The Heart of Memory

by Alison Strobel

  The irritation Savannah expected to feel at the comment was nowhere to be found. Instead, she felt a sense of graciousness that she hadn’t experienced in a long time. “I’m no one special, believe me. But thank you for thinking I am.” She pulled the corner off her slice of bread. “This is really awkward, but I want to say how sorry I am that you lost your brother. Obviously I am tremendously grateful for his willingness to be an organ donor, but as a recipient it’s grieving to know you’re alive because of someone else’s loss.”

  Lori nodded, her long, mousy brown hair waving over her shoulders. “I can imagine it would be. As Christians, we have such a different understanding of that concept, though, don’t we? We are who we are because someone else died so we could live.”

  Savannah found it easier to fake her agreement with Lori than it had been with anyone else. “That’s true. And at least you know you’ll see Charlie in heaven.” She might not believe in it anymore, but certainly it was what Lori wanted to hear.

  But Lori’s countenance fell a bit at the comment. “Actually, I don’t believe I will. Charlie was an atheist.”

  Savannah felt like Dorothy opening her front door when she first arrived in Oz. The whole world suddenly looked very different. “Really? Would you mind telling me about him?”

  Some of the sun came back into Lori’s face. “I’d love to. Charlie was the only family I had left, and we were very close. I miss him, but it helps to talk about him.” She settled back with her coffee, but Savannah found herself on the edge of her seat.

  “I think I mentioned in my letter that I’d prayed Charlie’s life would be somewhat redeemed by his organ donations. I prayed the night I got the call that the people receiving them would go on to do great things for God’s kingdom. He was a very wounded person, but never did anything to deal with those wounds, so his life just kept taking more and more tragic turns.

  “Our father left us when I was eight and Charlie was four. I was old enough that I had plenty of memories to remind me of why it was good that he was gone, but Charlie didn’t. We both suffered for the lack of a father, but Charlie even more so. He sought him out twice, once when he was sixteen, and again when he was twenty-four Both times our father turned him away, and that made it all the more painful for him.

  “Our mom was wounded, too, but she did as best she could by Charlie and me. She was gone a lot, though, working, so Charlie and I grew pretty close from depending on each other so much. He was my best friend until I met my husband. Oh!” Lori stood and crossed the room to the small brick fireplace framed in white wood. She picked up a picture frame from the mantle and handed it to Savannah. “This is him, two years ago on his birthday.”

  Savannah found herself looking at a man she would have sworn she’d met before. Perhaps it was because of how much he looked like Lori — the same green eyes, the same round face and brown hair. His mouth was different, though, and his expression, despite the happy occasion, looked guarded, even though he was smiling for the camera.

  “While we were growing up, we had neighbors that were Christians,” Lori continued as she went back to her seat. “Kirk became like a second father to Charlie. They’d go fishing, work on cars together—Kirk fixed up old Mustangs and the like, and Charlie loved to tinker with stuff like that. His wife Pauline was sweet, too, and would let me help her bake. She taught me to sew, too. But Charlie and Kirk were far closer than she and I were, I think because Kirk lost his father when he was young, so he knew how Charlie felt and how badly he needed a strong male role model.

  “They’d invite us to church, though Mom wouldn’t let us go, and Pauline always had Christian music playing in the house. When I was sixteen she led me to the Lord. Charlie and Kirk didn’t talk about faith as much, but I talked with Charlie about it, and when he was about eighteen he started getting real curious and asking me more questions. I really thought he was going to cross the line at one point, but he kept backing away.”

  Savanna stared at the picture as Lori told her story. She felt a connection with the man in the picture, like they’d spent time together or at least met in person. She’d never actively tried to visualize her donor, yet a mental image had coalesced over time, and it was eerily similar to this.

  “But then one day Charlie went over to their house and then came right back. He was absolutely seething. He’d always struggled with anger, but Kirk’s easy-going nature had helped him to learn how to calm some of that down. This was the most angry I’d seen him in a long time. He told me that Pauline had answered the door and told him she’d kicked Kirk out. She’d caught him cheating on her. They ended up getting a divorce a couple months later. Kirk never came back, never saw Charlie — the last time Charlie had been there they’d been planning another fishing trip.” She shook her head and sipped her coffee again, and Savannah could feel the anger and sadness and betrayal as keenly as though it had happened to her.

  “That was it for Charlie, as far as God was concerned. It pushed him over the edge. Between our father abandoning us and Kirk essentially doing the same thing, he was convinced any idea of a Heavenly Father was garbage. For a couple years we didn’t speak much — he didn’t like that I was a Christian. But our Mom died about eight years ago, and that brought us back together—we were all either of us had. We’d gotten really close again over the last couple years.

  “I kept holding out hope that he’d turn to the Lord,” she said with a sigh. “He claimed to be an atheist, said God didn’t exist, but then other times he’d talk about how much he hated God. I’d point out the irony in hating something that didn’t exist, but he could never get over that. I kept thinking, ‘Well, maybe he believes God exists more than he realizes he does. That’s better than not believing he’s there at all!’ “ She gave Savannah a sad smile. “But he had his chance; he certainly didn’t die without hearing the truth.”

