Memory Girl

by Singleton, Linda Joy

  When I awake the next morning, I know what I have to do—even though it’s more dangerous than climbing the Fence or sneaking Petal to Marcus.

  I’m going to give the packet to Nate.

  With this decision made, dread lifts from me. I move through my chores, lighter with hope. Rosemarie seems in high spirits too, humming a cheerful melody as we prepare to leave for my sizing.

  When Arthur says he’s going with us, my dread returns. Even last night, when everyone else ignored me, he still pulled out my chair and offered to butter my bread and refill my water glass. And often, when he doesn’t realize I’m aware, I find his gaze sweeping over me like I already belong to him.

  Now Arthur takes the driver’s seat, inviting me to sit beside him, but I pretend I don’t hear and slide into the back beside Rosemarie. She pats my shoulder, then hums happily like when she’s baking pumpkin bread. Arthur raises his brows at Rosemarie and they share a meaningful look.

  I’m too anxious to puzzle over them, each wheel-turn bringing me closer to Nate. I go over my plan, scheming how to sneak away from my sizing. I’ll need Lorelei’s help, but will she agree? She has to! I’ll plead until she gives in. I only need about fifteen minutes to follow the path beneath the bushes, throw the packet through Nate’s window, and hurry back before I’m missed. Timing is important. Luck would be useful too, and I wish I still had my favorite sand shell. But Nate has it, and he’ll need more than luck to escape.

  The drive into City Central blurs until we approach thick bushes, and I see the brick walls of the prison. The packet for Nate is tucked in my pocket.

  I think of Nate’s face, shadowed by irons bars. I can help him, if I can only get to him. Somehow I’ll find a way. I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice where we’re going until I glance out the window.

  “Arthur!” I cry, pointing. “You passed the fashionizing shop.”

  “Yes, I did.” He grins at me.

  “Why would you do that? Make him turn around,” I urge Rosemarie. “I’ll be late for my appointment.”

  She shakes her head. “I postponed your appointment.”

  Arthur slows the coach cycle in front of a square stone building with a pink engraved plaque over the entry door.

  “I’ve been bursting to tell you since yesterday, but Leader Cross didn’t want anyone to ruin the surprise.” Rosemarie grasps my hand. “You’re getting your first memdenity.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Nate will be executed tomorrow.

  And today, a part of me is going to be buried beneath Milly’s memories.

  I’m numb as I climb down the steps of the solar cart. Arthur grins at me, his head lifted high with pride and something else—maybe ownership. Will he be in Milly’s childhood memories?

  “Come along, Milly.” Rosemarie’s cheerful tone is a smothering blanket.

  Arthur comes around to open my door and offers me a hand. Already the attentive husband, he is kind and will be good to me. I know this and appreciate his kindness. I have heard of husbands who strike in anger, so I’m lucky to have a gentle man for a husband.

  “The insertion won’t hurt,” he says as he opens the entry door for me. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “I’m not.” Pain is brief. It’s the permanent changes I dread.

  Rosemarie slips her arm around my shoulders. “You’ll do fine.”

  I enter a small room with a desk and rows of chairs. No photos, paintings, or decorations on the walls—only stark blankness.

  A deep-voiced man in white pantons and a pink shirt strides on long legs through double doors. He’s tall, with skin a shade lighter than mine and thick, flaxen hair. “You must be Milly,” he booms in a deep voice.

  “Not yet,” I say like it’s a joke. But it’s not.

  “Wait here while I see if your room is prepared,” he says, then goes down a back hallway.

  Rosemarie squeezes my hand. “No worries, okay? It won’t take long, and afterward you’ll be pleased with everything you know.”

  I nod, but Arthur frowns. “Actually, she won’t gain much from the first memdenity. Childhood memories have little substance,” he says with a dismissive shrug. “Nothing useful.”

  “She learned many skills as a youth,” Rosemarie argues. “Milly’s cooking talent started young. I should know—I was with her.”

  “And I wasn’t.” Arthur draws in a deep breath, then blows it out. “I’ll wait over there.” He sits in a hard chair, alone.

