Vicious Mnemonics

Howard had been working at Memretek for as long as anyone could remember. That is to say, seventeen years.

There was a small percentage of the population that escaped the Blank, keeping their early development intact when the world fell apart. Mistrust and resentment had wiped out many of the uncut few, and the rest lived in obligate secrecy. These days, it was unclear whether a person had retained their memory, undergone synaptic restoration, or completely fabricated their past in a bluff so few were qualified to call. Memretek, and the few companies like it, could recover rerouted recollections in those who could afford the experimental therapy, but for many, the world as they knew it spanned seventeen years into the past, and beyond that, the truth simply stopped.

“I don’t get recall competitions,” said Julia. “Can’t really be completely sure the answers are right.”

Howard glanced up from the book in front of him. “It’s not about the information. It’s about brain power, making connections, snatching back facts. Last year’s winner was point two off the computer, and that’s really saying something!”

Julia’s brow crinkled when she smiled. “I’m sure it’s saying something.” She kissed the top of his head, where there was no telltale scar from recovery treatments. “Don’t stay up all night.”

Howard watched the shape of her, disappearing through the bedroom door, He worried about her, sometimes.

Now, back to the book. Howard had a distinct advantage in this competition by retaining his grade school education, but the final round of trivia would be much more obscure than anything out of McPhearson. There was evidence that some of the memory treatments allowed for better recollection, but Howard was never tempted to enhance his natural recall. There were ominous anecdotes about seeking to unlock memories past the point of infancy or else blocked by trauma, and Howard had no intention of peeking under that rock.

With high test scores and crisp reports, Howard was already a rising star at Memretek when he made it through the Blank intact. When the less fortunate were struggling to remaster shoelaces and button flies, Howard was reconstructing neuropathways in the minds of world leaders. Not all of them had been world leaders before the Blank, but no one was bothered about that now.

There was buzzing from the en suite bathroom. Howard sank into the couch cushions and pretended it was an electric toothbrush. He’d had the chance, in his unique position after the Blank, to present Julia with the best version of their marriage. Sometimes the body was more convincing than the mind.

Now, back to the book. Not all of the competitors were Memretek employees, but almost all of the champions were, and Howard was keen to get the edge over the contenders in his division. Inge Madsdottir was an uncut like him, but Wei Wu had taken that experimental enhancement after the unveiling last year, and had pretty impressive stats when it came to pattern recognition. Howard didn’t think that would carry him through the final round, though, when logic gave way to straight memorization. A lot of history didn’t make sense.

Rahim Fall was the quizmaster this year, and having heard him wax pedantic in meetings, Howard had a hunch there'd be fun facts about Darwinian cuisine. The epicurean curiosity that loved animals, sought to fully understand their potential, and simultaneously exploit it. To know, in every particular, how an organism works, what innovative survival shaped it that way, and how it tastes with a dijonnaise sauce. In the meeting, it was oddly appropriate, though Howard couldn’t tell if the metaphorical sea turtles were the amnesiac public beyond their walls or the exposed uncut crammed into one room, memorizing each other’s faces.

Man, that buzzing was going on for a while. Howard sank deeper into the couch.

That lack of focus was what kept knocking Howard out in the final rounds. In order to win, he had to snip those associations his brain kept forging between his personal experience and generalized fact. Some part of his own past would send him shooting down a tunnel of sensory perception, clouding his mind with the feel of corduroy, the smell of Johnson’s soap.

The taste of blackberries.

Howard hated that fucking fruit.

Now, back to the book.

* * *

There was no pre-competition test for performance enhancers, and Howard amused himself playing Spot the Adderall in the opening round. There was a timed written test that knocked out a lot of casual contestants, and Howard was picking out all the bouncing legs. They needn’t have bothered, poor things; there wasn’t enough ADHD medication in the world to replace four thousand hours of AP world history. Down at the bottom of the second page, every entrant had an option to include a question for the final round, and Howard wrote down the cooking time for microwave popcorn. That would separate the men from the boys.

After rattling off his answers, Howard had a little time to let his eyes wander while he idly doodled in the top right corner. It was frowned upon to turn around, so he only had a view of the backs of the contestants in front of him. He spotted Inge Madsdottir, Wei Wu, one of the interns who had only been a toddler during the Blank, and was counting on youth over experience. And somebody else.

