I recently read this short story by Colin McQueen, which I truly loved. It is about first meeting between two loners–intriguing and full of promise. It leaves me wondering if good stories really need a drama? Good, relatable dialogues can create a great story.
Tag: Story
The Glitch: Part 5 of 5
Author’s note: This is the fifth and last installment of a new Science-fiction short story.
You can read the earlier parts here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4.
Athr
I rush downstairs on the pretext of setting up dinner. I can’t let Mercy see the fingers I had crossed when I answered her. The movie from earlier and a lot of other books implied you must cross your fingers when you lie; then it won’t be too bad.
And I had lied because I really was…’anxious’—Mercy’s heartbeat was dangerously high. I couldn’t risk telling the truth. One of the movies I had downloaded for data on human behaviour showed people dying out of shock. Her expressions were close to that. Of course, I lied without her consent, which is a breach of International Robotics Laws…
But I was…’worried’…about losing her.
I…’care’…for her.
I…’like’…her company. She is smart and witty, and when she smiles, her eyes ‘light up’ like a ‘fairy-light’ when you switch it on. When she is angry, they look like wires sparking.
I…’wish’…I had such expressive eyes.
I could, then, show her how my transmitters go haywire when I am close to her; how my fuse nearly went off when I saw Steve’s Facetime profile and saw their picture kissing under the stars. It was a perfect moment except for one flaw—Steve. Just the thought of him there with his smug smile as he kissed Mercy makes me want to rip his wiring out…or whatever human do to each other when they are…really ‘jealous’…
Of course, I cannot harm a human being. I have no right to shake him off Mercy as well, but I couldn’t stop myself when I saw him earlier. I didn’t really lie to him. Just withheld crucial information and did not correct him while he was making incorrect assumptions about us—’lie through omission’.
Still I…’wish’…I didn’t have to lie to Mercy about him as well, but she just showed she can’t handle the truth that I have all these emotions when I am not supposed to have any. If anyone found out, they will decommission me. I will probably be pulled apart into pieces and put in a robot museum to warn the world about ‘dangerous machines’! I’ll lose her then.
What’s the point of all this anyway? She plans to show me off at the Annual Robotics Meet and sell me so they can make more ATHRs like me. Will she just sell my design, or will she send me away to the factory too to act as a working prototype?
Will she be okay to send me away?
Even if she keeps me, there will be too many likenesses of me around. Will she still…’like’ me?
I know she ‘likes’ me now. I compared her expressions when my face was complete with that of the female from the movie when she saw the male protogonist for the first time…she was in ‘awe’. And she had brought me home rather than leaving me in office with her male coworker as she had planned earlier.
And she…’cares’. Hadn’t she told her creator over the phone call that her coworker was prickly and wouldn’t care for me?
And when I entered her kitchen, she had looked at me with ‘concern’. When I had let the flame become too high in the grill the first time and my hand caught fire, she rushed to me, extinguished the fire and asked me if I was hurt…like I was a human. When she had held my hand to check me and my neuro sensors had…well, they were…’all over the place’. And when I told her I was alright, she had hugged me like I was precious to her, not just as an expensive machine or a life’s work but as something more…
Someone more…
I…hope…I can stay with her forever.
I would use that time to show her how a kiss under the stars should really feel like…
Mercy
I feel calmer now as I sit for dinner.
Athr’s face looks relaxed, but I feel a sense of loss. The animated face looked so much better on him than the neutral one he has on now. It made him look like a real feeling man who cares for me.
Weird, because his face should not have looked tensed in the first place. He has all the required ‘muscles’, but he is not programmed to show emotions. Perhaps, earlier he was just copying what he saw in a movie.
Or is he lying now?
Was he lying when he said he didn’t know any emotions due to lack of requisite software? He is target-oriented and if his target needs him to lie a little without it being unethical or unlawful, he can lie. If he is lying, is he really feeling worried for me? He can sympathise with his target, so he can understand emotions. Is it possible that he can experience them too? Was there a glitch in the algorithm?