  “Poor Arthur,” Rosemarie says, guiding me to a chair on the opposite side of the room. She sits beside me, leaning close to whisper, “He didn’t marry Milly until she was age twenty, and while they were happy together for the first century, there was a time when they stopped talking … and unfortunate things happened. You will ease more hurts than you know when you bring Milly back to him.”

  But I don’t want to be Milly, I think with panic, wanting to run somewhere far away where I can make my own memories.

  The yellow-haired health keeper returns.

  “The insertion room is ready,” he says.

  Rosemarie rises to go with me, but the health keeper gives her a stern look. “Only the youth is allowed,” he says.

  I’m led down a narrow hall and through a steel door. A lock clicks behind me. I’m told to sit in a leather chair with steel clamps on the arm rests. Wire devices twine around a tray like silver snakes. I want to gag at the sterile chemical odor. My heart thumps.

  It’s happening. The moment my whole life has led up to.

  The flaxen-haired man reminds me of a giraffe, long necked and lanky. “I’m Rachid,” he says, cranking a knob that reclines my chair so I’m staring up into a ceiling of twisted cords. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “We’ve met before?”

  His chuckle rolls in a faint accent. “You won’t remember; you were only a babe. I never forget the babes, and I noticed you because of your curiosity. You always knew what you wanted too, grabbing toys from your born-mates. I knew you wouldn’t be one of the discards, so I cuddled and played with you.”

  “Discards?” I’ve never heard this term before.

  “The scientists always supply us with extra embryos.” He reaches for my wrist and slips it in a clamp. “Only the most healthy make the final fifteen. I remember them all, and you were a favorite.”

  This should please me, but the word discard is troubling. What if I’d been born with a flaw or an illness? Would I be here? Would I be anywhere?

  The snap of an arm clamp startles me. I jerk but can’t move.

  “Relax, Milly,” Rachid says calmly, and my long ago memory stirs at his voice. “It’s a simple procedure, and you’ll sleep through it.”

  “If it’s simple, then why are my arms restrained?”

  “A safety measure. You won’t feel anything.”

  That’s what worries me.

  Clamps fit over my ankles too, and my tunic bunches up to my thighs. I glance at the knee I scarred as a child, smooth with no trace of the scar. I hold tightly to the memory of being age one, stumbling, pain and blood. The scar will never fade as long as I remember.

  A cone mask comes down over my face, eclipsing light. Strange, sweet smells wisp up my nostrils. Hands lift my hair. Cold metal presses on the back of my head. There’s the flash of silver and a shining needle aiming at my face. I’m drifting somewhere beyond water and land. My last thought is clear, strong, and determined.

  I am Jennza.

  Images flood my mind with sounds, smells, and strange sights, bright lights and tall ceilings. Someone holds me tight, murmuring soft words. I’m helpless to do much except cry and suck and sleep. Tiny hands, my tiny hands, reach up to grasp larger hands. I’m content, safe and loved.

  I’m rushing forward, small legs stretching into first steps. Learning letters and reading on my own. I laugh with a small girl with long black curls. We’re bundled in heavy jackets and gloves—no, the word is mitten—and we’re excited about something. A door opens
and a whoosh of icy air stings my cheeks. The other girl runs ahead, and I run after her, stumbling in thick, soft white ground. A word comes to me: snow.

  Time leaps. I’m riding on a leather seat beside the black-haired girl. I look at her now, recognizing the smile that tilts unevenly at one corner and the thick brows over serious brown eyes. Rosemarie: my sister.

  We’re at the sea, but we call it the Pacific Ocean. The sandy shore shimmers like white-gold cloth. Confusing strings of words and images tangle in my thoughts. Rubber-wheeled vehicles—cars. Tiny boxes flash pictures and make sounds—phone. Something large and metal roars into the sky, shrinking in the distance like a tiny flying bird—airplane.

  The car stops in a paved square—a parking lot. We’re swallowed into a dizzying crowd hurrying into shops, whirling flashing lights, music and buckets flying high in circles—Ferris wheel. The screams and crowds make me clutch tight to Rosemarie’s hand. She says we should skip the rides and go to the beach, so we race to the shore, where people ride boards in high waves. Sand tickles my bare toes. We laugh, chasing waves and dancing in seaweed. “Race you!” Rosemarie shouts, and my little legs can’t catch her.

