Here is another excerpt from my work-in-progress novel, Miss Cadaver. It’s told from the point of view of a reanimated corpse. Darryl is the “mad scientist” with a day job at a medical school. Lydia is his wife who is not pleased with his project of bringing the dead back to life, but she’s sympathetic to my main character, who I’ve been calling June. In this scene, they have different approaches to June’s education, since she “awakes” remembering nothing of her former life.
In the beginning, Darryl oversaw my education, while Lydia, if she watched at all, stood in the doorway, arms folded judgmentally. He started with picture books made for pre-readers, pointing at the illustrations as he recited the names of animals and colors for me to repeat. My tongue and lips fumbled with the sounds at first, but after a week or so, I spoke as fluently as ever. By the end of the month, I knew as many words as my brain had probably ever known.
“Remarkable,” Darryl said, muttering to himself as he wrote notes in the leather-bound notebook he always carried with him. Everything I did was “remarkable” to him.
After two months, I could carry on a conversation. I understood questions and knew how to form responses to them. I could absorb information, form connections with things I already knew, and give an appropriate answer.
Just as I relearned language, I relearned my body. I moved slowly at first, keeping a hand on the wall or the nearest piece of furniture as I took unsteady steps. I did stretching exercises on my own to limber up. I was stiff, and I wasn’t quite sure how long I’d been “a stiff.”
Darryl taught me how to use a computer, and he gave me quizzes meant for elementary-aged children. I lingered over each question, reaching into the dark recesses of memory. Often, the answers would come to me. Once I had mastered one grade, Darryl moved me to the next level.
“Basic knowledge of the fundamentals in science, history, geography, math, and the English language,” Darryl mumbled as he wrote in his notebook. I knew he was speaking more to himself than to me. I was a science experiment to him, not a person. He closed the notebook and stood. “That’s enough for tonight.”
Lydia leaned against the doorframe of the home office, a small room on the second floor. The dusty blinds on the single window were never opened, and the room was airless and uninviting. Stacks of bills and junk mail covered the desk. Darryl sat in the swiveling desk chair, its imitation leather peeling off in flakes on the floor. I sat beside him in a folding chair, temporary seating for guests.
Darryl said nothing to Lydia as he passed by her on his way out of the room. We usually didn’t finish that early, when daylight was still visible through the closed blinds. Unsure what to do next, I didn’t move. Was it too early to begin my nighttime routine and go to bed? Lydia stared down the hall after Darryl for a minute before turning back to me.
“That kind of education is all well and good, but if you’re going to be a fully functional human, it’s not enough. Come with me.”
As I followed her down the stairs, the front door opened and closed with a soft thud. We didn’t see Darryl anymore that night.
“Wait here.”
She motioned for me to sit on the couch. I sat, and she went into the kitchen. The microwave opened, closed, and revved to life, followed by a series of soft pops coming slowly at first, speeding in time in a frenzy, and then tapering off.
Popcorn. The scent was familiar. Lydia returned with the popcorn in a metal serving bowl and two cans of Coke. She set the bowl on the middle seat of the couch, handed me a Coke, and turned on the TV.
“There’s a chance—a slim chance—that your eyes and ears have never experienced this movie, but I’m curious how much you would remember.” She put a disc into the DVD player and sat at the other end of the couch, the popcorn between us to share. “If you want to learn about life, the way to do it is through art. Movies, books, music… It all reflects humanity. I’m going to start leaving some things for you to look at during the day. It would be a better use of your time than what he has you doing.”
Lydia rarely referred to Darryl by name, but she rarely referred to me by name, either. I had only learned my name from the way Darryl had registered me as a user on one of the education websites: June Cadaver. I was certain it was not the name my body had come with.
The movie was The Wizard of Oz. A sense of déjà vu came over me as I watched it. Dorothy and Toto. The Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Cowardly Lion. The Wicked Witch of the West and the Ruby Slippers. The Yellow Brick Road. I’d seen them all before.
At the same time, it was like I knew nothing of the movie. I was in tears at the end, the way Dorothy realized there was no place like home. Home, such a basic concept. And I didn’t know what or where mine was.
I couldn’t express any of that to Lydia. I didn’t know how to explain it. While I was more comfortable with her than with Darryl, I wasn’t sure how much I could trust her. Instead, I told her it felt like the characters and settings were familiar, but the story wasn’t.
“Interesting,” she said. “But it makes sense. If your emotional memory has been reset, then it must be like you’re seeing all art for the first time. I envy you, in a way. How awesome it would be to experience some of my favorites for the first time again! You have an exciting education ahead of you. Nothing like those quizzes and videos he’s been showing you. I’ll leave you a book and a few movies for tomorrow while we’re at work. I hope you appreciate what a gift this is. Art is what makes us human, and you get to absorb it all.”
Michelle Wicklow 