by DK Andrews
moving, I stop and ask.
“May I go in and have a look around?” I want to snoop around and check out the equipment.
“Absolutely.”
I walk into the room and tentatively take in its contents. The computer is linked to a series of monitors and other pieces of equipment that I cannot identify at first glance. It’s fascinating but creepy. All the hardware is ivory white, just like the room. A faint electric hum comes from the equipment in front of me. As I walk around the edges of the room, I want to examine the components more closely, from all angles. There are what appear to be two tall computer towers, each about 3 feet in height and a foot wide. There are a few cables coming out, connecting the two towers. Near the towers is a transparent window frame, approximately 4 feet wide. As I move in closer to get a better look, I see a gentle, bright blue haze coming from around the windows edges. I reach out and lightly tap the window, and it lights up with an array of colorful icons that seems to float on a translucent background. It seems to be an interactive touch screen, similar to a tablet, but transparent. To the left of the touch screen is a steel helmet mounted on a white stand. The helmet is smooth and cold to my touch. I’m tempted to lift it up, but I see Dr. Kismen frowns disapprovingly, so I stop.
“Please,” Dr. Kismen says, gesturing toward the bed.
“Shall I lay down?” I ask hesitantly.
“Please.”
I take off my sneakers, and cautiously sit down on the bed, nervously awaiting instruction.
I watch as Dr. Kismen lifts the steel helmet from its stand and its interior lights up with a cold, blue glow.
“Is that the Mentior?” I ask.
“Yes it is,” Dr. Kismen answers and then instructs me to lie down. She places the helmet on my head. A clear visor automatically and swiftly comes down over my eyes.
“Just relax, Alina,” Dr. Kismen says calmly. “I am connecting the Mentior now. It will not hurt. Though it may take a minute, so in the meantime, I would like to ask you a few questions.”
I stare at her through the visor.
“What is your earliest memory and how old were you at the time?” Dr. Kismen asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, trying to remember. “Probably it was when I was five years old?” Thankfully, I believe, my brain has blocked all the horrible things that took place before that.
“I see. That’s pretty common—it’s called childhood amnesia. The inability of adults to retrieve episodic memories of specific events, times, and places before the ages of 2 to 4 years. Today, you will see yourself before you were five,” she says.
“OK,” I say hesitantly.
“I will activate the Mentior now,” says Dr. Kismen. “Please close your eyes.”
Fearfully, I close my eyes. I feel a ticklish sensation on the side of my head as if an army of ants is crawling through my hair. I try to take Dr. Kismen’s advice and just relax, even though it is hard for me. I open my eyes to make sure Dr. Kismen is still here, but when I do, I don’t see her. Instead, I’m sitting on the cold living room floor of our shack, staring at what seems to be a younger version of Gloria. She’s sitting on the couch. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes are red, and tears are streaming down her cheeks. Taking a closer look at her, I see the resemblances between her and me.
“What are you staring at baby?” she shouts at me with anger.
“Nothing!” I shout back, out of habit. She doesn’t seem to hear me.
“Stop crying!” she yells.
But I’m not crying. What is going on? Why can’t she hear what I’m saying?
“Gloria, get in here you moron!” an old husky voice yells from the kitchen.
“Yes mother,” Gloria responds, as hesitantly as I do when confronted by her. With great effort, she gets off the couch and slowly walks into the kitchen. She stands in front of an old overweight gray-haired woman. It’s my Grandma Elaine, I recognize her from pictures.
“Stop that baby from crying! I have a headache! I can’t listen to it anymore!” she screams at Gloria.
“I don’t know what it wants!” Gloria cries.
“Go and get me a 6-pack then, you waste of space,” Elaine shouts into my mother’s face.
“I’m not well,” Gloria says cautiously.
“You are not well? Do you think I give a crap?” Elaine says, angrier now.“Why the hell did you decide to get pregnant, you fool! Now I have to take care of this bastard child.”
“I’m sorry mother; I didn’t want to have it. You know it was too late to do anything when I found out,” Gloria says, starting to bawl.
I begin to sob, sitting here on the floor of our old family shack and experiencing this horrendous memory. Unfortunately, this isn’t fiction—it’s the reality of my early deplorable family life brought back as a memory. I close my eyes for a second; I need to try to find the strength to keep experiencing this. It’s so hard, and it hurts my heart!
