Memory Bank

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been down these hills…” my bleary thoughts echoed in a groggy space. I rolled my eyes left and right, the grassy slopes shifting in and out of green to gray. I knew I didn’t have time to lose focus, because I was looking forward to something. It was coming up fast. “There! Yup, that’s my tree over there.” I pointed to a single crooked oak tree, to no one in particular. Maybe I was just pointing for myself. I had to know it was mine, one more time. I looked for the dip in the roots where I would sometimes lay down to read a good book, listening to the leaves with mug of hot tea in hand. Hot tea. Hot tea. Hot…tea…

I stepped through the door as the tea kettle went off. The timing of it made me squint my eyes in suspicion, but drunkenly I could not linger on the thought.

“Hello, dear!” I jumped at the sound of her voice, even though somewhere deep down I knew she was coming. Why do I do that?

I turned to her, her warm smile sending me into a daze of gentle warmth as she rounded out of the kitchen with cup in hand, the steam billowing its floral aroma into thin air.

“Won’t you sit for just a minute? I made your favorite.”

No, I can’t stay. I can’t tell you why. I want to, but the words don’t form in my mouth. I don’t know why this happens every time. But I smile and hug her one more time…

One more time. She handed me the cup after putting a lid on it and gave it to me with both hands, wrapping them around mine as I walked out the door. Hesitantly turning, not wanting to lose sight of each other, I finally looked away. “Don’t - your fa - home - ” her voice warbled as I fell out of earshot of the place where I grew up. I strained to hear her words but it was too late. I had already swept past all that. I didn’t have time to stop…there never was enough time for any of this. No time to grieve.

There it is. The smell of sweets told me I was in the right place. She leaned on a pillar, looking at me with dancing eyes and holding up a cup of delicious frozen cream. She invited me over to try some of her intoxicating confection, and I seemed to float through the air until I stood beside her. I breathed her in, one more time, surrounding me with the colorful smell of her hair after a shower. A warm shower…with steam!

Warm? Steam? No…cold! Fog! Rain. Cold stone, all around me. I looked down at my father, standing over him. It just didn’t feel right. Something wasn’t right, but I don’t know when it started. It was all foggy. All I can remember is this fog. Bright horizontal lights searched through the haze, looking for me, casting ghostly silhouettes as it passed over the headstones. My father’s name disappeared before my very eyes as I looked up to see The Nurse standing there with an eerie smile for all to see.

“Your alloted time has expired. Shall we discuss your…feelings about your session?” The words seemed to pry into my skin as they seeped from The Nurse’s metallic grimace.

“Yes.” The practiced answer came readily and affirmed as my eyes prostrated, blenching from The Nurse’s wretched smile.

“Are you happy with the experience we have provided today?”

“Yes.”

“Were you able to achieve satisfaction with your time alloted here?”

“Yes.”

“Have any of the contents of your locket caused you to feel any elevated emotions that fall under the categories of sadness, jealousy, or anger?”

“No.” By now my eyes had learned how to lie.

“Good,” said The Nurse approvingly. The lenses that covered The Nurse’s eyes seemed to shimmer gleefully at my complacence. “We are pleased to provide you with a place of safety to receive spiritual respite, in the face of all of the tasks that remain before us. I hope you will continue to exert yourself to the fullest, in order to achieve our common goal.” The Nurse paused again, as if giving me an opportunity to reveal any hidden feelings. Then, The Nurse continued, “The State is the Perfect Steward. It will take good care of what you hold dear. We must all do our part.” These words signaled The Nurse’s farewell, and the vision before my eyes melted into a tiny, dark room, plain on all sides and cramped. The air again smelled of plastic and circuits. In my hand, a heart-shaped locket lay open, it’s small glowing core bleeping softly to the pulse of the electric current running through the whole building. An attendant, faceless behind a helmet of black glass, entered the room and removed the locket from my hand. The attendant’s Teflon uniform crinkled with every movement, creaking as he held up my locket to inspect it. Closing the locket in hand, the attendant then deposited it back into a safe located in the wall. As he turned to me, his silence was my cue to leave. I was already starting to forget what I saw in my heart.

I stepped out of the chamber, emotion fading fast and numbness setting in. I could only grasp at fleeting feelings of happiness, of hope, of the possibility of something more in those memories locked away. The chamber’s sliding doors closed me off into a long, stale hallway. It was brightly lit, with the constant mechanical pump of cycled air thrumming in the background. I walked towards the terminal that lead back to the exterior. The platform was unusually crowded this time of day, and I felt uncomfortable being around so many others who were reluctantly recovering from the stupor of memory. I did my best to ignore the downtrodden faces. I looked away from them back down the hall, and caught a glimpse of an older woman crying outside one of the doors. Another glass helmeted attendant emerged from the room behind her, along with a differently dressed one with long telescopic lenses on his helmet, a Scrutinizer. Scrutinizers specialized in sniffing out unruly sentiment and enforced compliance among the citizenry. The attendant took the woman by the arm, while the Scrutinizer held up what was obviously her locket. The woman burst into sobs and cried for mercy as the Scrutinizer started manipulating it with his hands. The glowing locket blinked a few times before dimming lifelessly, and the woman let out a scream that once would have made me cry. The Scrutinizer slipped it unceremoniously into his pocket, nodded at the attendant, and then proceeded towards the terminal. Silently, the attendant lead the wailing woman in the opposite direction down the hall, towards Reeducation. I shuddered to think what she was in for.

“This is why I hate coming when it’s busy. You always see things that make you hate the place even worse,” I couldn’t help thinking to myself. As I stepped onto the rail car destined for the Bore to resume the digging, I caught the glassy stare of the Scrutinizer drilling into my skull from where he leaned on banister. I turned my collar up in a subconscious attempt to obscure what remained of my thoughts and feelings from his knowing gaze. Scrutinizers have a way of making you disappear, and I didn’t want this one catching even a whiff of discontent from my direction. Hurriedly, I closed my heart, locking away my rebellious spirit before it was too late.