Trying not to look like he was staring, Howard puzzled over the left ear of someone he felt he ought to know. It was no one he worked with at Memretek, no one he recognized as a trivia champ from TV. It wasn’t just the way she was sitting, the color of her hair. Howard felt like he had seen that exact jacket before, though he was blind to most fashions, maybe even paired with that same gold barrette. He knew this woman, he was sure of it. When she lifted up her paper, even from this distance, Howard could see she’d doodled the same straight-lined S.

“Julia?”

“No talking,” the proctor said. He needn’t have bothered. Howard was speechless. He remained speechless when the exams were collected, and Julia was directed toward the waiting room for the second round.

The second round was all short-term recall; completely fabricated statements and logic puzzles that would show how well a contestant could grasp simple concepts. This was a breeze for anyone who’d spent time as a Memretek technician; these same insert-the-nonsense tests were administered after every therapy session. The tests were one-on-one, and Howard found himself stammering and sweating, not over the questions, but his inability to guess how Julia might approach them. He couldn’t tell if he wanted her to succeed or fail.

“You pass,” said the administrator, another Memretek employee, who switched their camera off. “Barely. You okay, Howard?”

Howard pushed his knuckles through his hair, massaging the top of his skull. “Sorry. I’m just distracted.”

“You know, your wife did great,” the administrator said. “You coached her, right? Didn’t hit one trap.”

“Shut up about my wife!”

Howard took a breath, releasing a fistful of hair. “Sorry, I’m sorry. We’re not supposed to talk about the other contestants.”

The administrator studied him with wary eyes. She must have been in middle school during the Blank. “Okay. Well, good luck, I guess.”

“Luck is an obsolete concept,” Howard muttered, and proceeded to round three.

In the third round, all of the contestants were stood in the same room together, behind individual podiums that set them all face-to-face. Inge Madsdottir waved at Howard. “Hej, hej! Did you see? Wei Wu got knocked out!”

Howard waved vaguely at her. He wasn’t really sure where to look.

“Are you okay, Howard?” It was Julia’s voice. “You look like you’ve had a mouthful of blackberries.”

She was three podiums away from him, on the other side of the world. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you,” Julia said. “Proving a point.”

* * *

After kissing Howard’s unscarred head, doubting the truth in recall competitions and telling him not to stay up all night, after Howard watched her shape disappearing through the bedroom door, Julia did something she only ever did when she was alone. There was a hole in the very last molar on the left, and she popped out the silicone cover when it bothered her, something no one, not even her husband, had ever seen her do. When she studied the discolored gap in the mirror, there was a soft beep! And a screen behind the glass blinked to life.

“This message is private.” It was Julia’s own voice. “Proceed only if you will not be disturbed.”

Two options appeared on the mirror’s surface, one to accept, one to deny.

Julia eased the door open a crack, peering toward the couch cushions. Howard still had his nose in a book, but she didn’t want him surprising her. Fishing around in the girl supplies drawer, Julia clicked on her personal massager, and got a wicked flicker of satisfaction when Howard’s silhouette sank. He wouldn’t dare approach until the sound stopped, and Julia accepted the request.

The screen, disguised as a mirror and locked until Julia could be sure she was alone, displayed a video Julia had recorded in this very spot. Based on her haircut and the sweetly outdated palette of her make-up, Julia guessed it had been recorded five or six years ago. Her expression was grave, full of purpose, but also pain. “There is a reason the treatments aren’t working. Yes, you were right, Howard did request a block. But you have made the same request.”

Julia’s stomach sank. She suspected, as did many whose spouses worked for Memretek, that the closed ranks of the company could keep loved ones from retrieving memories that threatened their relationships. Howard had arranged all of her treatments, and most days she trusted that he had done everything right. Most days.

There was anecdotal evidence of people retrieving memories from before the Blank without any treatment at all; the brain simply healing of its own accord. Companies like Memretek were highly motivated to discredit these accounts, either blaming retroactive hallucination and the Mandela Effect, or simply burying the stories without comment. So when Julia’s memories began to return, she quietly kept them to herself. She didn’t want to know, if forced to choose between his wife and his company, what kind of man Howard would turn out to be. She barely dared to admit what sort of company it was.

But there was always a nagging gap in Julia’s history that she couldn’t account for. A specific stretch between her honeymoon and the Blank that was somehow completely cut out. Julia couldn’t ask Howard about it. He either wouldn’t understand the question, or would answer with a lie. But here she was, figuring it out from herself.