  I’m calling her name, “Rosie! Rosie!” when stinging salt water crashes over me, sweeping me away from shore. Can’t breathe. I’m swallowing salt water, choking, slipping deep into darkness.

  A hand grasps my shoulders, pulling me from the water. I’m on my side on the ground, still sinking, drifting away. A man stands over me, water streaming down his face … or tears? “Milly, baby! Breathe!” I spit out water, sucking in air, sobbing “Daddy!” as I cling to him.

  Another scene flashes by. Noisy streets and honking, like geese, blares from cars, trucks, buses, taxis, and even horns on bicycles. I’m riding in the back of a car, strapped on a cushioned box. Booster seat. The Daddy man is driving and a woman sits beside him, her hair dark with braids like Rosemarie’s. Mom. I look to the side and see my sister. Rosie. There’s a car seat with a crying baby, a boy with a squishy face. He spits up on me, but I still like him. Brother.

  Towering buildings reach for the clouds. I peer out windows at chaotic sidewalks of people riding, walking, and skating. Wiggling in my belted seat, I ask again and again how long before we’re there. We’re going to climb a tower. Rosemarie says she’d rather see a museum, and the Daddy man says we will after we climb the tower. There are many, many steps that go up, up, up. My legs hurt from the climb. “Carry me,” I beg the Daddy man. But he’s holding the boy baby. I’m not liking the spit-up baby so much now. Rosemarie takes my hand. “Stay with me,” she says.

  Numbers race up and down in my mind with each step. 26, 27 … 35 …. But the number steps never end and my legs burn. I want to go back to the car. I let go of Rosemarie’s hand and look down, down, so far down. Rosemarie shouts at me to hurry up. But I can’t stop looking at the distant ground. My head is spinning and I’m rubbing my eyes because I’m crying. My foot slips. I’m falling … until Rosemarie pulls me to safety.

  More images blink by.

  Tall buildings shining like rainbows in the night. Traffic honking and red-green-yellow lights flashing. Swarming sidewalks. Towering aisles at stores with more toys than I could ever play with, balloons floating over a banner spelling out, “Happy 4th Birthday, Milly!” and so many gifts that I don’t know which to open first, until Rosemarie points to the one she wrapped all by herself.

  “Do what your teacher tells you,” the Mommy says on my first day of kindergarten. I hear “kind garden” and look for a garden. When I ask the teacher, she laughs and says, “What a good idea, Milly. We’ll make our own garden.” I love school and my teacher and the garden where carrots, tomatoes, and herbs grow. I take some home and Rosie shows me how to bake spaghetti sauce and carrot cake.

  Sunshine, wind, blossoms, rain, and snow spin away the years. I’m taller, and the Mommy and Daddy change too, deep lines worrying their faces. They whisper at night, and I creep forward to hear odd words like “insanity,” “epidemic,” and “plague.” At school the next week, there’s an empty desk. I cry when I learn my friend Haley won’t be coming back.

  Lessons, homework, recess games. We wear gloves and paper masks to school like an everyday costume party. We paint pictures on the paper cones that fit over our mouths and noses. I get the idea to sprinkle glue and sequins on mine, but Jeremy grabs my mask and stomps on it until the sequins are dead on the floor. My teacher quickly gives me a new mask to wear.

  There are three empty desks at school now, including Jeremy’s. I should be glad he’s gone, yet a tight squeeze hurts my chest. I understand now about the “Mad Mind” disease that hurts people, especially children. I wake one night to flashing red and blue lights out my window and my brother screaming.

  Now we’re a family of four. Rosie and I don’t go to school anymore. Strong locks protect our doors and black sheets cover the windows. The Daddy man warns me never to go outside after dark. Rosemarie and I play together in our room, pretending we’re princesses trapped in a castle, waiting for handsome princes to rescue us. When I hear strange noises from outside at night, I climb into Rosemarie’s bed.

  We pack and drive a long way to a huge place called an airport. I wear my face mask that’s covered in red heart stickers. While we wait in a big room for our flight, a woman rushes by, screaming. She points out a huge window up at the sky. A plane blazes with fire, falling. “The pilot lost his mind!” someone screams, then others scream too. The sound hurts my ears, so I cover them with my hands. When a big boom shakes the building and cracks windows, Mommy, Daddy, Rosemarie, and I hold each other.

