- 19 -
March 2096
The History of Psychology 2335
Backpacks line the front of the room, and the basket of phones is sitting on the end of the rickety table. As we file in, the TA hands us each a thin binder personalized with our names. My heart rate takes flight at the all-too-familiar lack of control.
“Please leave your binders unopened until I give permission,” Mr. Holiday reminds us as I climb the thirteen rows to my usual seat.
The anticipation is always the hardest part, but counting ceiling tiles fights against my nerves. I make it to forty-three before a loud pop explodes from the front of the room and streamers rain from the ceiling. The TA puts on a gold sparkly Happy New Year headband as another confetti popper shoots and, despite being more prepared, our shoulders still flinch. The back row bandits cascade down the stairs, laughing as they toss glitter over the rest of us. Glitter, of all things. Months from now, I’ll still be finding leftover sparkles.
“Okay, okay, back row bandits, thank you for your assistance. You may make your way back to your seats,” Mr. Holiday says, wheezing through laughter. “Welcome to our second immersive experience,” he continues. “Happy New Year!”
Crickets and dropped jaws answer him.
“Before we officially begin, let’s take a walk down memory lane and remember our special quiz from a few weeks ago.” He pauses expectantly. “Well, who remembers the quiz?”
Hands fly up across the room.
“Good, I was worried The Experiment already got to you.”
A few students snicker as he continues.
“You wrote your name, the first contact in your phone, and then as much important information as you could about yourself in one minute. I must say, it was entertaining sifting through the items you deemed to be important.”
I lower my head to hide my insecurity.
“Would anyone like to explain how you decided which items to include?”
As hands urgently raise, mine sink further into my lap. A girl from row eight answers first, “I wrote the first things that came to mind.”
“I wrote information that would identify me in an emergency,” the freshman cuts in. I laugh under my breath until it hits me—we are more alike than I’d like to admit.
“Yes, you are all very important people. You have a lot to be proud of! I’m lucky to have such an involved group of students this semester.” Mr. Holiday grins suspiciously. “Of course, we can’t actually simulate The Experiment, but we’ve worked hard to create an interesting lecture that, with enough imagination, can transport you to the emotions of back then.”
Wait, are these binders—
“Happy New Year, class. From now until further notice, you have no memory of life before this.”
My stomach plummets as the thought of being studied sinks in.
“Please take the next few minutes to familiarize yourself with your identity, your role in society, and any interests listed in your paperwork. The phone on your desk has been doctored to your specific needs. Be sure to also go through it.”
I curse at my shaky hands as they open the binder. There’s only one page of personal information, and the ghost of quiz past haunts me.
Name: Rayne
Birthdate: 11/04/2077
Roommates: Amy and Jenn
Address: 19476 W. Holiday Avenue
Family: None known
Interests: None available
Occupation: Barista at the downtown coffee shop
Frantically flipping pages fails to give me more information. The next only briefly explains The Gift and the general well-being of society. You’re safe, they claim. Physically, maybe, but this is a sick joke. There has to be more to my story than this. Did the civilians know this was all they’d be left with?
Peering over my neighbor’s shoulder, I glance at her open binder. Hers is the same as mine, except I am listed as one of her roommates. Is she Amy, or is she Jenn?
My eyes’ search is interrupted when Mr. Holiday’s voice splits the air. “Something wrong?” he asks the scoffing student in row two. “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to remember your name. What is it?”
“There’s nothing to go off of. You want us to familiarize ourselves with our identity? What identity? There are no interests, no family—nothing. I wrote down so much information you could’ve used—”
Another student cuts him off. “I wrote down everything I was proud of, and none of it is here!”
Mr. Holiday nods with the audacity of an entitled teenager, knowing full well the game he’s put into motion. None of us had the choice in playing. Did the civilians really know what they were voting for?
“Oh, when did you write those things down?” he asks, raising his eyebrows and tipping his head to the right.
“During the quiz—”
“What quiz? We’ve just rung in the New Year! Look around, there is even glitter from the celebration.”
The crime sinks in, convicting the government of first-degree larceny.
We knew the civilians were given very little information, but not this little. I’d assumed they were kept in the dark of the happenings behind the closed doors of government meetings, not held hostage from their identities.
In the snap of some fingers, my entire life has been erased, leaving behind an empty shell of who I used to be. They even took my last name.
Looking to my right, I make eye contact with either Amy or Jenn. I still couldn’t tell you which name her blanching face belongs to, but she looks as nauseous as I feel. In some ways, this is all too real.
Anticipating more information, I finally unlock the phone on my desk. It’s completely blank, except for one unknown application. Clicking on the icon opens me to an address book with—right. Amy and Jenn.
Surely I missed an explanation in my binder?
Electronics are erased alongside the memories of their owners in order to maintain the integrity of The Gift.
Shit.
What a crucial piece of information to leave out of our textbook. Who wrote it? And who decided what to teach through multiple generations? If that job fell into deceptive hands, it would be so easy to alter the perception of the past. What other information has been omitted from our studies?
In the silence, fear ricochets around the room.
“It’s not so easy to let go of things that matter to you, is it?” Mr. Holiday’s gaze burns a hole through the boy that was appalled his precious achievements were not included.
“It’s not easy to move forward with very little information about who you are, what built you, and what matters to you.”
Today clarifies any lingering confusion about his opinion on The Experiment. There’s no hiding his disdain, and the point has been driven home. None of us are unique. Not anymore. My poem echoes in my mind as I re-count the ceiling tiles.
I think I would wither away.
Not that it matters now, but I’d change it.
I know I would wither away.