  Savannah was stunned. Not believing God existed, but then hating him, too — it was as though Lori had read her mind. Goose-bumps rose on her arms.

  “I have an album in the family room with more pictures of Charlie. Would you like to see them?”

  Savannah nodded, feeling greedy for whatever information Lori was willing to share. “I’d love to. Thanks.”

  Lori disappeared into another room and returned with a navy blue album with “Charlie” embossed on the front. The pictures were arranged chronologically, beginning with a hospital-blanket bundle with a baby’s face poking out. Savannah flipped the pages slowly, studying each image as though she’d be quizzed.

  “What time does your flight leave tonight?” Lori asked.

  “Seven forty-five.”

  “My husband gets home at five and we usually eat dinner around five-thirty. We’d love to have you stay if you think you can still get to the airport on time.”

  She’d arrived with the plan of darting out as soon as she could, but now she wished she were staying longer. “If it’s not an imposition, I would love that.”

  She and Lori talked about less serious things as Savannah flipped through the album. She chuckled when she came to the more recent pictures—in each one Charlie wore jeans and long-sleeved T-shirts — though by this time she wasn’t surprised.

  Lori’s husband Wayne arrived just before five, and was as pleasant and friendly as his wife. He and Savannah chatted while Lori made dinner—without Savannah’s help, though she’d offered — and Lori eventually called them to the table for a dinner of spaghetti and garlic bread. It was almost six when Savannah said she should get going soon.

  “Let me bring out dessert before you go,” she said. She brought out a cake plate holding a glistening strawberry pie.

  Savannah’s mouth watered, and she actually let out a groan of happiness. “You’d have no way to know this,” she said as she eyed the generous slice Lori cut for her, “but ever since the surgery I have had the most intense craving for strawberries.”

  Lori handed her the plate with a smile. “That makes total sense,” she said. �
��It was Charlie’s favorite food.”

  SHAUN SHUT DOWN HIS COMPUTER and sat in the quiet of his office. He was beginning to regret signing the lease on an office suite that was so small he’d have to be in a cubicle. It was getting harder and harder to be in the presence of his staff, and being able to hide in his office had become a means of survival for both him and them. They couldn’t whisper behind his back if he was right there, and he couldn’t pretend that everything was normal when he was stuck in the same depressed atmosphere as them. He could feel that tension every time he entered the room.

  His cell rang. He glanced at the screen and groaned inside. He knew what a bad sign it was that he didn’t want to talk to his wife whom he hadn’t seen in so many days. But there it was: he simply didn’t want to. Life at the office might be miserable, but he was strangely, and sadly, happy with the house empty. When she’d been hospitalized it had been a nightmare. Now it was a relief.

  He let the call go to voicemail and pulled on his coat. He’d listen to her message in the car.

  “See you tomorrow, Brenda,” he said with a nod as he passed the receptionist. She didn’t even try to smile, just waved and said, “Bye” as he headed out the door. He was going to have to come clean with them soon, or else they’d start abandoning ship. On second thought, maybe he’d just let them do that. It would save him the trouble of having to admit defeat to a roomful of people he once considered family. It would save him from paying severance, too.

  He was halfway home when he remembered the voicemail from Savannah. He set the phone on speaker mode and started the message.

  “Hi Shaun, it’s me. You will never guess where I am. I flew to Kansas this morning to meet the sister of my heart donor. She wrote me a letter that Marisa brought when she came out here the other day. I’m on my way back to the airport now to go back to Georgia, but I wanted to tell you something I discovered. Charlie — that’s my donor, Charlie Bates; he was 28 and died in a car crash—he was an atheist. His father left their family when he was little, and a Christian neighbor who took him under his wing ended up cheating on his wife. Between those two events, he was completely soured against God. But what was really crazy was the way his sister, Lori, described it. She said he claimed to be an atheist, but that he also hated God. Shaun, that is exactly how I’ve been feeling. And it doesn’t make sense to hate something that you don’t think exists. It’s like he knew —just like I knew—that God really was real, but hating him wasn’t enough to express how betrayed he felt. He wanted to act like he didn’t even exist. But his anger—his anger— was so strong that he couldn’t bring himself to truly believe God didn’t exist, because then where would he direct it all? And guess what else? He practically lived in jeans and long-sleeved T-shirts, and his favorite food was strawberries.” She laughed, and Shaun found himself chuckling with her. “Shaun, I don’t know how this could be possible, but I think I’m living out Charlie’s emotions. Do you know what this means? It means it’s not just me! I haven’t been able to figure out why I hate God so much because I don’t—Charlie does! Anyway, I’m going to get on Tabitha’s computer when I get back to Georgia and check out my forum to see if anyone else has ever experienced this. But you’re much better with all that internet searching—would you be able to look around and see if this phenomenon is documented anywhere? Or better yet, what we can do about it? I can’t tell you how happy I am to know this isn’t just me. There’s a reason —”

  The voicemail system had cut her off, but he knew she’d said everything she really wanted to say. He started speeding, eager to get online. He found himself actually smiling.

