The Body Electric - Special Edition Read Online Free PDF

my tiptoes, peering inside. My mother—younger than normal—dances around the kitchen, laughing, covered in flour. And Dad’s behind her, pulling out a huge bouquet of yellow roses for her. I can hear childlike laughter— my laughter, I realize, when I was a little kid—weaving in and out of the sounds of my parents’ chatter and over the whirr of the electric mixer, but my mother’s reverie isn’t focused on me as a little girl.
    It’s focused on Dad.
    If my mother looked through the window over the sink, she could see me as I am now—eighteen years old with dark brown hair hanging just past my chin, my gold-flecked brown eyes staring straight at her. But I don’t think Mom will do that. Her body is aware that this is a reverie and not real, but her subconscious is letting her relive the memory. I could probably stand nose-to-nose with her and she wouldn’t see me. Her brain wants to live in the reverie and will do anything to protect itself from leaving it.
    From becoming aware that this isn’t real.
    Looking at Mom and Dad now, I wish this was real. I would trade anything to be able to let my mother live this life.
    But it’s past. This is long ago, well before her disease ate her from the inside out. Before I grew up. Before Mom developed the technology that even makes reverie possible. Before Dad died, giving her the reason to invent the process of reveries so she could live with him in her mind.
    Mom’s memory falters. The house flickers.
    I duck under the window, just in case this was enough disturbance to push Mom out of the reverie. Crouching against the house, I cup my hands and blow air into them, thinking cinnamon .
    A warm, overwhelming scent of the spice wraps around me. I throw my hands up, envisioning the smell permeating every corner of Mom’s dream.
    “The cookies!” I hear Mom say, her voice a trill of laughter. She’s fully back in the reverie now, the flicker gone.
    But just in case, I do everything else I can think of to make Mom’s memory even more real. I hum the opening strands of Dad’s favorite song, “Moon River,” the song I heard at the start of the reverie. The sound continues long after I quit humming—Mom’s memory has picked it up, adding depth to her reverie. I add my memories of the old house to hers, and the kitchen grows in sharper details, like a blurry image coming into focus.
    I think everything’s going well. Maybe I can leave the reverie, let Mom’s mind fill in everything else.
    But then I hear her voice. It is so strained that I stand up and lean closer, despite the already-weakened state of the reverie.
    “Philip,” Mom says, her voice heavy with unshed tears. “Philip, I don’t think this is real. I wish it was… but I’m in a reverie, aren’t I? You’re not real. You’re just a memory.”
    I act on instinct as I swing my arm, and the wall separating me from the kitchen and my mother disappears. The laws of physics do not apply in reverie. My mother starts to turn, but I lunge forward and grab the sides of her head, keeping her facing Dad.
    I can feel, deep within me, power. Control. I can control my mother’s reverie, like a puppet master pulling strings. I concentrate with all my strength on the idea of this memory.
    But then I hear my mother whimper, and I know that now she’s remembering the pain of her disease, and all around me the kitchen flickers, and even the memory of my father flickers.
    No . I reach deep within me, to a core of power I didn’t know was there, and tap into every happy thought and memory I have of my parents like this and I imagine them all pouring out of me, engulfing my mother.
    warmth love heart-full joy love chaos kissing the taste of his lips the feel of his body love the child the soft sleeping noises tiny fingers tiny toes clear brown eyes open wide love love love
    I rip my hands away. My mother’s reverie body sags and relaxes. I reached inside her and pulled out the deepest memories in her body, the