“Where are you going, Cedric?” The moon had already risen, illuminating Cedric’s pale, white shape as he crept across the room. “I’m going to bed.” The voice from somewhere whispered. “Yes. I can see that. Why are you taking the long way? Come and join me for a while. I could use your company.” Cedric hesitated before turning towards the voice and asking, “Are you upset with me, Father?” For a moment there was no response. Then the voice chuckled wearily, but warmly, before reassuring, “No. I’m not upset. I won’t even make you say ‘Hail Mary’ like they say I used to.” The boy’s shoulders were still raised, but he slowly approached the voice; turning a corner, he saw its owner. A shadowy tall figure, he appeared darker than the blackest pit, as he was brilliantly silhouetted by bright fluorescent light immediately behind him, clambering around him to illuminate the child. “I’m not allowed in the recollection room.” The figure nodded and beckoned Cedric to turn around and walk back the way they came. They walked past multiple classrooms containing only chairs and desks: the seats therein were yellow, and the walls blue. The furniture appeared like farm animals attempting to sleep in winter: spines and legs straightened by the cold, with no recollection of how they got there, and no idea how to get out.
They walked for a long time before the figure spoke again, “I know that this all might seem strange to you—what we do here, but I believe in our mission: we all deserve comfort.” The boy quickly touched his nose then looked straight ahead, walking gingerly as if balancing on an invisible beam while an egg was precariously balanced on the top of his head. “What do you struggle with, Father? My teachers love to tell me about my struggles, but I’ve never heard about theirs.” Father thought for a moment, running his hand through his hair and drawing a deep breath before answering. “We think about those things everyday: ‘struggle,’ ‘hardship,’ ‘suffering.’ We’re subject matter experts on opposite emotions: ‘compassion,’ ‘love,’ ‘empathy.’” They entered a dark waiting room, illuminated only by the moonlight passing through its windows, projecting checkerboard-like patterns on the floors and surrounding metallic chairs. “We avoid those questions. Ignorance is not only bliss, it’s necessary.” The two sat down, but not before Father turned a lamp on nearby, casting light over the two, along with two clean, worn yellow metal chairs. “Father, why can’t you answer my question? How can I trust you that knowing about these things is unimportant for you to answer, but necessary for me?” Father chuckled, “You are young, which is the right time to expel those negative emotions.” He stood to briefly grab some tea from a machine. Offering some to Cedric, he replied, “The older you are, the harder it is to cleanse yourself of them. We accumulate too many negative feelings if nothing’s done to manage them!” His hands reached into his robes and pulled out a small trinket engraved with numerous images of famous alumni from the organization. “That’s why I cannot answer your question. I was also entered into this program at an early age. I’ve since cleansed myself of those negative emotions.” Cedric pressed, “You’ve no recollection at all?” Father thought for a moment. “No.” Cedric responds incredulously, “I’m not sure that I want to let go of those feelings, Father. They teach me what I should avoid, or how to act. I feel that they help me sort myself out.”
Father sat his tea down, the steam still rising, obfuscating his hand while he gripped the handle. “I’ve heard this many times before. I always ask: Why not define yourself with positive experiences instead? You can find those elements that bring you and others’ joy—focus on the bright spots.” Father folded his hands and paused. “I want to dissect your pain, though, so that I can stop it before it too whispers from around the corner. I understand this is challenging: you don’t lose someone close without developing the urge to watch for that feeling.” Father raised his hands, “But you prefer to stay vigilant to avoid it from happening again, I suppose?” Cedric nodded and Father nodded solemnly before he jokingly responded, “If that’s the case, then I’m afraid that I’ll have to recommend your immediate expulsion from the program.” Cedric smiled and asked facetiously, “Where will I go?” The two laughed quietly as the lamp buzzed and a tea machine sputtered in the corner. After a moment of silence, Father responded earnestly, “I understand your fear and motivation to learn more about those triggers, but we’re only interested in expelling them, including our ability to recollect them. It’s easier this way.” Cedric agitatedly touched his nose again, “Do you really erase the old memories?” Father sighed and motioned, “Some painful memories are too much for us to truly be rid of. We’re constrained by our own biology, after all.” The tea machine loudly gurgled and coughed watery belches as Father elaborated, “But, yes. We forcefully remove those memories. They are surgically removed, leaving only small scars that heal quickly. Those procedures are rare, though, so I doubt you’ll need one.” The two remained silent as the buzzing continued; eventually, Cedric whispered, his voice trembling slightly, “If I lose my negative memories of what happened to them, then I’ll ask about where they are. What if I want to see them again?” “It’s a fine line, targeting portions of complex memories while preserving only the positive, meaningful fragments: a major component that should not be overlooked during our experiment. We call this ‘fine-lining,’ when the recipient of our treatment has trouble reconciling a new reality. It helps if they’re creative; if they’re not, then we often work with them to craft an alternative worldview that’s compatible with who they are, and provides them comfort.” Cedric thought for a moment, before asking, “And it’s worth that to you? How do you know if the ‘you’ who receives the treatment would be the same ‘you’ as the one who doesn’t?” Father chuckled lightly, “Well, there is only one ‘you’ in this story. If anything bad happened to you that was out of your control, why not rewrite your own history? Why not remove the harmful thing that took place and start fresh?”
The two fell silent. The tea machine continued gurgling and sucking, until it stopped. Outside, over the hum of the air conditioning, a soft chorus of small creatures sang their nighttime songs. Father sighed a deep, fulfilled sigh, “I love that when it’s quiet, I can actually hear the quiet.” Cedric looked over at Father, “I’m worried that I can’t fool myself.” Father closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the old office chair, as if recollecting a dream. “The beauty is that you won’t need to, Cedric. Now, why don’t you go to bed. I think I’ll take myself up too.” Cedric nodded in agreement and slowly slid off his perch on the chair towards the exit into the facility. Before he left, Cedric turned, hesitating for a moment, and then continued after seeing Father’s slouched form glance up from his chair. “I’ll submit a request for advanced therapy, to remove my memories of the accident.” Father opened his eyes and nodded, “I think that’s the best way forward. Goodnight, son.” Cedric nods, “Goodnight, Father.”