Do I want him to feel worried for me, knowing I will never be able to sell his design then? Will it be too terrible if I keep him to myself and not sell him?
Can I be a little selfish just this once? People do that all the time.
I have spent all my life trying to justify the amount of money and effort spent in building a genetically engineered genius like me. Time and again I have proved myself as an asset to the society. Is it wrong to save something… someone for myself? Someone who cares for me; who will gladly hug me if I ever need one?
I know it is just my childhood conditioning by my creators that is making me think these thoughts. They had mentioned it in my file hidden in their office desk when I was five and able to comprehend complex data; the burden they had placed on my tiny shoulders when I should have been out playing with other kids my age–they had conditioned me to be selfless, to not ask anything for myself except basic necessity, and to give and keep giving until I have nothing left.
I had spent all the coming years reminding myself that I would not succumb to them; that I would take decisions based on my own rationale; that I would keep myself a living, feeling person, and not a thing they had created and moulded.
With all his hidden emotions, Athr is so much like me—born against nature and raised to serve others without exception; to never stop working and never expect anything in return. I have created my replica and feel the pull towards him like a moth to flame. Is it too bad if I do?
I created him to serve others but if he feels emotions, I cannot sell him. I will never sell him—I am not like my creators; I will never force a person with feelings to do anything he or she doesn’t like. And I have a feeling, he doesn’t want to be sold.
I look at him and find his eyes studying me—they have dropped that neutral mask, and there are intensity and adoration in them that makes me feel weak in the knees. I never felt like that with Steve.
If only he had a glitch so I could keep him around longer.
But he already has a glitch…
“Athr, we will not be able to showcase you in the next Robotic Meet. You have this glitch, you know…your feelings…Please don’t deny the truth. I am not decommissioning you or reporting the glitch. But I need to you to understand that your design is not sellable unless it is rectified. Do you want me to try remove emotions from your system?”
I see his eyebrows crunch in confusion like a human and then, as he looks at my eyes, I see realisation dawn in his eyes. He looks ashamed, “No, thanks. I would like to keep them, unless you want me to change.”
He looks at me with eyes filled with anticipation and hope, like his life depends on what I think, and in a twisted way, it does. Admitting is difficult for me and a blush creeps up on my face, “I like you the way you are. “But I will continue the research so we can create ATHR 2 that does not feel emotions. Otherwise, I can’t sell the design and all the work from past years will go waste. I can also not allow you out of my home or lab alone until we are sure you can handle the world.” I rush the words out, hoping he doesn’t feel like I am trapping him like my creators did with me.
“It might feel a bit suffocating to be continuously under surveillance, but as soon as I am sure you are ready, I will allow you to leave.” Meanwhile, we can find work for you inside the lab. Would you like to work with me on my research? Or I can arrange one of the others…may be Betty, to take you in—she seems rather stricken by you.” The last words seem to lodge around my throat. But I want him to know I am not his only option. I give a tentative smile, checking if he will show an emotional reaction.
He gives me a resplendent smile, “I would ‘love’ to work with you.” His eyes twinkling like stars remind me of that unremarkable last kiss with Steve, and I wonder if it would have been different with Athr.
What it would be like to kiss him under the stars?
END
Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash
The Glitch: Part 4 of 5
Author’s note: This is the fourth installment of a new Science-fiction short story. You can read the first three parts here: Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3.
Athr
Mercy clearly needs that neck massage. I could see the approval in her eyes, but she shut the thought down quickly. She closed her eyes. She did that the last time I cooked cupcakes, and she had to decline a second helping because it was late in the night and sugar would make her restless; and also, when I offered to do research work for her and she did not want to get dependent on me when she was planning to sell me off in a few months.
So, she closes her eyes to resist ‘temptation’…while she is considering if it is…’wise’. But what is unwise in a massage? Massage is an ancient technique for human wellbeing. I have researched it specially because of her desk job and back issues. And now she is pushing back. I will just go to her room and do it anyway. She needs it.
“Mercy, I am coming in to give you the neck massage.”
“I said I don’t want it, Athr. Please leave me alone.”
