclusions. Besides, I hear things,” he says with a secretive lift of his brows. “Wait till you’re alone before reading the list. Then memorize it.”

  “I will,” I promise, suddenly lighter, as if the paper in my hand is made of wings. “Thank you so much, Marcus. You’re the best best-mate ever.”

  “I hope to be more than that … someday.” He looks into my face as if searching for something, then steps away and disappears into his dorm room.

  I stare at the closed door for a moment, puzzled and pleasantly warmed inside. Is he hinting at what I think? I stare down curiously at the hemper in my hand, rough-edged paper, smooth in texture and smelling rich in leafy pulp. In retro-century, paper was created from trees, but most of the trees on our island are on the dangerous side of the Fence, so tree paper was replaced with hemper.

  Footsteps from a near hall make me jump and remember I must get ready for the Celebraze. The hemper rustles in my fingers and teases my curiosity.

  When I reach the door to girls’ dorm, curiosity wins.

  Furtively looking around, I decide it’s safe to peek at Marcus’ list. Written in slanted precise letters, there are only three Names, each long with sentences of details. The Lost Ones had different roles, histories, and manners of death.

  But they each shared one thing in common.

  All three Lost Ones never married.

  FIVE

  Opening the door to the girls’ dorm room, I find a whirlwind of frantic changing of coverings and hair-brushing.

  Lorelei rushes over to me, her black braid whipping like an agitated snake.

  “Jennza, where have you been? Why must you always be late?” Lorelei cries as I enter a room scented floral by hair cleaners and body fragrances. Only two other girls are still getting ready, Merry and Asha; the others have already gone. Lorelei wears her Celebraze tunic, but she waited for me.

  She offers to help me prepare for the Celebraze, but I assure her I can dress on my own. With a stubborn purse of her lips, she refuses to leave me and helps me button my tunic when my back buttons are out of reach.

  Even with Lorelei’s help, I’m la
st to dress and wrap my hair in a traditional white scarf. White symbolizes youth, and at the end of the ceremony, we burn our scarves as a gesture of leaving our childhood for new roles in the community. We’ll be gifted with new scarves with symbols of our Families.

  Tension builds as all fifteen of us—eight girls and seven boys—gather in the Communal Study, which is circular, with curved rows of chairs and luminous lamps. Floor-to-ceiling shelves overfill with books, most hemper-bound, but some are from long ago, with brittle yellow pages that crackle with each turn.

  Homer jumps atop the center table, his black hair wagging like a hoxen tail beneath his white scarf. He quotes poetry—something retro about the passage of youth—as if he’s on a stage and we’re his audience. His dramatical need to be the focus of attention annoys me, and it’s satisfying to share an eye-roll with Lorelei. She’s not a Homer fan either.

  I look around at the born-mates I’ve grown older with. After we join a Family, we’ll never learn together again. I don’t want to think on this, but it’s hard not to when others talk about what will happen in the next hours.

  “I hope, I hope, I hope,” Lorelei says as she scoots her chair closer to mine. “I hope to be in the Ying Family.”

  “Sewing will give you squinty eyes,” I warn.

  “I am willing for the risk,” she says with a furrow in her brow that tells me she does not appreciate my teasing when she is being serious. “My top Choice is Flavia Ying—she was brilliant with design and fashionizing.”

  “Didn’t she die in a freak scissor accident?”

  “I will not run with scissors. Fashionizing would be my perfect forever.”

  “You’ll have to make boring coverings like this,” I point out, plucking at my itchy tunic. “And needles hurt when they stab fingers.”