“What are you wanting to erase?” The nurse asked my nervous little brother, Zak. She had a grin on that unsettled me as she tapped her pen rapidly on her clipboard. Zak reached for my hand, his hand clammy as I could feel his anxiety spiraling out of him. I rubbed my thumb over the top of his hand, and I watched his shoulders relax slightly.
This was the first memory, or I guess I should say series of memories, that he wanted to erase on his own. The rest were erased by my parents when he was younger. Now that he was older, still young though at only thirteen, my parents decided he could choose if he wanted any memories deleted. After our beloved cat died only a few days ago, he wanted all memories of her gone. To spare himself the pain.
He opened his mouth to speak, though his bottom lip trembled. “We, we um-” He sighed, a fresh batch of tears making their appearance.
“We lost our cat just last week.” I interrupted, trying not to lose it myself. Zak squeezed my hand and offered a small smile in thanks.
The nurse nodded knowingly. “Alright, let’s get started then. Zak will you follow me to the procedure room?”
Zak’s eyes widened as he shot me a panicked look. “Can Goldie be in the room with me?”
“Certainly!”
“Could you walk him through the procedure? He’s just a little anxious.”
“I sure can. Let’s take you back, and I’ll walk you through everything.”
Zak’s hand never let mine as we walked back to Room Two until he had to sit in the chair. I mouthed “You’ll be fine, okay?”
He nodded and melted into the chair. The nurse slowly put patches all over his head as she explained that he’d be put under a mild sedative for less than half an hour as they’d sift through his memories. He’d feel no pain and would be foggy for a little while after. Zak nodded again and reached for my hand once more as I scooted my chair next to his. “I’ll be here the whole time, okay?” He smiled, and the nurse administered the sedative, and within seconds, he was dead asleep. Dr. Norton, who had no bedside manner whatsoever, strolled in and immediately began working on erasing the memories. There was a projector behind Zak that lit up with a small snippet of a memory as the doctor moved within his mind.
“So, do you normally let visitors back in these rooms?” I asked, trying to break the ice.
Dr. Norton looked up at me. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he stared at me. “Normally, yes. It soothes the patients, and we don’t want to erase something that our patients want to keep so having someone in the room helps.”
Dr. Norton redirected his attention back at my brother, his eyes laser-focused on the projector. As Dr. Norton went through his memories, there was a static sound that emitted each time he found a memory that was already erased. “I take it he’s been to a facility like this before. He has a lot more erased memories than I thought he would have.” Dr. Norton shot a bewildered glance at me, his right eyebrow raised.
Before I could even stop myself, I replied, “Our grandparents passed away a couple of years ago in a car accident.”
“You didn’t get those memories erased too?” Dr. Norton asked.
I shook my head, although I knew that I had gotten those memories erased. I hadn’t had a single thought of my grandparents since their accident, their untimely deaths. So why did I remember them now?
“Is it common for people to regain their memories after they’ve been erased?” I asked, my heart fluttering against my chest.
“No, erasing memories are permanent. You should never regain any inkling of any of your past erased memories.”
I nodded, thoughts swirling around in my mind, and soon enough, Dr. Norton finished tinkering in his mind. “While you’re here, would you like the memories erased too?” Dr. Norton’s glasses slid off his nose once more as he looked up at me.
I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. Thanks.”
The nurse slowly peeled the probes off Zak before he was set in a wheelchair. I wheeled him to the car and managed to put him in the passenger seat, buckling him in tightly.
“What are we doing in the car?” He asked twenty minutes after we left.
“We had a few of your memories erased, remember?”
He shook his head before he glanced down at the lollipop in his hands. In the two seconds Zak was lucid in the lobby, he was given a lollipop. Despite his protests that he was too old for one, he took a cherry sucker anyway. I hated the glazed-over look he had, the way he acted as though he didn’t just erase precious memories and won’t get them back.
“Would you consider erasing any other memories?”
“Did I erase s-some?” Zak slurred.
I sighed and responded, “Yes, remember. Our cat?”
“Oh, okay. I’m not sure, I guess it depends. I just want to be happy. Don’t you?”
“Yes, but at the cost of forgetting the things and people that shaped us?”
“I don’t want to feel sadness or pain anymore.” He whined, exaggerating the last word in his barely intelligible sentence.
It was clear I wasn’t getting through to him and probably wouldn’t, so I remained silent. Snores emitted from him less than a minute later, and he napped all the way home. Meanwhile, I sat and wondered what other memories I have had taken from me.
