Alison Strobel - The Heart of Memory

His cell rang. He glanced at the screen and groaned inside. He knew what a bad sign it was that he didn’t want to talk to his wife whom he hadn’t seen in so many days. But there it was: he simply didn’t want to. Life at the office might be miserable, but he was strangely, and sadly, happy with the house empty. When she’d been hospitalized it had been a nightmare. Now it was a relief.

He let the call go to voicemail and pulled on his coat. He’d listen to her message in the car.

“See you tomorrow, Brenda,” he said with a nod as he passed the receptionist. She didn’t even try to smile, just waved and said, “Bye” as he headed out the door. He was going to have to come clean with them soon, or else they’d start abandoning ship. On second thought, maybe he’d just let them do that. It would save him the trouble of having to admit defeat to a roomful of people he once considered family. It would save him from paying severance, too.

He was halfway home when he remembered the voicemail from Savannah. He set the phone on speaker mode and started the message.

“Hi Shaun, it’s me. You will never guess where I am. I flew to Kansas this morning to meet the sister of my heart donor. She wrote me a letter that Marisa brought when she came out here the other day. I’m on my way back to the airport now to go back to Georgia, but I wanted to tell you something I discovered. Charlie – that’s my donor, Charlie Bates; he was 28 and died in a car crash-he was an atheist. His father left their family when he was little, and a Christian neighbor who took him under his wing ended up cheating on his wife. Between those two events, he was completely soured against God. But what was really crazy was the way his sister, Lori, described it. She said he claimed to be an atheist, but that he also hated God. Shaun, that is exactly how I’ve been feeling. And it doesn’t make sense to hate something that you don’t think exists. It’s like he knew -just like I knew-that God really was real, but hating him wasn’t enough to express how betrayed he felt. He wanted to act like he didn’t even exist. But his anger-his anger - was so strong that he couldn’t bring himself to truly believe God didn’t exist, because then where would he direct it all? And guess what else? He practically lived in jeans and long-sleeved T-shirts, and his favorite food was strawberries.” She laughed, and Shaun found himself chuckling with her. “Shaun, I don’t know how this could be possible, but I think I’m living out Charlie’s emotions. Do you know what this means? It means it’s not just me! I haven’t been able to figure out why I hate God so much because I don’t-Charlie does! Anyway, I’m going to get on Tabitha’s computer when I get back to Georgia and check out my forum to see if anyone else has ever experienced this. But you’re much better with all that internet searching-would you be able to look around and see if this phenomenon is documented anywhere? Or better yet, what we can do about it? I can’t tell you how happy I am to know this isn’t just me. There’s a reason -”

The voicemail system had cut her off, but he knew she’d said everything she really wanted to say. He started speeding, eager to get online. He found himself actually smiling.

Despite the fact that he’d skipped lunch and barely had breakfast, he didn’t even make a pit stop in the kitchen before going straight to his office and booting up his computer. He wrote down a list of search terms as he waited for the system to finish starting up. Memories stored in organs, transplanting memories, organ donor memories. He opened a browser window and typed the first phrase in. He expected to get something about sentimental views of musical instruments, but instead hit pay dirt with the very first result. He read the brief article which gave little scientific information, but confirmed the likely existence of a phenomenon called cellular memories. Armed with an exact phrase, he searched again. ‘Cellular memories’ brought up more than enough information to start with. He spent the next two hours reading and making notes to share with Savannah.

· Cellular memories: hypothesis that personal memories, tastes, personality traits, etc. are stored in cells throughout the body, not just the brain

· Some anecdotal support for the theory, but no peer-reviewed studies have been done

· Dr. Pearsall, an expert in the field (the only one, apparently)

· how to make it stop – can’t find anything on this

It was this last bit that frustrated Shaun the most. He read everything he could find online that seemed a legitimate description of the phenomenon, and in none of the articles was there any mention of how the recipients got those memories “turned off.” Certainly there had to be some way.

He finally stopped when a sudden wave of nausea reminded him of how long it had been since his last meal. As he threw together a hasty dinner, he tried not to let himself get too excited at this new discovery. If they could identify Savannah’s struggles as really being cellular memories, then at least they had a cause, a documented-albeit not completely accepted-type of event that others had also experienced.

Perhaps he’d try to contact Dr. Pearsall. It couldn’t hurt. Shaun hadn’t read any stories that seemed exactly like Savannah’s – none of them seemed to involve changes in spirituality. Musical and food preferences, yes. From one religion to another – or to none – not so much. Leave it to Savannah to be the exception to the rule.

There had to be a fix, a cure. There had to be. He held on to that as he ate and surfed the web some more, praying there was an article he hadn’t read yet that touched on how to stop cellular memories. He couldn’t let himself think about what was in store if there wasn’t.

SAVANNAH’S CELL RANG HER AWAKE. Shaun’s number was on the screen. “Hi there.”

“Hi – did I wake you? I thought for sure you’d be up by now.”

“I should be, don’t worry about it. I was up late.”

“Me too. Reading about cellular memories.”

She sat up, fully awake at the phrase. “Yes! Me too! You got my message then.”

“And got on the computer as soon as I got home. Fascinating.”

“Sure-until it’s happening to you.”

“So did you see that an organ recipient wrote a book about her cellular memory experience?”

“I did. Tabitha is going to get it from the library for me today.”

“And Dr. Pearsall-”

“Yes, I saw him, too. I want to read his book as well. Maybe it tells how to get off this train.”

She heard Shaun sigh. “That was the one thing I couldn’t find anything on. Did you?”

She sank back against the pillow. “No. For a minute there I was hoping you were going to have found the missing piece. I do have to admit, though – I feel a lot better knowing I’m not going crazy.”

“So-does it make it easier for you to think past it all, to fake it better, now that you know it’s not really you thinking those thoughts? I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about the book tour…”

She slammed her hand down on the bed beside her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I just thought-”

“No, it doesn’t change that. I’m sorry that’s such an inconvenience for you.”

“Savannah-”

“Look, I’m not happy about all this either, remember? And it doesn’t make it any easier on me when you try to goad me into going along with your plans and pour on the guilt. I need support, not a constant reminder of how I’m failing everyone.”

“So you want me to lie about how I’m feeling?”

“No, I want you to say, ‘Wow, Savannah, I’m sorry, that really sucks, this must be really hard for you.’ Not ‘You’re ruining my life.’”