Page 6 of I’ll Paint You a Sunset Someday

January 2096

The History of Psychology 2335

The attention of the class follows Mr. Holiday as he rises from behind his podium, walks to the board, and writes The Experiment in bold chalk letters. Crazy that he still uses chalk, but he insists it’s important to preserve history. Really, the clicking noise it makes on the board matches the pitch of his shoes when they click across the floor, and I think he likes that. Perhaps it’s like the Pavlov dog, and the sound is his conditioned reward.

Ashamed of my first note-taking impression, I was much more thorough going through the assigned readings last night. Was I anticipating a pop quiz? Possibly. Did the anticipation drive my attention to detail? Absolutely. As dry as the content was, it seemed like the building blocks for the rest of the semester.

“Who can tell me about The Experiment?” Mr. Holiday asks, looking at us like a cat waiting to pounce.

This is about to get confrontational—it always does when politics are involved. Like clockwork, the hand of the eager freshman shoots into the air.

“Anyone except our overachiever?” He waits for any other student to take the bait, but again, she takes his apathy as approval to speak. Psychology is going to hand her own ass to her on a platter if she can’t learn to pick up on social cues.

“The Experiment was a study performed by our government to test the validity of the idea of permanence. In a world where all is forgotten, are we permanently marked by the experiences of our lives? By the traumas we have endured . . . the interests we have grown . . . the people we have loved? In the midst of memory loss, is there an invisible string connecting us all? It was a true test to see if the human heart is stronger than the human brain.”

Her cocky attitude overshadows her brilliance, so it’s an effort to not roll my eyes at her impressive answer. Life needs to hand her a hearty helping of humility.

Mr. Holiday paces back and forth.

“Excellent,” he praises.

Here comes the jealousy bomb, dropped just above my head. It shouldn’t bother me to see another woman succeeding, but it does.

Time to go to therapy, my inner critic taunts. It’s probably right.

“How did they gain consent to conduct this Experiment?”

Before I can place a bet with my neighbor that little miss overachiever will be the only one to participate today, Mr. Holiday raises his gaze to me.

“Ah yes, our sophomore critic. Maybe you would like to join us in today’s discussion?”

It’s more of a challenge than a question. If I’m involved, maybe “BORING” won’t be written all over my notes. He’s probably right, but being forced into the spotlight doesn’t sit well with me.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I can’t seem to remember. Maybe I was a part of it.”

Tension floods the room as a flicker of rage ignites across Mr. Holiday’s face, and a few near-silent chuckles fan the flame. A student in row two swoops in before my guilt for having such a curt response does.

“Seeing the low morale of the citizens, the plummeting mental health statistics, and the quality of life disintegrating, the government presented the idea to the public as a gift . The Gift of Forgetting. ”

Lack of hope can drive a nation to do desperate things for an ounce of it . . . for the promise of it. They promised an increased quality of life, the resuscitation of mental well-being, and a more unified nation.

Our textbook claims it had the potential to be the world’s greatest gift, to erase the history of a devastatingly broken world. If I were as hopeless as them, I would’ve fallen for it too, grasping at every straw offered to keep from hitting rock bottom. But the great lie of rock bottom is that it’s definite, rather than subjective. The potential was there, but did people actually enjoy the “free” and “unapologetic” promise of living from ground zero—every single year?

“Yes, very good. Now, before you cast your judgment on those who voted in favor of this gift, I want you to embrace and understand how freeing it could feel to live without the consequences of your actions. Without fear of regret. After all, these citizens thought they were being given a gift. They were not consenting to being the pawns of an understudied experimental trial.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way—as a villainous deception of the general public. The people trusted their government to protect and serve, not to deceive them.

Civilians are not at fault for the information withheld from them. They thought it was a means to restore the well-being of the world, not a corrupt preservation of control. Yes, the government wanted to gain knowledge, but in the midst of their quest, power was an added bonus.

“Your homework over the weekend is to write a paper. You can decide how long it is. The length makes no difference to me.”

The fraternity boys in row three snicker.

“I do want you to be thorough. Be honest and be vulnerable, with yourself and me.” Mr. Holiday turns, writing the essay prompt inches below his earlier writing.

What would you do if you could live a life without fear of failure? Without anxieties and burdens?

“What would matter to you, students? Who would matter to you?”

The question hangs in the air, accompanied by devilish smirks from the third-row frat pack, and Mr. Holiday holds their gaze with a steady, vicious wisdom that makes me second-guess my first judgment of him. Maybe there’s more to him than being a grumpy old professor after all.