Zak spent the rest of the day napping on and off, as I catered to his every need. Although I think he babied himself a little. Once my parents returned home from work, I darted upstairs and began rummaging through the closets quietly, not wanting them to wonder what I was doing.
After nearly half an hour of searching, I found a dusty old photo album in the back of the hall closet that contained dozens of pictures of my grandparents and me. It was hazy at first, but the longer I stared at the photographs, the more the fog on my brain lifted, and I could remember snippets about them.
I remembered how my grandpa always smelled like peanut butter and my grandma always hummed while cooking, even if cooking entailed warming up bacon in a microwave. I remembered how they used to take me out of school some Fridays and have a Grandparent’s Day with me and do whatever my heart desired. I flipped through dozens of pictures, each stirring up more snippets of memories until a pounding headache started to form. I rubbed my temples, trying to erase the pain. Was the pain because the “erased” memories are making a reappearance? Were they ever truly erased? I didn’t have much time to ponder that since my mom called me down for dinner seconds later.
I picked at my food mostly, nausea sweeping over me as I stared at the pork chops on my plate.
My parents didn’t notice my silence or were just too preoccupied with tending to Zak. When we’re sad, I’ve noticed my parents don’t know how to act around us. Instead of talking through our emotions, they’d immediately would drive us to the nearest facility. There was no consoling, no hugs, just shooing off to erase memories. I didn’t realize how cold my parents were about feelings until now. Granted, we didn’t have to have many memories erased, that I know of that is. But I’ll admit I had missed seeing my brothers smile, he was the happier one of us too. Always radiating happiness, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing who he was. Sure, I didn’t want him to be upset, but without those memories and experiences, who was he? A hollowed, but happy, version of himself?
“Goldie, you’ve been awfully quiet today.” My mother pulled me out of my never-ending thoughts. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Just a headache.”
She nodded. “So, when do you want to schedule your erasing?” My eyes widened at how quickly she disregarded that statement and jumped into the erasing.
“I don’t want to schedule one.” I said simply. I knew my parents wouldn’t like that response, and on cue, my mother’s face contorted to a frown while my dad sat without a lick of emotion on his face.
“Are you wanting more time to process everything?” My mother carefully worded the question, not wanting to bring up the situation again.
I shook my head, and my mother exhaled loudly. “Why not?” My mother probed gently. “We just don’t want you to be upset about Sophie.”
My brother didn’t react to the mention of our deceased cat’s name and shoved another pile of food into his already full mouth.
“I just don’t want to, okay?”
I stood up, the legs of the chair squealed against the hardwood floor. “Why is it such a big deal that I don’t want this to get erased?”
My mother looked taken aback at my raised voice. She took in a breath and replied, “You realize why it’s important to get some memories erased, right? We just want you to be happy.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to get everything erased when I feel an ounce of unhappiness.”
I stunned my parents into silence, and I left the dining room abruptly to go to my room. Thankfully, my parents didn’t try to convince me of erasing any memories for the rest of the night, though I wasn’t entirely sure they wouldn’t try to bring it up again. Not needing to worsen this headache further, I avoided the old photo albums. Although my whole body itched to flip through more pages, see if there were any other memories that would come up, I resisted. Instead, I decided to spend the next few hours racking my brain for what could be missing.
My parents were standoffish the next morning, unable to meet my eyes. Zak didn’t notice, though he never notices anything unless it is right in front of him. He happily ate away at his pancakes while I grabbed a few for myself. My parents sat in silence, coffee cups in hand, as they quietly sipped their boiling coffee.
I returned to my room not long after, not needing to see some side glances from them in the living room.
I grabbed the photo albums again, the creak of the closet door betraying me as I closed it shut. I knew that spurred my mother’s curiosity, and soon enough, she stood at my doorframe minutes later.
“What do you have there?” My mother leaned on the doorframe, her eyes staring intently at the book in my hands. When I didn’t respond immediately, she took it upon herself to walk over and sit next to me.
“Some old photo albums I found in the back of the closet.” I replied without looking up.
“Why were you looking in there?” I know she meant it as an innocent question, but the hitch in her voice implied to me that she didn’t want me snooping around.
“I was looking for a Band-Aid and then saw these on the floor. I’ve just been flipping through the pages. Although I don’t remember them.” I pointed to my grandparents, trying to keep my face neutral. I thought I’d lie, seeing as she already seems suspicious of me, and I didn’t need her breathing down my neck more than she already does.
