Nightmare Yearnings by Eric Raglin

Author:Eric Raglin [Raglin, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eric Holt

For My Final Girl

Serena’s operation took all of twenty minutes. Dr. Kemp—standing at least six-foot-five—forbade us from being in the room for it, so I watched through the window, squeezing Arnold’s hand until it turned purple. Neither of us said a thing while the doctor attached the neurotransference device to Serena’s head, grinning and speaking words to her that we couldn’t make out—hopefully something comforting like “this might tingle, but I promise it won’t hurt.” He would’ve had to shave her for the operation, but Serena had just finished her final cancer treatment and was bald as the day she was born. She lay still on the operating table, never once flinching or crying out for us. At eight years old, she was already a pro at handling surgeries. Needles no longer made her squirm, and neither did waking up to railroad tracks of staples holding her chest together. I’d love to say her toughness made me proud, but seeing a child that young so unfazed by pain put a knot in my stomach.

Unlike the tumor removal, neurotransference was relatively noninvasive. Researchers first tested it on rats, fixing rice grain-sized electrodes to their skulls and transferring the correct path out of a maze to their brains. The rats navigated the mazes without so much as a single wrong turn, rewarded at the exit with tiny cheese plates—I’d seen it myself on CNN. When it became evident that neurotransference made information “stick” more effectively than traditional memory reinforcement techniques, the FDA cleared the way for human trials.

Unfortunately, neurotransference proved beyond the budgets of most families, so only the wealthy could afford it in lieu of traditional schooling for their children. It would have been out of our family’s grasp, too, had it not been for the success of a desperate GoFundMe campaign. It raised enough for not only Serena’s cancer treatments but also her neurotransference—a nearly instantaneous way to catch up on the year of school she’d missed. Arnold and I spent many nights awake watching the green fundraising bar inch to the right at a glacial pace. It wasn’t until the bar reached its goal weeks later that we finally got a full night’s rest.

Now, as the neurotransference was actually happening, Dr. Kemp sat at the computer and poured over a mess of readings that looked like nonsense. I squinted at the screen and asked Arnold if he knew what to make of it, but he just shrugged. We’d find out soon enough. Instead of staring at the computer, I watched Dr. Kemp, reading his facial expressions. Was that eye twitch the sign that something had gone wrong? Did that smile mean the operation had been a success?

Arnold must have sensed my anxiety because he rubbed my shoulder and whispered, “It’s gonna be okay, Mateo. 99.976, remember?” The percentage of patients who went through neurotransference without any complications. But the fact that Serena developed a cancer affecting only .00002% of the population made it hard for me to relax.

Dr. Kemp emerged from the room just as my throat started constricting.

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