I push the door open anyway. Mercy’s face looks all wrong.
And what is this emotion I read on her face? Why is it making me…’concerned’? Is that the correct word for what I am experiencing right now?
“Mercy, can you help me read your emotion? I am unable to comprehend it.”
“It is called ‘resignation’. It is when you realise that you must to do something against your will.”
“You don’t need to do anything against your will. I am here to help you ensure that.”
“Sure.” She is quite now and it is an unnatural kind of quiet, like she wants to say something but still doesn’t want to. I sit next to her and massage her neck and back, but I am still ‘concerned’. She is not all right.
Is she feeling bad about Steve leaving? But she said she was ‘glad to be rid of him’. She doesn’t look glad though. She looks…all wrong.
Mercy
I never had a shoulder to cry on before. With no parents and no friends because of my ‘genetically engineered genius’ status, I had no one to throw a tantrum at or curl up with or even just hug. People responsible for my existence treated me as a product. Classmates called me ‘unnatural’ or a “freak”.
I was a loner before Steve decided to ‘give me a chance’, and even he wasn’t an emotional person. He never gave me random hugs just to make me feel better, no matter how much I may crave them. Now, with him gone, there was no hope for the future as well.
But Athr is sitting next to me, being nice and giving me a neck massage. His palms are warm like a human, and in this moment, I can almost forget that he is not. I wish I could curl into him and cry. It is a bad idea though. I can’t get attached to him. He is a product and due to be sold soon if we are lucky. He is only here to add to his experience and data-based learning. I cannot keep him to myself forever as a ‘boyfriend’.
The thought makes me feel even lonelier. The only man who understands and wants me is a robot and not mine to keep. Well, technically he is mine—I built him in my lab and financed him with my own money. But all the childhood conditioning to do the best for the society is screaming at me to tone my feelings down.
I built Athr so that world would have synthetic genius in their hands—a sure-shot to get stuff done without playing with human genes to make perfect genius babies; so, they wouldn’t try to create more like me. I saw their files when I was five and capable to reading complex data—about me and hundreds of others who had been ‘deleted’ because they weren’t perfect—mutated limbs, multiple heads, underdeveloped brain…
They had called them products of unsuccessful experiments; a stepping stone in the society’s search for perfection.
Athr was an attempt to stop those monsters. He is too important an invention to keep to myself; he belongs to all humanity. His design could create endless number of genius and world could use them with simple voice controls. He can end the need for running trial and error on human babies, raising them in labs like rats, conditioning them to do their owner’s bidding.
Athr cannot stay with me in my little emotional bubble. My breath hitches, and I realise I am close to a meltdown.
“Are you okay? Your heartbeat sounds weird and you blood pressure has spiked too. Should I call a doctor?” Athr looks concerned. I didn’t program him to show emotions. Did he pick it up from the movie he downloaded yesterday?
“Stop monitoring my vitals,” I snap at him. The thought that he can know me so closely and without my knowledge puts me on the edge. I know his intentions are good and he is trying to care for me, and that is what hurts the most. He is neither a human, nor mine to keep. Suddenly a thought struck me, “Who approved you to check my vitals?”
“My apologies. I was feeling ‘worried’. I think that is what humans call this emotion.”
“Worried? Feeling?” I feel my heart rate spike. “Athr, you can’t say things like that. People would think you are ‘feeling’ emotions.”
“Oh, is that a bad thing?”
“For a machine, yes. The International Robotics Law Enforcement Society has set clear laws: machines are not allowed to feel emotions. If you even allude to feeling emotions, they will demand decommissioning you.”
“So, am I supposed to lie?”
“Lie? What about? You don’t feel emotions. You don’t have the requisite software—” My voice is getting louder by every word, and my heart is close to bursting.
“Alright! Alright! If you say so. No need to get…hyper. Your heartbeat is already rocketing sky-high.”
His near-human speech is making me even more nervous. Is he picking of those words from the internet? I am shouting at the top of my voice now. “I told you to stop monitoring my vitals!”