“Oh okay, well, those are your grandparents on your father’s side.” She explained, I could see her eyes well up, but she blinked those away in an instant. Did she not erase those memories of her in-laws? Or does she remember them now after seeing these photos?
I nodded. I hoped she’d leave me alone after my minimal response, but she remained seated on my bed with seemingly no intention to leave.
“Do you have any other questions or anything else you’d like to know about?” She asked. I bit my tongue, not sure if I should unload what has been stewing in my head over the last day. But when my dad also appeared at my door, I felt like this was my best chance. If I couldn’t crack my mom, my dad has always been more forthcoming.
“What are we talking about up here?” My dad asked, his hands in his pockets as he stared at us from afar.
“I was just asking Goldie if she had anything she’d like to know about after flipping through this photo album.” My mother flashed my father a look before both of their heads swiveled over to me. I gulped, hoping I’d be met with a halfway decent response, but I didn’t expect much from them.
“What memories did you try to erase from me?” I asked, trying to steady my voice.
A beat of silence ensued, and I could tell my mother was racking her brain to come up with the right response. “Why does that matter? We did it to protect you.” She responded, but realization dawned on her face. “Wait, what do you mean by try?” She added.
“I didn’t mean to say that. It’s, it’s just - I don’t like having gaps in my mind. I get why those facilities were created, but just because someone wants to erase their bad memories doesn’t mean everyone wants to. I don’t want to.”
“We don’t want you to be unhappy, Goldie.” My dad replied, concern spreading across his face.
“Isn’t it good to be a little bit? To know what things matter to you and to cling to those memories.” Based on their uneasy expressions, I wasn’t going to get through to them. Was I going to get through to anyone? They seemed fearful of this line of questioning and appeared as though they regretted starting this conversation entirely.
“Everyone was so unhappy with their lives before this; these facilities are life-changing. Anything we erased was to protect you. You need to trust us about this, okay?”
I huffed. They might as well of just recited one of the thousands of commercials we see about those damn facilities. Something about their responses rubbed me the wrong way, so I shut down the rest of the conversation, not wanting it to go astray than it already was.
From then on, my parents seemed suspicious of me. They moved the photo albums out of the closet, although I didn’t need to look at them anymore. Instead, I decided to write down the memories I thought I was missing. Memories lost of my grandparents, other pets, and presumably more family members. Were there other ways that I could restore my memories? I doubted there were facilities to undo the damage caused. Did other people find ways to bring their memories back?
I didn’t want to wallow in a million questions anymore, so I grabbed my laptop and flipped it open. I opened a browser and typed, “How can I get my erased memories back?” I hesitated to hit enter and hit the backspace. I stared at the blinking cursor for a few minutes and typed and erased the question over a dozen times until my fingers cramped up.
After having enough of my indecisiveness, I hit enter and sent my question off. My heart skipped a beat as I waited for the search results before a chat forum popped up as the first result.
The forum had hundreds of responses, and my spirit brightened at the fact that others had the same thoughts that I had. My eyes glazed over the endless responses and saw some suggestions on how to retrieve those erased memories. Some people played some music, visited familiar locations, did hypnotherapy, all of which I hadn’t considered.
I lost track of time after a while, my eyes burning as I probably read almost 75% of the responses in the forum. I was about to shut my laptop when my parents burst through my bedroom door, crazed looks in their eyes.
“Are you trying to find ways to bring your memories back?” My mother asked, a hurt tone lacing her words.
“What are you talking about?” I tried to feign innocence, but they saw right through me.
“Next time, put on a private browser if you don’t want us snooping.” My mother sneered, a smile of gratification on her face.
Before I even had the chance to respond, my father chimed in, “We erased those memories for a reason, Goldie. You need to stop digging.”
I closed the laptop fully and set it to the side. I scooted away from them a little bit, clutching onto my blanket as I tried to create a sense of security for myself. Why are they acting this way? They’ve never made me feel as though I couldn’t speak my mind. But now? I feel like anything I say will be used against me.
“I don’t understand why you two are acting this way. I just don’t like having parts of me missing.”
In unison, my parents nodded, and for the first time, it looked as though they understood, even if it was partial. Over the next two days, my parents and I spoke at length about erasing memories, and I explained how I wanted the option to preserve my memories, even if they weren’t the happiest.
It was all we talked about. We’d sit at the breakfast table and eat our cereals and talk about the erasing, which would slowly move to lunch and then dinner. After being talked out, I retreated to my room; my throat hurt from the nonstop chatting. My brother had stayed out of the conversation for the most part, until he barged into my room a little after dinner.
