I SAW WHAT I LOOKED LIKE. I SAW MY FACE. MY body. And with it, memories of earlier stages of my life. Me a year ago. Me three years ago. Me as a little girl taking gymnastics. My locker combination was 13-36-9. My grade point average was 4.0. I was five feet, five inches tall and hoped against all odds to grow taller. I weighed 121 pounds. I knew my social security number. I knew my student ID number. I knew my driver’s license number, which surprised me because I didn’t think I’d ever memorized that. It was as if every number I’d ever known was coming bubbling up into my brain. My home was at number 72. My birthday was July 26. My phone number . . . “That’s not what matters,” I said. “I thought you wanted to see your memories,” Messenger said. “Those aren’t the memories. Those aren’t what I need. Did you do that to me? Can you turn my memory on and off?” He surprised me by giving me a direct answer. “Yes.” “That’s not fair!” The words were out of my mouth before I’d even begun to think about them.
