- 36 -
May 2096
The History of Psychology 2335
“At what point in the year do you think you’d flip the self-preservation switch?” a jock in the fifth row whispers to the blonde bombshell sitting next to him.
He’s been hitting on her relentlessly, and either he has no pulse for social signals or he has the audacity to ignore the glaringly obvious ones she’s been shooting his way. The poor girl has tried, but can’t seem to escape the ever present ego of this overly confident man. He’s followed her all four times that she’s moved seats this semester. The shiny diamond on her left hand should be reason enough for him to back off, but nope. Even a ring won’t deter the determined. I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve told a man no and it has been respected the first time. This is a perfect example of that.
If he’d been paying attention a few classes ago, he would know her answer. A month is how long she suspected she’d last before shutting out any new relationships. She fiddled with her engagement ring, eyes heavy, probably thinking about losing the love of her life to time’s cruel grip. The ache in her gaze remained as we all filled out our questionnaire.
It categorically placed us into different personality types, honing in specifically on a person’s flexibility. Last night’s homework was to review our results and write four predictions about the trajectory of our lives if we’d lived during The Experiment. My results were shockingly accurate, concluding that I’m a direct, patient, and loyal introvert. My weaknesses? Inflexibility and anxiety in unconventional situations. Science has confirmed that—to live in a world where all is forgotten—I would be royally screwed.
Class has begun to guide us in growing a distaste for The Experiment, but this exercise was excellent at highlighting how it could’ve ever been discussed in the first place. The world had developed into one big mistake, and no one wants to be remembered for the culmination of their worst moments. Forgiveness was rare, compassion nonexistent, and depression held a steady reign.
It’s ironic, no? Depression prides itself on isolating people, on making them feel alone, yet it was the only thing that nearly everyone had. When you’re already used to isolation, a lifetime of it wouldn’t seem so bad to just be able to breathe again. It’s easy to understand how the civilians jumped on the first option of reprieve.
Despite our collective agreement that The Gift was horribly inhumane, there are individuals who admit they’d have the potential to thrive in that circumstance. Where introverts might seclude themselves, meeting people too slowly to form meaningful connections, extroverts would quickly and easily form relationships. The government did try to combat natural seclusion by forcing roommates upon civilians, but it’s not hard to hide behind a bedroom door.
Those with an affinity for spontaneity would blossom in the lack of structure, and those with traumatic or challenging family dynamics might be thankful for the release.
“Were anyone’s results similar to mine?” Mr. Holiday asks, unveiling his assessment.
Surprisingly, about half of the room’s hands raise.
“The flexible, please keep your hands in the air.”
A few hands drop as he continues.
“The flexible and spontaneous, please keep your hands in the air.”
There go a few others. What is he doing?
“The flexible, spontaneous, even-tempered extroverts, who enjoy taking risks—please keep your hands in the air.”
About half of the remaining hands to drop.
“Those who are logical in decision-making and nonconfrontational in relationships, as well as the already listed characteristics, please keep your hands in the air.”
Down to eight.
“Excellent. You eight are seemingly the perfect fit for The Gift, as am I. Textbook shining stars—what an honor,” he scoffs, pacing back and forth. “And what is your stance? Do you think you would thrive as a subject?”
“It seemed intriguing at first,” a girl from row two answers.
“But then?”
“I think even the wildest of us need a place to call home. Traditions that build it, people who feel like it, and laughter to fill it. Everyone needs to matter to someone. Everyone needs somewhere they belong.”
Unified nods come from the class.
“We are a perfect example of how people connect over shared circumstances,” she continues. “What started as strangers has turned into companions on a quest for knowledge.”
She’s not wrong. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve even grown to care for the frat pack. They can be charming . . . when they aren’t being total meatheads. Isn’t life just a continual acceptance and celebration of our unique complexities? The world would be so boring if we were all the same—all hollow.
Together, we could raise a community that’s strong in every way. Where I lack humor, they would step up. Where the freshman lacks social awareness, the sophomore from row three would direct her with patience and grace. Where Mr. Holiday lacks energy, the annoying jock, who’s still staring at that poor girl’s chest, would carry him on his back.
Everyone has a special and essential role in this experience. We’ve grown to cherish even the smallest moments of this little life. In any and every existence, I am positive my bones would feel the deep devastation of forgetting them.