“I should have pushed you down the stairs when you were pregnant. Too bad we don’t have any in this house.” Elaine laughs and finishes her beer. Her laugh is worse than Gloria’s; it sounds more vicious. “Now go and get me that booze!”
I crawl to the kitchen. For the first time ever, I feel I want to protect my mother.
“Why the hell were you born?” Elaine shouts at her daughter.
“I don’t know,” Gloria cries.
“Stop crying! It’s all your fault! You should have kept your legs closed!” She spits in Gloria’s face.
“But how could I, when you just forced me out onto the street? What else was I to do?” Gloria says, wiping a mixture of tears and snot off her face.
“Look at this stupid brat-with a nappy full of shit!”Elaine says with disgust as she walks past me as I cower terrified in the doorway and into the living room.“Why is it here? Take this screeching, disgusting thing, this baby with you! I need to rest! I don’t want to hear her ungodly screams anymore!” She falls down on the couch and continues to drink her beer.
Gloria comes close to me. I want to tell her that she and I should run away together and start a new life somewhere, but all I can see is the non-mother I know so well. Her eyes are empty—there is no love, no care. It’s so painful and sad, but I realize in this instant that my family is seriously broken and has been for a long time, from even before I was born. We have all been spinning in a vicious cycle for years, but very soon, that cycle will be broken when I complete the Conversion.
“Stop sniveling! I hate you from the depths of my being. I have never hated anyone so much, and all I want is to get rid of you! Now come on.” Gloria shouts at me. I feel her warm, clammy touch as she grabs my hand and roughly yanks me to stand up beside her. I try to hold onto her, but she lets me go, and I bump into the door frame. She walks shakily to the front hallway, and I follow her crying from the rough handling and the bump that is now growing on my forehead. She puts on her jacket. I’m cold and am waiting for her put on my coat, but she doesn’t. She simply opens the front door, and I feel the chill from an autumn air on my face. She walks outside, and I stand at the door.
“What are you waiting for?” she yells, turning around to look at me. “Come on, let’s go! I’m so sick of you!”
“But please mom,” I beg. “Lift me up, carry me! I want to be close to you.”
“Stop making all that noise and stop crying you lame duck!” she says as she walks towards me and roughly pulls me out of the house and slams the front door shut.
She rushes ahead of me, sobbing and swearing. I try to keep up but I can’t. She doesn’t bother to turn around to see if I’m still behind her as she walks around the corner, disappearing from my view. I stand in the middle of the pavement hurt, cold and hungry. Tears run down my face. I’ve been abandoned. But why? Why, Mom? I sit on a patch of grass, and whimper like a wolf cub's that’s just seen its mother shot. I’m so alone!
I wrap my arms around my frail body to try to keep warm and fall in a half-sleep. After what seems hours, I se
e Gloria walking towards me. I’m so happy to see her! She came back for me! But she’s holding a six-pack of beer under her arm and has clearly been drinking.
“So that’s where you are, you brainless kid!”
She pulls me up by my sore arm so hard that the pain makes it impossible for me not to let out a cry.
“Stop howling!”
She grabs my hand and drags me behind her as she walks home. I feel the concrete burning on the skin of my knees as I’m being dragged along. It hurts so much. She can’t hear me asking her to stop and my grunts of pain over her own grumbling.
“I hate you so much! You destroyed me! You destroyed my life,” she says tugging my hand harder again.
I manage to get myself back up on my feet and pull my hand away.
“Fine!” she growls. “But you’d better keep up with me!”
As we walk the rest of the way home, I can hear her mumbling under her breath. “I hate you! If it wasn’t for you I would have been long gone; I wouldn’t be living in this hell with Elaine. But no! You had to kill off my dreams! I can’t wait to get rid of you, forever.
Why? Why are you so full of rage, even then when I a harmless baby? Why do I feel the need to beg you to please forgive me for being born and causing you pain then and now? I feel sorry for myself and my whole family of losers. Why was I born into this mayhem and madness, I wonder? Maybe that was the plan all along; I got this life so I can give it to someone else who really deserves it and will value it. I hope that whoever gets