GENRE: YA Science Fiction
These are the things I remember: the weight of my cat curled up on my chest; the honest-to-goodness last fast food hamburger I ever had; the rancid-sweet smell of Houston after a rainstorm; the girl who tried to befriend me the first day of kindergarten, and who I made fun of for her crappy haircut.
These are the things I don’t remember: what chocolate cake tastes like; the particular feel of being outside on a sunny day; my parent’s faces.
And it’s not even quite that I don’t remember them. If I really didn’t remember these things, that would be fine. I wouldn’t remember that I didn’t remember them, so I wouldn’t be bothered by the lack of memory. What I feel, though, is infinitely worse. I can sort of remember these things, but I know that my memory isn’t accurate. My parents’ features change. The sunny day becomes confused with exercising in the sun room. Chocolate cake becomes just another form of flavored tofu.
Maxwell, my wrist computer says, my own voice coming from its speakers, get a grip. There’s no point in obsessing over what you can’t change.
My name, for example. Maxwell Clerk MacLeod. Can’t change that and, despite what you might think, there is no good feminine version of either of those names. Maxie? Tried that for a micro-second in fifth grade and it took years for the echoes of Maxi Pad to die. And Clerk isn’t even a name, it’s the sound a chicken makes with marbles in its mouth.