Photographic Memory

Kalifa shoulder-checked her sister after her comments about being a prodigy, acting as if she were brushing past to check ahead and around the corner.

Cody said, “We have an academic prodigy that I personally know.”

“KG Jr.?”

“No, her name is Tiffany. She’s—”

Kalifa interrupted coldly, “I know Tiffany Susan. She came to study here for a while. The one you’re involved with but deny due to being embarrassed about her age,” she finished with a sniff.

Tasha giggled, touching Cody’s arm before whispering, “Kalifa lost in a study competition. To make matters worse, Tiffany acted like it wasn’t even a competition. She simply said—”

“I saw a room that appeared exempt from mouth-breathers, so I joined in hopes of achieving solitude among kindred spirits. It was not my intention to challenge needlessly in a subject we all should strive for.” Kalifa attempted to mimic Tiffany’s emotionless tone.

“Don’t be mad because a child ten years younger than you bested you in your best field,” Tasha teased.

“An American child, sister. But… she has the gift. No one could compete with photographic memory, especially a case as advanced as hers. It’s both a curse and a blessing.”

“Photographic memory?” Cody asked.

Kalifa glared. “Are you a derelict? Did you not go to school?”

They were led to a room with machines all around, along with diagrams clearly indicating which body parts could be augmented. Cody finally said, “My childhood is different from most in America, even. In America, there are two worlds: the rich and the poor. Tiffany would fall in the wealthy category farther east.”

Tasha nodded at Kalifa, who seemed embarrassed.

Cody shrugged and said, “We are a country built on greed. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Without the poor, there is no rich.”

Kalifa began tapping away at a keyboard. Attempting to change the subject, she said, “I’m not going to bore you with details. Tell me which part you wish augmented, and I’ll give you the manual afterward for each part.”

“What is photographic memory, first?” Cody asked, unwilling to change the topic.

Tasha paused, shook her head, and muttered an apology under her breath before saying, “Akira Toriyama’s studies of brain trauma revolve around Kakarot Disorder. Though this wouldn’t directly involve photographic memory, it’s the foundation of cases that show similar or opposite phenomena. Balint’s Syndrome, or simultanagnosia, is one example.”

Kalifa frowned and brushed her aside. “Balint’s Syndrome, or simultanagnosia, is a symptom where you can’t focus on identifying complex scenery. I’d say photographic memory is more the opposite of akinetopsia.”

Cody said, “Motion blindness, right? Blurry in the center, hard to see motion clearly, so it’s like a strobe-like visual.” He tried to recover from feeling like an idiot.

Kalifa grinned. “Correct. But where akinetopsia is motion blindness, photographic memory is grasping all details at once and being able to recall them later. Tiffany is a more advanced case, and because of that, she’s prone to PTSD.”

Cody added, “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Akira Toriyama’s studies on Kakarot Disorder showed how soldiers experiencing trauma during World War II suffered psyche damage from events the mind couldn’t handle.” He glanced at Tasha as he spoke, trying to show he wasn’t completely lost. However, the look on the two girls’ faces made him feel more foolish.

Glaring at them, he said, “Tiffany was an ass too. I guess intelligence brings its own faults. Should I respond by saying, ‘You’re a poo-poo meanie doo-doo head’ now, huh?”

Both Kalifa and Tasha looked down at the ground, ashamed, and apologized as if chastised by a parent.

Cody shook his head. “Never mind any of that. Left eye, left arm, both legs. B.A. me up.”

“Is this choice based on your Christian American beliefs? Like, ‘If my left eye has sinned, better I remove it so my entire body isn’t cast into hell?’” Kalifa teased as she tapped away at the keys.

Cody cried out as he felt as if his eye were removed from his face, only to have it replaced just as quickly. Jerking his head out of the device—a sink-like contraption filled with the same foam as the pods—he glared at the two, who smiled innocently.

“Why didn’t you tell me it hurt or give me pain meds? Holy shit!”

Kalifa shrugged. “It takes five pounds of pressure to pluck out a human eye. I thought you Americans were all about macho, badass pride and tough-guy action stuff.”

Cody felt his eye and noticed it was bandaged and closed.

“I’d leave that be until the bandage dissolves naturally. It’ll take a week. I’ll neutralize the pain on the next one,” Kalifa added.

“You said pluck, as in remove… this isn’t my real eye now?”

“No… it’s a much cooler eye,” Tasha said, massaging his shoulders and speaking to him as if he were a child.

Kalifa added, “What’s next? Arms, legs, penis enlargement?”

Tasha smirked. “Guys always want that last one, huh?”

“They do,” Kalifa agreed, as if both were trying to pressure him into it.

“I don’t need… dirty things. Let’s get on with my legs. My knees especially. I want to be able to jump off a building and not break my legs,” he barked.

“Says the guy with three girls. No… dirty things,” Tasha imitated.

Cody blushed and jerked away. “They aren’t my girls.”

“Cody’s right. Only Tiffany is a girl. The others are wemon,” Kalifa added mockingly.

To change the subject, Cody asked, “You said Tiffany is an extreme case of photographic memory? Even to the point of PTSD? How extreme is her case?”

Kalifa glanced at Cody before shying away, focusing on the computer screen as if it demanded her attention. After a long pause, she said, “In her case… she remembers the womb.”

Cody froze for a long moment. “That has to… be bad.”