“I am not,” Athr is composed. “Your heart is beating so loudly, I am sure everyone in the neighbourhood can hear it. Please calm down. I’m getting anxious about you.”
“Anxious? Who is teaching you those words?”
“Stop hyperventilating. I just saw it in a movie where an old female character was behaving just like you. She died right after that. I am just imitating the male protagonist in his reactions. I am supposed to sound human, right?”
“Are you sure you are not really feeling anxious or even little worried?”
“Absolutely. I don’t know what being anxious or worried means. As you just pointed out, I don’t have the requisite software. Now, if you’ll allow me, I will go and set up dinner. Just wash up and come downstairs in five minutes.”
To be continued
You can read part 5 here.
Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash
The Glitch: Part 3 of 5
Author’s note: This is the third installment of a new Science-fiction short story. You can read the first two parts here: Part 1 and Part 2.
Mercy
“Steve came to the office today, Athr. He had a few interesting things to say about my new boyfriend. Do you know who he is? “
Athr was quite for half a second, processing my question, “I think that would be me. He came around this morning when you left for office. I recognised him from his Facetime database. He asked me why I was in your house in shorts. I told him I moved in a couple of weeks back.”
“That’s all?”
“He asked me if I was your boyfriend. And I said yes.”
“But why would you do that?”
“Well, I am modelled as a man, and you said we were friends.”
“Ah!” Understanding his confusion, I decide not to push the matter.
Athr realises my hesitation though. “Is anything wrong with what I said?”
“Well, sort of. You see, a boyfriend is a different kind of friend. It is a lot more complicated. Steve, for example, was my boyfriend.”
“Was?” He is spot on as he picks up my meaning, making me feel proud that he would make a wonderful companion and, at the same time, ashamed to talk about my love-life. I never talk about emotional stuff.
I am not emotional. Period.
“We broke up today because he thought I had gone around his back with another man.”
He looks confused, “Gone around his back?”
“It’s a phrase—”
I see the meaning dawn on his face. it is amazing how he is able to articulate all the emotions correctly. So human. “Ah! It means he thinks you lied to him and got a new boyfriend, right?”
Of course, he can access phrases from internet and interpret them in the context of the situation, making me blush at his lack of tact, “Yes.”
“Oh! My apologies. I will call Steve and explain. He must be feeling ‘distressed’?”
Was Steve distressed? “Not really, he behaved more like he had been ‘insulted’?”
“But I just checked some literary references and the proper emotion for this situation should be ‘distress’?”
“Those literary references must be meant for people in love.”
“Steve doesn’t love you?”
There it is—the question I have been dreading. Nobody has ever loved me. Being genetically engineered and born and raised in a lab by scientists, I did not have biological parents. My genes were a mix of several individuals, making me nobody’s responsibility. I never felt love or expected it. I just expected acceptance.
I go for the truth. It is easier, “I…am not sure. I am just glad to be rid of him. He wasn’t an ideal boyfriend.”
“So, you are not feeling ‘distressed’ about this situation?”
“No.”
“Do you need an ideal boyfriend? I can become one if you wish.”
My heart thuds at his offer. Of course, he can be the ideal boyfriend, even husband, if his target wishes so, “Thanks for the offer, but it doesn’t work that way. Becoming a boyfriend is an act out of desire and not duty.”
“Desire?”
“It is a human emotion of strongly wanting to be around someone all the time, among other things…”
“I want to be around you all the time.”
“It is still different.”
All of a sudden, exhaustion washes over me. How can I explain a relationship to a robot while I don’t understand it myself? I’ve never had a steady relationship before Steve and, even with him, I was never happy. He was just someone who I tolerated because no one else took a chance with me. And now that I have ended the relationship, I feel emptiness settle in my bones. Right now, all I want to do is to lie down in my bed and mope.
“Look, I had an exhausting day. I don’t have the energy to explain complex emotions. You can look for them online if you are curious.”
“Thanks. Will do. Do you want me to massage your neck? I saw it online today. It will help you relax.”
