Book Day
By Don D'Ammassa
Evan took his time getting bathed and dressed on his personal Book Day. It wasn’t that he didn’t look forward to the ceremony – it was after all another sign that he’d become an adult – but like many people his age, he still hadn’t made his final decision. He’d narrowed it down to three possibilities, but he was terribly afraid of making the wrong choice, because that would bother him even if he never realized that his judgment had been faulty. And the last three possibilities were so dramatically different that, in many ways, they were not directly comparable.
He still lived with his family, but they’d already gone. It was customary for each individual to make his own way on Book Day, to underscore their new independence. His mother had left him an assortment of pastries and there was fresh coffee. He took his time over breakfast, but not too much; he didn’t want to be late for one of the most important events in his life, the day that would, in subtle ways, shape his entire future.
Evan had his own car, but his family had rented the hall only six blocks away so he decided to walk. For some reason, he was seeing the neighbourhood with new eyes this morning, and even that would change again in a few hours. Change dramatically.
Most of the guests had already arrived. All of his relatives would be here, of course, plus friends and co-workers. He walked inside and found himself shaking hands of people he hadn’t seen for years and others he spoke to almost every day. They acted as though they were seeing him differently than they had previously, although it was Evan who would soon have the new perspective. The Publications Conservation Officer was there as well, sitting on the small stage beside his equipment, attempting to look interested even though he probably witnessed the same scene several times each week.
Evan had always been a reader. Temporary shelving had been set up along three of the four walls, and every shelf was tightly packed with the books he’d read. Theoretically, they were arranged chronologically and some effort had been made to segregate childhood classics from contemporary fiction, but Evan had also done considerable re-reading and a strict progression was impossible to define. All but three of his books were there, the missing titles having been moved to a table on the stage, where he would soon be making his final decision.
He made a circuit of the room, eventually felt satisfied that he’d greeted everyone, then walked up onto the stage. As was customary, he and the PCO were alone. Evan had prepared a little speech, long enough that the guests wouldn’t feel cheated and short enough that they wouldn’t get restless. He talked about the three books in question, each of which he’d read multiple times, and how great of an impression they had made. One was a light but witty comedy that always dispelled depression. One was a story of human striving, of triumph in the face of great adversity, an uplifting novel that filled him with optimism about what he and the human race could accomplish. The third was a densely serious work that he had not expected to enjoy as thoroughly as had been the case. But he’d still found himself drawn back to it repeatedly. Each new visit had revealed insights he’d missed before.
And for that reason, he told the audience, the third book would be his choice.
There was general applause and a stirring behind him as the PCO readied the equipment. Evan waited for the crowd to settle down, waved to them, and walked over to the PCO.
Evan seated himself, and even though he knew the process was painless, he felt a tremor of apprehension as the helmet was secured on his head. There was no other sensation, no electric shock even when the power was turned on and the machine hummed to itself. Evan closed his eyes, fell into a daydream as the humming soothed his mind.
There was a click and the helmet was lifted away. The PCO was smiling brightly.
Evan stood up, feeling different without knowing yet just what that difference was. The PCO handed him a book, one of three on the table. He had no recollection of ever having seen it before. Nor could he recall anything about the other two, or any of the hundreds on the shelves arranged around the room, books which would shortly be carted off to a Dispersion Center for distribution to younger readers.
Attached to the book in his hand was a small electronic device. Evan recognized it and remembered how it worked. He was excited about the prospect of reading whatever book it was that his younger self had selected as his favourite. He would experience it as if it was the first time he’d ever read it, and then he’d press the device to his head, activate it, and all memory of the book’s contents would vanish from his mind. This would be his book, and for the rest of his life, he would rediscover it for the first time, over and over again, and on each occasion it would be one of the greatest moments in his life.