Echo 

Before

Katie hated hospitals, like most people, granted. When she was twelve she fainted at one visiting her grandfather. The combined smell of hand sanitizer, medication, and decaying bodies made her woozy. She crumpled onto the cold, speckled linoleum floor. Harsh lights from the ceiling blinked down on her.

It was months before she fainted again, at her thirteenth birthday party. The third time it happened, Mom took her to the doctor. That was where Katie’s relationship with hospitals really kicked off. The rest of middle school and most of high school was spent fighting! fighting! fighting! Just one more round, she’d lie to herself. That’s all you have to do and then you’re done.   

There was a moment when Katie thought she’d won. It was the beginning of senior year. She’d been clear for a year. Three hundred and seventy two days to be exact. She’d gotten into her dream school and her terrible, wasted teenage years were behind her.

But halfway through senior year, the scan came back, “worse than before.”

That was when Katie stopped fighting for herself. She was too exhausted. She begged Mom to tell her it was okay to let go. But Mom refused. She seemed to have strength for the whole family, Katie included. So Katie fought for Mom, Dad, and Eric instead. First she focused on getting through one day, but as she got sicker it turned into hours and by the end, minutes.

On the day of what should have been her high school graduation, they received “The Call.” Katie’s mom had sought out more experimental treatments in trial phases as a last resort. That’s how she’d found Dr. Becker. How Mom had gotten her on the list in the first place, Katie wasn’t sure, other than that Mom’s will was unbreakable.   

Katie spent the next three months preparing for the surgery and willing her body to run just a little bit longer.

After

And now, Katie was here, or was she? Her mind floated through streams of consciousness. She moved her pinky finger ever so slightly. Yes. She had survived. The surgery worked, despite a 25% success rate. She found that she didn’t particularly care for the result one way or the other.

She sighed in her mind. But who was she now? Part of Katie was gone, she was sure, to The Beyond, which of course humans didn’t understand, and tried to define as heaven and hell. How could they understand?

How high am I? Damn, this medication was strong.

Focus, a voice in her mind told her. Who are you now?

I’m Katie.

No, you’re not. The voice answered. The voice—she was right. Who are you?

She was a memory of Katie; an echo. She had a new identity, which was not wholly Katie, or the program that had spent months storing Katie’s memories, studying her personality, and learning her mannerisms. She was her own.

Echo.

She named herself, her own personal joke, at the remnant of the person she had been and of the new one she was going to be. So the procedure had worked and it hadn’t. She remembered who Katie was and yet she was not her, exactly. But the memories of Katie’s life and how she was expected to act had successfully transferred to this new body.

Through the lens of Katie’s memory, Echo remembered looking down at the girl. Gina had been in a coma after a car accident for over two years. Brain dead. Gina’s parents agreed to give their daughter’s body to someone who could use one. Still, Echo felt a slight tinge of guilt as she flexed the hand Gina had once owned.

“She’s waking up!” A voice cried. Mom. Katie’s mom.

A gentle hand brushed a strand of hair away from Echo’s face. “Katie-Bee, my sweet Katie-Bee, is that you?”

Echo blinked and looked up at the woman standing over her, whose face was red with emotion, mascara streaming down her cheeks. “Hi, Mom,” she said, “yes, it's me. Your Katie-Bee is here.”