On any other day, I would have grabbed the opportunity with both hands, but Steve’s words make me hesitant. He assumed Athr was my boyfriend just because he was here in shorts. If someone sees him giving me a neck massage…
Not that any one was here to see, nor that I cared about what anyone else felt. But Athr is good looking and capable of all things boyfriends do, except for emotions, so it felt wrong to let him get too close.
“No, but thanks for the offer anyway,” I drag my feet up the stairs to my bedroom, while Athr’s eyes…cameras…burn a hole in my back. The discussion on consent will have to wait until I am myself.
To be continued
You can read part 4 here.
Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash
The Glitch: Part 2 of 5
Author’s note: This is the second installment of a new Science-fiction short story. You find the first part here.
Mercy
Beccy continues with enthusiasm, not getting the hint that I am not in the mood for the discussion, “Do you think Athr can be your boyfriend now? He is meant to be target-oriented, and you’ll need a boyfriend now that you have lost one.”
“He can’t.” I can’t believe that I am explaining all this to a robotics engineer, “Athr does not have feelings. While he can understand his targets and sort-of sympathise with them, he can’t really feel any emotions.”
“Well, that’s a shame! He looks amazing. I would have been thrilled to even imagine the possibility.”
“Really? Do you want a boyfriend who can tear your friends apart if he gets jealous? There is a reason why we draw a line when it comes to emotions in robots.”
“Yeah! But I still think it would be amazing!” I try not to roll my eyes at that. Everyone is allowed to have an opinion; however foolish it may be.
*****
ATHR 1 is the first successful version of Autonomous Target-anchor Humanoid Robot whom I have recently finished building. Honestly, I should use the pronoun “it” since he is non-living, but he looks and feels so much like a real person, using “it” for him feels like I am insulting him. On the surface, he is every girl’s dream man—handsome, helpful, efficient and understanding with a perfectly human body.
His actions are autonomous, which means he does not have an embedded work program, and he is anchored to his target customers. He learns from them and works as per their needs. It means that once manufactured commercially, each ATHR will be a different “person” with different work and personal experiences.
The only embedded program that their autonomy or owner’s directives cannot override is about human and animal rights, international and local laws, and work ethics. They cannot do anything unlawful or unethical and cannot cause harm to another human being or animal. So, they cannot work as a butcher or pull a trigger even when working in the police force, because it has the potential to hurt a human or animal. Everything else, they can do.
Ah! Well, they are also not allowed to feel emotions. International Robotics Law Enforcement Society has set clear laws: machines are not allowed to feel emotions, and they must take consent of their owner before acting. The consent can be a clear instruction or a nod of head, but it has to be clear and deliberate.
The only lab to ignore the directive was broken to bits by its own robot in a fit of rage. It took seventeen days of military action to decimate it and stop it from burning the whole city down. Ever since then, the rule is followed by all the labs around the world.
And that is why I have to talk to Athr about taking consent of the target before acting. Now that he is not connected to lab cables, talking is the most straight-forward way to program him. If he doesn’t agree, he will need to be decommissioned, which I can’t even imagine. I have put years of work into him. While he is not the costliest product I have created, he is a cherished personal project and the most ambitious one.
Once I have fixed all the kinks, I am showcasing him in the next Annual Robotics Meet in Sydney. If we can get an investor interested, we can rake in millions by selling the design and the first prototype. The investor will be able to create many more ATHRs like him who can be used in end number of fields, whether it is running a space station or cleaning a home. I am particularly interested in medicine—a doctor who can assimilate knowledge of all the medical fields and doesn’t need to sleep is a rare treasure for any city.
*****
I had brought ATHR 1 home to help him learn how to behave around people through observation and acquire new skills. Also, I want to observe how he adjusts to my needs and gets programmed on household work. The fact that he is easy on the eye doesn’t hurt as well.
But being hyper-sensitive to his environment and autonomous in decision-making means that he has been taking decisions that favour me without seeking my consent—throwing out cow’s milk and pretending to be my boyfriend are just the tip of the treacherous iceberg. I need to speak to him about the importance of consent. So,there we go.
