Your Choice

CW: This story contains themes related to dementia and memory loss.

When I was 15 and getting my learner’s permit, the DMV asked me to fill out my voter registration and asked if I’d like to register as an organ donor. I wanted to say yes, but my dad stopped me. He said that the hospital was more likely to let me die, since if they sacrifice me they could save several other people. I didn’t know if this was true at the time, and now that I’m older I’m pretty sure that’s not true. But I relented for my old man and declined to register. 

It was just me and him for the first chunk of my life, my mother skipped town and I didn’t get any siblings before she left; I didn't mind too much. We didn’t have a lot but my dad always took me to the dollar store once a week when I was a kid, and grabbing a bag of army men was the highlight of my pre-double-digit years. My old man always liked his garage and tinkering while I played with plastic forces in the driveway, (there were unfortunately several casualties in the tens of tiny molded men caused by my dad’s Ford.) 

I like to ask him about it, if he remembers running them over. He does some days and others he doesn’t. 

In my childhood memories, my dad was always a stoic figure who never shed a tear. He had a rule, he said, that there were only two acceptable times to cry.

1 - When your mother dies. 

2 - When your team wins the Superbowl.  

But despite experiencing one of these two events, I never saw my dad cry. It wasn't until the later stages that I saw my father’s resilience begin to flake and float away day by day. I was told a while ago that there were some experimental treatments that could be done, but I couldn’t afford them with my salary– or I guess now my lack of salary. 

I haven’t seen him for about a week. I know I can’t be upset because I know there’s nothing he can do about it, but I just feel so frustrated. When I go, it feels like I’m trying to coerce some semblance of my father out of his delirium.

I’d been applying to different jobs since the school had to let some teachers go due to some budget issues. Them’s the breaks. Some places were email only, some were snail mail, so at the time I’d been panning through my mail hoping for some gold. One letter had stood out to me, the envelope was thick and it felt official. I was worried it was bad news, but when I tore it open I thought maybe it was a prank or a scam. 

Hello Janet Dauphen,

We are writing to inform you that you have been selected as a potential participant in a project. This is a rare opportunity to be a part of something that could have a significant impact on people's lives.

We are looking for individuals from all walks of life who are willing to help us make real changes. You have been chosen at random to potentially be a part of this project. If you choose to accept this invitation, you will be asked to come to our facility, located at XXXXXX XXX, XXXXX XX XXXXX. 

Please keep in mind that this is a significant commitment, and we are looking for individuals who are willing to dedicate themselves to this project. We believe that your unique perspective and experiences could be an asset to our team, and we hope that you will consider joining us.

If you are interested, please call the number on this letter to confirm your attendance at the meeting. We look forward to hearing from you.

I dialed the number on the letter and the voice on the other end seemed legitimate. Although I’m not sure how you’d go about authenticating this kind of letter. I looked up their building and it was about two hours away. My dad’s nursing home was on the drive there so if I wanted I could stop and check on him.

I feel awful for saying it, but when I pulled up to the home, I still couldn’t do it. I sat there in my car in the parking lot, just staring at all the other people coming in and out. Every time I wanted to get up and move, my heart rattled. I told myself that I’d go and see what this job was and then I’d get the courage to come back if I had good news. 

When I got into the building, the figure at the front desk greeted me. I recognized them as the voice on the phone. They pointed out the elevator to me and told me it’d be a couple floors down and it’d be the room at the end of the hall. I tried to ask them more about ‘the project’ but they said they’d signed an NDA, so I let them be. 

I traversed the elevator and entered the room. Inside, there sat a woman at this large oak desk and she asked me if I'd like to take a seat, and I obliged. She gave me her name and explained to me some of the things that'd been mentioned in the letter. They had randomly selected a group of people from all walks of life to decide on real changes for everyone else. 

I kind of still thought maybe this was all a joke or a cult thing, but she was dead serious about it, (more importantly had some identification.) 

I felt a little hopeful. Maybe this was my chance to make a real difference, to improve society for the better. I thought about my old man and even if it was too late to get treatment for him, it's not for others. He could be guaranteed to have good care, and maybe it'd ease some of my own guilt about being a coward. I felt selfish for thinking of my own burdens first before others.

I thought, “What’s the worst that could happen?" 

Just as I was ready to sign the papers and get started, she stopped me. 

"I don't want you to rush into this," She placed her hand over the stack of papers and motioned for me to lower my hand holding the ballpoint pen. “There are some stipulations to this, and I am required to tell you about what happens if you agree to this.” 

I just nodded my head.

“Part of the process is that we need your opinion to be completely unbiased. Do you understand this?”

“Of course.” 

“Right. Naturally our experiences over time change the way we view things and it can’t be helped. In order to achieve the best results from this that we can, we’ll have to completely separate you from your biases, so if you agree to this you’re going to undergo an amnesia inducing treatment to make you – ”

“Is it permanent? If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about, I don’t understand it.”

“Yes, but we will assist you every step of the way and this includes the recovery process. It’s all covered in your contract, we’ll help pay for family members that you might have, and you when you’re getting started again.”

“I mean– I mean– That doesn’t make any sense! Why even ask me if you’re just going to change me?”

The woman leaned forward and placed a gentle hand on my arm, her expression softening. "I don’t want to get too into the process, but I understand that this is a difficult decision we’re asking you to make. It’s your choice what you do. If you want to say no, we completely understand and you’ll be free to go. " She spoke with this soft and motherly cadence to her voice, trying to ease my rising tension.

“Can I–”

“You can take all the time you need to think about this. There’s no rush.”

“I just want to make a call.”

“Of course, I’ll be right outside if you need me.” She excused herself from the room and I was left to my own devices. I held onto the pen and out of habit gave it a try on the corner of the paper to make sure it had ink. I rubbed it in my hand like a worry stone to try and soothe my rising anxiety while I dialed the contact on my phone. 

“Hello, this is Rawls’ Assisted Living, how may we help you?”

“Hi, my dad is staying there, John Dauphin, could you connect me to him?”

“Just a moment.” The other end clicked and the phone rang again. 

I heard the soft click of a phone being picked up, then the raucous crackling as I pictured by father struggling to drag the landline from the wall. I heard the familiar coughing and sputtering of my father before, “Hello?” I tried to reply but he again gave a louder, “Hello? Who is this?”

“Hey dad, it’s Jenna.” I spoke with chest, trying to be as loud and clear for him as I could. I didn't want to be too hopeful that he remembered me, but I was pleasantly surprised.

“Jenna! Oh gosh, how'd you do on that paper, hon?"

I felt my throat tighten and I thought he knew about this for a second, before I realized he probably meant schoolwork. I was elated to hear him coherent. 

"Well dad, I don't know yet." I looked down again and kept my firm grip on the pen. 

"Well... I uh.. I know you, and I.. know you tried your hardest, hon. I’m sure it’ll be alright."

"I’m not calling about the paper, I was just calling because I.. I’m calling just to let you know I love you."

"I love you too! I'll see you when you get home, alright?"

My heart tightened.

"Ok dad. I'll see you then." 

I hung up the call. 

My hands are shaking and I can feel my eyes trying to betray me, but I have no clue if my mom is dead and it certainly isn't game day. 

I know what I have to do.