  We don’t take an airplane. Instead, we ride on a boat for so many days that I forget what land looks like. We leave the big boat for a smaller one that rocks my tummy so much I vomit on Rosemarie. We switch to an even smaller boat crowded with luggage and people wearing masks and gloves. I hear stories of family and friends who have died from the mind-plague. Mommy speaks softly of my brother. I want to talk about him too, but words are swallowed by sadness.

  At nightfall, Mommy wraps a blanket around me and pulls me closer to her on the hard bench. “We’re going to be safe,” she whispers. “My new job assisting scientists is in a safe place where sickness can’t find us.”

  “I feel sick now,” I say with a sour taste in my mouth.

  “But you’re not sick here.” She bends down to touch the top of my forehead. “And you never will be.”

  Images shift to travels in an even smaller boat, until an island rises from the sea with trees so thick the land is smothered. There are no houses or highways or cities. The boat captain dumps our luggage and us on the shore and leaves. Rumbling shakes the ground, and a tank rolls on thick wheels out of the woods like a monster.

  When I’m told to climb into the tank, I cry.

  Rosemarie clasps my hand and whispers, “Don’t be afraid.”

  But I am afraid—of the darkness inside the tank, the wild jungle outside, the roaring engine, and the uniformed man at the wheel. When the roaring stops, the uniformed man flips open a ceiling hatch, and we climb out into sunshine.

  We stand before a massive steel gate.

  ShareHaven.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “Milly … Milly …”

  Someone shakes my shoulders.

  When I open my eyes, there’s Rosemarie, looking the same as when we arrived at the health-keepers, yet so much more familiar to me. I see a shorter, round-cheeked girl with wispy black curls sharing birthday cake, popping balloons, playing princess games, and holding my hand tight when I’m afraid. She’s always there for me, strong and loyal and true. I love my sister.

  “Are you all right?” Rosemarie asks.

  I can’t find the words to answer. My brain is a sponge, overfilling with images. Faces, objects, and places swim like finless fish through my mind. I can’t grasp the slippery images that squirm out of reach. My head feels like a pressure cooker ready to burst. Reaching up, I lift my tangled
hair and rub a rough patch of skin on my neck.

  “Would you like a pain tonic?” Rosemarie caresses my cheek, her hand warm.

  “I’m not in pain,” I say in a voice that doesn’t sound familiar. I look down at my hand too, and it’s all wrong; the fingers too long and thin. Panic swells. Not my hand! I hit the hand against a chair, over and over, wanting to rip it from my arm.

  Rosemarie grasps the hand gently, entwining her fingers in mine. “Milly, relax. I’m here for you. It’s natural to feel confusion after the first insertion.”

  “I—I just want ….” I try to finish this sentence, but I can’t.

  “Would you like to go home?” Rosemarie slips her arm around me.

  Home. A dark brown house with a large picture window over a planter blossoming with flowers, and two metal coaches—no, cars—parked inside a—a garage.

  “There are no cars here,” I say, rubbing my forehead.

  Rosemarie chuckles. “No traffic or pollution either. Solar energy is much more efficient than dinosaur fuel. I’d almost forgotten cars.”

  “We had a blue Chevy with four doors and a sunroof.”

  “I don’t remember,” she says with a shrug. “It was so long ago.”

  “Your hair is shorter and you finally got boobs.”

  She laughs. “Oh, Milly, that sounds so much like you. I can hardly believe it … and I’m so glad. What else do you remember?”

  “We had a mother and father and little brother—but he died.”

  Rosemarie nods sadly. “Gregory. He didn’t have a chance. The early stages of the mind-plague struck little kids the hardest. We moved to ShareHaven a few months after that and were very happy here until ….” Her voice trails off.

  “Until what?”

  She sighs. “You’ll get those memories next time.”

  Next time. I cringe, not sure I want memories that make her so sad.

  “Dwell on the happy things,” she says. “What else do you remember?”

  “Voices and pictures spin in my mind, and most don’t make any sense. But one thing never changes.”