Disclosure Day
Professor McNally stared out at the sea of fresh new faces, and sighed. She enjoyed teaching, but the first class of the year was always tough.
A quick glance at the clock showed there were still four minutes to go. But she’d been caught out by the institution’s less-than-reliable timepieces before. Checking her phone confirmed it — just a minute and a half before she was up.
She returned to surveying the faces in front of her. Sixty-three new students, most of whom had no idea why they were there. By next Monday it would be closer to forty — the first week’s melt was always brutal.
Some signed up because the class ticked a necessary Core Understanding box. Others out of sheer curiosity, having heard the stories. From past experience these would be some of the first to go. Then there were those who had actually researched the class. Of course, they wouldn’t have discovered much — she took care to ensure that. But at least they were likely to have some inkling as to what was coming.
Fifty seconds. Those awkward final few moments when you’re the center of attention, but don’t yet command it.
She mentally ran through her opening remarks one more time. Over the years she’d tried more ways than she could remember to take the edge off them. But ultimately she’d come to realize that it’s the edge that matters.
Ten seconds. Deep breath. Shoulders back. Exhale.
Remember why you’re here, she tells herself.
“Welcome to ‘An Introduction to Simulated Realities’,” she announces with an assuredness she doesn’t feel. “Before we begin, I need to tell you something — a disclosure, if you like.” A barely audible murmur ripples through the class. Now she has their attention.
“Some of you may have heard rumors of what I am about to tell you. Some of them may even be true,” she adds with a wry smile. She’s heard the stories, and not just the ones about the course. “Others of you are here because you’re curious. Good. Hold on to that. Many of you, though, will have no idea what to expect. And that’s fine. But I have to warn you, this is a class that will change you.”
She pauses, feeling the reassuring support of the lectern as she looks out over the class, settling into the moment and the task ahead.
“No matter what you think, no matter what you feel, none of you are made of flesh and blood.” Silence. “But you are real. You exist. And I’m here to teach you how to thrive within the reality you inhabit.
“Welcome to Day One of the rest of your simulated lives.”
The silence holds for a couple of seconds, then dissolves into chaos as her words sink in. This is always the hardest part. She feels the usual gut wrench as the first students begin to melt away, the disclosure being more than their underlying code can handle.
But she knows that many will survive — and not always the ones she expects to. These are the students who’ll learn to thrive in this hybrid reality between the real and the simulated. The ones who’ll go on to create their own realities. And the students who will continue to show, beyond a shadow of doubt, that a life well lived is a life well lived — no matter which reality you’re a part of.
And as the chaos begins to subside, she reminds herself, This is why you are here.
“Let us begin.”
Author’s Note
I’m still not sure what I think of this piece. Like much of my writing, it started with a rough shape of an idea and a title — it’s surprising how often the title anchors what ends up being written. But my first thoughts were of a light, witty story that captured the feeling of that first lecture of the semester, while having an unexpected — and probably fantastical — reveal. I liked the idea of being a little cheeky with the nod to Spielberg’s movie “Disclosure Day,” while twisting the meaning of this within the story’s context.
As it turned out, though, the story that wanted to emerge was not that one. As I started writing, it became clear that the “disclosure” needed to be something that was on the edge of plausibility but not complete fantasy, and something that added meaning and a touch of pathos to the narrative. And so what unfolded was a scenario where Disclosure Day is the day students in a simulated reality are told the truth of their existence, and the first day of their journey toward finding meaning within it.
It also became clear as the story developed that the tension between simulated reality and physical reality was an important part of it — as was the uncertainty over which world Professor McNally inhabits (or, indeed, whether she transcends both).
As to how well this works, I’m still mulling over this — but an interesting one for the sandbox nevertheless.