“I can’t take much more of this erasing memory crap anymore, Goldie.”
“Then don’t listen.” I responded, and he rolled his eyes.
“Why are you fighting so hard against it?” He sat on the corner of my bed.
“You won’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
I explained my viewpoint, though he must’ve heard some fragments of the never-ending conversation. After I finished my monologue, I saw a fraction of understanding cloud his eyes, then it disappeared. “You should just listen to mom and dad, they want us to be happy. I’m sick of you guys fighting about it.”
I shook my head. “Did they bribe you?”
He opened his mouth to deny it, but at the same time, I saw a $20 bill fall out of his pocket. I threw myself off the bed and stormed down the stairs. I found my parents in the living room, pretending to watch TV, but with how low the volume was, I knew they were just trying to overhear our conversation.
“Did you think I was going to fall for that?” I spat.
My mother craned her neck to look at me while my father looked about over this conversation as I was. “My memories are mine and no one else’s; I should be able to decide if I want to erase them or not.”
My mother clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She looked as though she still had some fight in her, but seeing as though I wasn’t going to let up, I guess she finally had enough of the incessant arguing as she responded, “You know what, you’re right. They are your memories. I understand why you want to replenish them, so let’s find some common ground here. Would it help if we took you to some place where your memories might’ve been erased?” My mom asked.
“Could we go now?” I asked.
“Sure, honey!”
The three of us piled into the car a few minutes after, and my parents drove all around town and explained a couple memories associated with each place. I wasn’t sure why they changed their minds. Maybe they would rather help me than go down the internet rabbit hole? Either way, I loved piecing together the little snippets of moments that I was forced to forget, no matter how painful the memory was.
My brain felt full for the first time in a while. I dozed off sometime in the two-hour car ride and woke up to the sound of my dad’s screeching brakes. I opened my eyes and jumped upon seeing the glowing sign for the memory erase center.
“What’s going on? Why are we here?” My voice trembled, and I reached for my seat buckle. Before I could unbuckle and bolt out of the car, my parents threw open their car doors and rushed to the backseat, grabbing my arms as they pulled me out. I thrashed in their arms as they led me inside, the receptionist and other patrons eyed me curiously as I pleaded, but I was ultimately ignored. My mother had blood dripping down her arms from the scratches from my fingernails while my dad took punch after punch.
Dr. Norton narrowed his eyes as he took in the scene before me. I had worn myself out trying to wiggle free from their grasp and could barely catch my breath in between the profanities I yelled.
“I take it you’re here to erase some of her memories?” Dr. Norton said, a wicked grin plastered on his face as he looked down at me.
“All of them.” My mother said, her voice unwavering.
“You want to erase all of her memories?” Dr. Norton clarified, a hint of surprise on his face. “That is an unusual request. May I ask why?”
My mother’s face trembled, somehow putting on the waterworks in an instant. How have I never seen this side of her? This vindictive, twisted side that I’ve never witnessed until it mattered. Until now. She wiped a stream of tears that wetted her face, sighing as she said, “She has had some intense trauma over the last few months, and we are scared for her. She keeps denying these treatments and her behavior has taken a nosedive. I think it is in everyone’s best interests if she has all of her memories wiped so she can have a fresh start.”
My mouth was ajar, my thoughts scrambled as I tried to understand the lie that she just spewed so effortlessly. They must be hiding something. But what is it? What are they so scared of me finding?
Instead of pleading, knowing it would do me no good, I yelled, “Are you fucking serious?” Panic coursed through me in an instant. Dr. Norton wasn’t even looking my way, wasn’t even trying to understand both sides of the picture. I was only a child, and it wouldn’t matter what I’d say. I looked over at my parents; their attention was focused on Dr. Norton, careful not to catch my eye. How could they do this? How could they erase everything that makes me who I am? “How could you do this to me? Huh?”
I continued thrashing as they ignored my questions, ignored me as if I wasn’t in the room. As if I wasn’t the person they were doing this to. Two security guards walked in, grabbing my feet as they laid me down on the bed, strapping my limbs to the cold leather. My parents stepped to the corner of the room, satisfaction written all over their faces at the fact that I would no longer push back at them. That I’d have no recollection of this. Or of anything. A clean slate.
I cursed at the needle jammed into my skin, a warm feeling covering my body as I managed to spit out, “I’ll find a way to remember again.”
Good one!