“You have chosen not to remember,” Julia’s image said. “Because that time contains something you may not be prepared to live with. If you learn what you wanted to forget, and want to forget again, contact Inge Madsdottir at Memretek. She’ll take care of everything. Do not tell Howard. Do not delete this message. One day, when you’re ready, you will want to know.”

How many times had she stood there? Julia wondered. How many times had she poked at that bad tooth, fallen down this rabbit hole, and decided the truth was too terrible after all?

“If you are ready for the truth,” said the pre-recorded Julia. “It is still possible that Howard is not. He is well-connected, and he can take that memory away again, if he wants to. Unless you make it impossible for him to hide. It will be dangerous. He may not forgive you. You may not forgive him.” That Julia took a pre-recorded breath, and it was hard to tell if the video would stop before she started crying. “If you are not ready, press deny. I’ll be here when you come back. If you want to know the truth, knowing it may kill your husband, press accept.”

* * *

“Really impressive,” said the quizmaster, tapping his cards on the desk. “Now, with only three contestants remaining—” He turned to Inge Madsdottir. “How does one achieve a Darwin Award?”

This round, with the written-in questions, not only tested general knowledge, but how well the contestants could second-guess each other. Inge laughed. “Hi, Wei! By using embarrassingly foreseeable stupidity to engineer one’s own demise.”

“That’s correct!” The quizmaster picked up another card, squinting at, Howard realized, his own chicken scratch handwriting. “What is the exact cooking time for microwave popcorn?”

Julia smirked. After enough rants throughout their marriage, she didn’t need one second to think. “There is no exact cooking time. You have no choice but to play it by ear.”

“That’s correct!” The next card between his fingers, the quizmaster faltered. He frowned. “Huh. Well, let’s see.” The quizmaster looked up into Howard’s eyes. “What was his name?”

Howard stopped breathing. His eyes flicked toward Julia.

“Bit vague,” the quizmaster dismissed, shuffling his cards. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“He knows what it means,” Julia said.

The volume dropped on the studio ambience. Nobody was smiling now, Inge and the quizmaster watching the searing eye contact between the married pair. A silent lifetime passed while the thirty-second timer ticked toward zero.

The buzzer cut through the studio, the quizmaster clutching his heart. “Oh! Kay! You are out of time,” he breathed, flicking the offensive card away from him. “I’m sorry, Howard, that’s the end of your run. Thank y—” Howard walked away from the podium, dropping his mic pack as he pushed backstage. “Okay, well, hard luck—”

“I forfeit,” Julia said, taking off her own mic pack and leaving it on the podium. “I got what I wanted.” She walked off after Howard, assistants and cameramen jumping out of her way.

“Okay, well, that’s not at all how the format works.” The quizmaster threw the cards away. “Congratulations, Inge. Got twelve and a half minutes’ worth of reaction for us?”

* * *

Howard heard Julia calling his name, but he didn’t stop, not until something soft pelted into the back of his head. He raked his fingers through his hair, and came up with the crushed husk of a freely bleeding blackberry.

He turned toward his wife, her juice-stained fingers. “Who told you?”

Julia tapped her forehead, a small dot of violet anointing her face. “It was up there. For all your patches and therapeutic technologies, all it took was the taste of blackberries.”

“I fucking hate that goddamn fruit.” Howard squeezed it to pulp in his fist. “I know the triggers. I’ve been here before. I mean who told you to spread my shit over national television, so I couldn’t put that traumatic toothpaste back in the tube?”

Julia scoffed. “Babe, that was me. Exposure, evidence, witnesses; that’s what trumps an assertion, even one of yours. You don't get to erase him."

"I was trying to help you," Howard insisted through gritted teeth.

"You didn't let me help myself," Julia countered. "And I needed me. Ever since the Blank, you’ve had this idea that you were smarter or stronger or better than everyone who got wiped, but you’re not. You just won a coin toss. Sheer, dumb luck.”

“There’s no such thing as luck.”

“Bad luck took our son.”

Howard looked down at the blackberry, dripping through his fingers. “I didn’t know.”

“I know.”

"It was the first time he'd had them."

"I know."

“I know who invented the Twinkie, and how to cure Dancing Plague, and all the lyrics to One Week, but the one thing that actually mattered, I didn’t know. I should have known.”

“Howard.” His hand disappeared beneath hers, just as stained, just as aged, just as he remembered. “I know.” She leaned her scarred head against his, that blackberry bindi pressed between them. “Answer the question.”

Howard closed his eyes. His jaw dropped. “Oh my god…I’m drawing a blank…”