Anatomy 101
Paul de Denus
In class, the boy listens as the instructor talks about the largest organ of the human body: the skin. The boy is fascinated with this outer layer, with its texture and how it encases the entirety of the body. He is intrigued by its suppleness, the way the skin creases and stretches, its susceptibility to heat and cold. The instructor touches on the skin’s durability and toughness. He then shows how easily it can be cut and lacerated, how it can be sometimes damaged beyond repair. The boy is disappointed when the instructor moves on to the other complicated systems of the human body, the nerves, the flow of blood, the interactions of various tissues. The instructor instructs without emotion. It is easy for him to overlook what is tantalizing to the boy: on a raised table in front of them lies the eviscerated body of a human being.
The student who sits in front of the boy is older. His head moves in a repetitive pattern – left, right, up and down, the occasional bounce. The boy understands the student likes music, goes by the tag JAM120 – something. The boy believes JAM120 is listening to music, stealthily streaming it through his computer. He wonders if JAM120 has the same interests as he; after all, they are taking the same anatomy class. Or perhaps he is just interested in the ear and how sound travels and resonates within the complicated system.
The boy thinks about the dead. It consumes his thoughts night and day. He wants to dig up a human body, one for himself. The functions of the human body intrigue him. He wishes to understand all the systems, feel the human heart as it beats, sense the textures of the skin, softly press into the sponginess of the eyeball. He is aware a cold, dead body will not have any of these functions, at least not right away. Achieving them will be an enjoyable part of his challenge. He is reading the book Frankenstein. It is a monster story about reanimation. He is intrigued by the process the good doctor employs, the taking of bodies, the compilation of parts and how they attach, how they integrate with other systems. He has feasted on the old Hollywood movies, all of them, the ones that relate to this same theme. Dismemberment. Reattachment. Reanimation. Are these not the interests a boy has? The characters in the books and movies were deemed defective, unable to deduce right or wrong. The monster in Frankenstein was defective but not evil. It was made that way. The boy considers if this applies to him. He wonders if he is defective.
The boy has a place to experiment, a long-forgotten cemetery in a wooded area near where he lives. A house once stood there. It was the caretaker’s residence. All that is left is the foundation, mostly buried in debris and undergrowth. Beneath the foundation is a basement. The boy has cleaned, scavenged, and organized. It will do. He has salvaged a table that was left behind. He has centered it in the open space. He has made a clean surface for tools and surgical equipment. A broken refrigerator sits in a corner. It’s an easy fix; he will need the refrigeration. He will use his own lighting and electricity. He needs to be careful. It is a crime to tamper with the dead.
The boy’s father is a software engineer. “Information is necessary,” his father tells his son. “Analyze all of it, good and bad.” He pauses. “Remember, Aaron, this information has consequences. One must be careful.” The father worries about his son. He sees the boy’s growing interest in the dead. He worries about where this may lead, and if it has created a problem. In the beginning, his father gave his son simple things to construct and deconstruct. Toys and puzzles, then later, computers and machines. It had all been child’s play for him. It was not enough; the boy had wanted more.
The instructor of the Anatomy class is not stupid. He carefully watches and listens. The instructors are taught to be mindful of their students, of their interests and their development. The class is a teaching moment of complicated instruction on the origins of humans, a history lesson on evolution and why certain species disappeared.
The boy caresses his left wrist. The skin is a smooth metal. There is no tingling sensation, no nerve-ending connections, no warmth. “AARON? the instructor says. “Are you listening?”
The boy looks straight ahead, eyes bright as headlights, focused on the screen.
“Yes, instructor,” he replies.
“Good,” MARK924 says. “Are we ready to learn?”
AARON831 nods. Inside his chest, lights blink, almost in a beat, in the exact spot his heart should be.
The Molotov Cocktail 