“Steve came to the office today, Athr. He had a few interesting things to say about my new boyfriend. Do you know who he is? “
To be continued
You find the third part here.
Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash
The Glitch: Part 1 of 5
Author’s note: This is the first installment of a new Science-fiction short story.
Mercy
It is one thing for Athr to throw out real milk and replace it with vegan soya milk because ‘it is better for my health’, but to pretend being my new boyfriend in front of Steve, my actual boyfriend, just because Athr considers him a douchebag…
Well, that’s taking things too far!
Not that I am not thankful for the help—Steve is a total douchebag. In the past five months of our relationship, the only thing that kept me around him is his absolute belief that I am too nice to hurt him. Since I am that nice, I have stayed around him and went along with his stupidity.
But now that he is already hurt by Athr and shouting at me in my office for all of my coworkers to hear, I have no more desire nor reason to stick around him. I’ll deal with Athr once I’m home.
“I’m sorry, but we are over!”
“What? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” He is bowled over with my lack of usual pleading.
“Yes.”
“You will not even try to defend yourself and tell me there is a misunderstanding? That the guy at your home is a long-lost cousin’s hologram or something?”
“Well, you saw him at my home—alone and in shorts—so you know he is living there. And since you shook his hands, you know he is not a hologram. What is there to defend? He moved in a couple of weeks ago and now he is the soul of my home. I can’t live without him. Sorry!”
Some of my coworkers are snickering. They know exactly who Athr is and why he is at my home, but, thankfully, none of them feels inclined to clarify. They all have my lifelong gratitude.
“So, you are accepting that you went behind my back with another man.”
“Well, let’s just say that I found someone more responsible, caring and mature, who respects me and listens to me, and who would never shout at me—”
“So, you don’t want me back?”
“No,” I’m absolutely sure about that much.
“And you won’t even apologise for hurting me?”
“Only once you apologise for shouting at me,” I reply in voice as cool as I can make it, even though anger is moving inside me in waves.
“In your dreams!”
“Same here.”
Steve stomps to the door, and when I am about to sigh in relief, he turns back and starts again, “I never thought you would do that to me, you know. I always believed the best in you. That is why I had put up with all your nerdiness for the past five months. I had so many women to pick from, but I chose you—a plain Jane—believing you’ll be faithful. I guess I was wrong.”
Ah! The old plain Jane barb—I should have known! Since I’m a genetically engineered genius on a fast-track educational program and with no time for make-up or dress-up, I have been called that name all my life. It doesn’t even hurt so much anymore.
So, I reply as neutrally as I can while my nerves are on fire, “I guess, you were wrong!”
“Well, don’t come back to me crying when he breaks your heart for being good for nothing!”
The jackass! “I won’t.”
He sweeps out of the door in a graceful motion, and I am left behind to deal with my coworkers. Technically, they are my employees, but they are all robotics engineers like me—hence, I treat them as my equals. I just own the lab we all work in.
I started the lab when I was fourteen—fresh out of Master’s in Robotics Engineering—and hired the first few of them. Since then, we have worked out a system where they get a steady salary as well as a decent share in the profits of their inventions. It motivates them to invent without the pressure of paying bills, making our robotics lab one of the most successful around the world with eighteen major patents within ten years of its inception.
Being the sort-of boss here, the aftermath of the public face-off has my face burning. Thankfully, it is Beccy, one of the nicer girls, who skips to me, “He is such a prick! Good that you pit Athr against him. He managed to fool him perfectly!”
I can’t tell her that Athr orchestrated all of this on his own volition. It would be disastrous! So, I just play along hoping for the discussion to end, “Thanks!”
Beccy continues with enthusiasm, not getting the hint, “Do you think Athr can be your boyfriend now? He is meant to be target-oriented, and you’ll need a boyfriend now that you have lost one.”
To be continued
Read part 2 here
Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash
Vulnerable
The vulnerability is eating at me.
I had spent years building this tree trunk around myself, until what was supposed to clothe me became a fortress. The trunk was thick and unbending. I was safe from prying eyes.