  Despite the fact that he’d skipped lunch and barely had breakfast, he didn’t even make a pit stop in the kitchen before going straight to his office and booting up his computer. He wrote down a list of search terms as he waited for the system to finish starting up. Memories stored in organs, transplanting memories, organ donor memories. He opened a browser window and typed the first phrase in. He expected to get something about sentimental views of musical instruments, but instead hit pay dirt with the very first result. He read the brief article which gave little scientific information, but confirmed the likely existence of a phenomenon called cellular memories. Armed with an exact phrase, he searched again. ‘Cellular memories’ brought up more than enough information to start with. He spent the next two hours reading and making notes to share with Savannah.

  Cellular memories: hypothesis that personal memories, tastes, personality traits, etc. are stored in cells throughout the body, not just the brain

  Some anecdotal support for the theory, but no peer-reviewed studies have been done

  Dr. Pearsall, an expert in the field (the only one, apparently)

  how to make it stop — can’t find anything on this

  It was this last bit that frustrated Shaun the most. He read everything he could find online that seemed a legitimate description of the phenomenon, and in none of the articles was there any mention of how the recipients got those memories “turned off.” Certainly there had to be some way.

  He finally stopped when a sudden wave of nausea reminded him of how long it had been since his last meal. As he threw together a hasty dinner, he tried not to let himself get too excited at this new discovery. If they could identify Savannah’s struggles as really being cellular memories, then at least they had a cause, a documented—albeit not completely accepted—type of event that others had also experienced.

  Perhaps he’d try to contact Dr. Pearsall. It couldn’t hurt. Shaun hadn’t read any stories that seemed exactly like Savannah’s — none of them seemed to involve changes in spirituality. Musical and food preferences, yes. From one religion to another — or to none — not so much. Leave it to Savannah to be the exception to the rule.

  There had to be a fix, a cure. There had to be. He held on to that as he ate and surfed the web some more, praying there was an article he hadn’t read yet that touched on how to stop cellular memories. He couldn’t let himself think about what was in store if there wasn’t.

  SAVANNAH’S CELL RANG HER AWAKE. Shaun’s number was on the screen. “Hi there.”

  “Hi — did I wake you? I thought for sure you’d be up by now.”

  “I should be, don’t worry about it. I was up late.”

  “Me too. Reading about cellular memories.”

  She sat up, fully awake at the phrase. “Yes! Me too! You got my message then.”

  “And got on the computer as soon as I got home. Fascinating.”

  “Sure—until it’s happening to you.”

  “So did you see that an organ recipient wrote a book about her cellular memory experience?”

  “I did. Tabitha is going to get it from the library for me today.”

  “And Dr. Pearsall—”

  “Yes, I saw him, too. I want to read his book as well. Maybe it tells how to get off this train.”

  She heard Shaun sigh. “That was the one thing I couldn’t find anything on. Did you?”

  She sank back against the pillow. “No. For a minute there I was hoping you were going to have found the missing piece. I do have to admit, though — I feel a lot better knowing I’m not going crazy.”

  “So—does it make it easier for you to think past it all, to fake it better, now that you know it’s not really you thinking those thoughts? I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about the book tour …”

  She slammed her hand down on the bed beside her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “I just thought—”

  “No, it doesn’t change that. I’m sorry that’s such an inconvenience for you.”

  “Savannah—”

  “Look, I’m not happy about all this either, remember? And it doesn’t make it any easier on me when you try to goad me into going along with your plans and pour on the guilt. I need support, not a constant reminder of how I’m failing everyone.”

  “So you want me to lie about how I’m feeling?”

  “
No, I want you to say, ‘Wow, Savannah, I’m sorry, that really sucks, this must be really hard for you.’ Not ‘You’re ruining my life.’”

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  The silence that ensued made her ears ring. “I need some breakfast. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up without waiting for a response. Well, that was a lousy way to start my morning. She chose her clothing and took a shower, all the while feeling like someone was watching her. Knowing now that the new Savannah was really the old Charlie, as though his soul were still hanging around trying to get her attention, was disconcerting. Creepy, actually. She hurried down to the main floor where there was more activity, suddenly uncomfortable being alone.

  Tabitha greeted her as she entered the therapy room. “Just on my way to group. Want to join us?”

  Savannah chuckled. “Only if you think you can help Charlie.”

  “Sorry, I don’t think my theology allows for psychoanalyzing the deceased.”

  “Mine didn’t either, but now I’m not so sure. Listen, can I use your computer again? I want to order that other book we saw, the one that isn’t at the library.”

  “Sure, go ahead. I’ll be done at eleven, if you want to talk.”

  Savannah looked up the book again, then attempted her first-ever online purchase. She filled out the plethora of fields to create an account, then hit ‘submit,’ hoping she’d done everything right. When the error screen came up, she groaned. What had she done wrong?”

  Please review your credit card information and try again.

  “That was the other thing I wanted to talk to Shaun about!” She cursed herself as she pulled out the other credit card and entered its information. This time the order went through. It was at that point that she realized she’d listed her home as the destination for the book. Who knew how long it would be before she actually got to read it? She cursed herself again and began a new internet search with the terms “stop cellular memories.”

  It was the only piece of information that didn’t seem to exist.