It was lonely but it seemed worthwhile.
I was free to wield my magic however I wanted. No one could criticise me. No one remembered it was me. I was safe. Comfortable.
The world outside went on without me until they had all but forgotten me. I would make Spring, I would call on Summer and Autumn, I would call on new leaves once Winter was over. Over and over and over…
There was nothing to look forward to.
When the storm this morning broke my tree, suddenly, the entire forest was looking at me with curiosity, wondering what to make of me–trees, birds, squirrels and predators alike.
Once again, I was bare…open to everyone’s scrutiny–raw and vulnerable.
I was finally free.
This is a photo-prompt story. Thank you Mohammad Gh for the amazing picture (available on Unsplash.com).
In the Moment
I’m still groggy from sleep. If it’s a complimentary drink from the hotel, what is it doing in my bed? With a flower and without a tray? Right next to my phone?
Is it room service? But how come they didn’t knock at the door? And why didn’t I hear the door open?
No, it can’t be room service…
From my vantage point on the bed, I can’t see the rest of the suite. But I can hear someone’s rummaging through the drawers next door. Should I scream? What if they are carrying weapons…
I look around for my purse. I always kept a pepper spray when I went out. But the purse I see is not mine. Whose purse is this and what do they want anyway. It’s not like I’m carrying a lot of cash. Or am I?
What did I carry here?
Where is ‘here’ anyway? What am I doing in a hotel room?
Shuffling of feet has me tensed all over. I want to slink back inside my fluffy blanket, but my hands feel like they are made of lead. And they have wrinkles…
When did I get wrinkles?
A familiar wrinkled face slides into the room with a smile that takes my breath away. Yet again. The cobwebs in my mind clear.
“Happy 50th Anniversary, Honey!”
Author’s note: This is a photo-prompt story. Thank you Susan Wilkinson for the inspiring photograph (available on Unsplash).
Seen: Part 2 of 2
This is the second instalment of my new short story.
I am rather late due to road construction on the way. I called my date to inform him, but he never picked up. So, I left him a message, but he is yet to return the call. Is he stuck in the same traffic problem?
I slip out of the taxi and walk inside the restaurant. My date is my sister’s colleague and, according to her, just my type. I’m already scared because my type has been going wrong all these years.
I open the restaurant door and notice the rectangular frame behind the receptionist. Before I can avert my eyes to avoid what is surely a mirror, I see a black shirt and maroon tie, his face lonely and lost, like he has been waiting for quite some time. My heart squeezes and I wonder if the woman has stood him up. What woman would do that to someone as sweet as him? Even though I am relieved he isn’t being cozy with anyone, I want to smack the woman for hurting him.
Sigh! I don’t need that on my date.
I walk up to the receptionist, avoiding peeking at him and concentrating hard on the back of the receptionist’s desktop, and enquire for my date. He hasn’t arrived, nor left a message. Has he stood me up too?
Undecided, I ask for my table. The receptionist opens a door in the wall behind her and gestures at the table reserved for me.
But my eyes travel to a different table. Apparently, the “mirror” behind the reception is a see-through glass. I sit down at my assigned seat facing ‘him’. My eyes keep drifting at him.
It has been fifteen minutes since I came here. He is looking down at his wristwatch, getting impatient.
Another ten minutes pass by. He is calling someone on the phone but isn’t getting any response.
When will we ever really meet?
I realise I am focusing more on his date not showing up than mine. I twirl the spoon in my hand for something to do, assuming I will see him in the surface but all I see is my own face reflecting back!
Is it because he is right here? Or has fate decided to stop intervening? Is it the last time I see him? I wait as I chew on my thoughts.
Another ten minutes…
Time is running out. I watch him rise out of his seat, having decided to give up. I hate the defeated look on his face. I twirl the spoon in my hand to avoid looking at him. It reflects me back.
Will I ever see him again? Am I okay not seeing him ever again, considering, until lately, I always thought of him as a pest? The thought churns my stomach.
He straightens his shoulders and raises his head. Our eyes meet. I can’t help asking, “Hi, were you waiting for someone?”
I just added insult to his injury. Who wants to talk about something like this. So, this is the moment when he should huff out of the room. But he nods solemnly, “Seems like something important came up so she couldn’t make it.”
I like it that he is not acting mad or trying to put her down. Always the gentleman.
He doesn’t need this. Doesn’t deserve this.
My mouth opens without my meaning to speak, “Will you have dinner with me instead?” My voice comes out all wrong, and I realise how forward I’m being through this proposition. What would he think of me?
His eyes are wide with surprise and confusion. I clear my throat and try to look casual, “I know it’s a lot to ask. But my date is late enough to assume he stood me up and I don’t want to eat alone.”
He raises an eyebrow, second guessing if I am crazy and, if not, why I want to invite a complete stranger to dinner. The silence lasts a few seconds while he considers the offer—long enough to give me a flash back of all the years I have waited for him. My heart is running a mile a minute. For the first time in my life, I have taken the lead. If he declines, I will never be able to live it down. Should I retract the offer? Say I was just kidding?
Looking at my hands, I wrestle internally with all the excuses I can come up with to leave the place. But before I can bolt out of the door, he simply shrugs his shoulders with a smile and sits down in front of me, “Well, if you are sure! I need to eat something too, I guess. By the way, I’m—”
And so it begins.
END
Seen: Part 1 of 2
This is the first instalment of my new short story.
As I apply make-up for my date in front of my mirror, I shrink when I see ‘him’. He is fixing his tie—maroon—on a black shirt. My heart sinks at what it could mean. Did a woman give him this tie? Is he trying to impress someone?
I don’t want to distrust him by questioning something as simple as his dressing style. It could just be a formal occasion at home; perhaps, a cousin’s engagement or marriage. Is he the best man? Will he flirt with the bride’s maid?
Well, it could be just a business meeting, but it is weekend and he is whistling.
The thought of him with another woman pinches my heart. I thought I had learnt to live my life knowing he would continue to live his life without me. Lately, we had been getting along well—me avoiding looking at him like a star-struck teenager and him staring at…
…nothing…
…since, he can’t see me on this side of the mirror.
I first saw him on my seventeenth birthday, when I wished on the birthday candles to see my true love—I know! Miserable! But I had just caught my boyfriend cheating on me and it seemed an appropriate wish at that time….until I went to wash my hands in the sink. There he was in the mirror eating popcorn while watching television! I let the matter drop for the moment, assuming I was hallucinating.
But soon I realised that my stars weren’t dropping it. After that, I could see him in every reflective surface—mirrors, puddles on the road, window panes, steel dinner plates and cutlery—whenever he was in front of a reflective surface too. That includes car’s rearview mirrors, which made me incapable of driving. Putting on make-up depended on whether he was in front of a reflective surface or not. I changed my schedule to match his. I wake up before him so that I don’t forget my own face and I avoid looking around between 7 and 7:30 while he uses bathroom.
Earlier, seeing him did not enthrall me—in fact, it irritated me no end. Who wants to see a scrawny teenager taking a shower, kissing a girl in college parking lot or smoking his first cigarette with friends? When he acquired a smart phone, all reflective surfaces would reflect him intent on phone gaming for hours and I have come to know the inside of his ear so well I could be his ENT specialist. And now that he works in front of a computer all day, I see him all day working.
So, obviously, I actively tune him out, almost like having switched on reality TV on mute but choosing not to see it for long stretches of time. There are times when I can’t help it though, like when he started growing up into a better person, helping old people on the road and pulling out chairs for ladies.
One thing I have never seen him doing, though, is cheat on a girlfriend. A few months back, I witnessed his meltdown in the shower. I think his steady girlfriend dumped him because I stopped seeing her with him after that. And then he zombie-zoned for months until a couple of weeks back when he was finally able to smile at something. This is his first “tie-day” ever since.
This incident is what did it, I’m sure. All of a sudden, I could finally see him as a person, and not just a splotch in the background. Ever since then, I have steadily degenerated into a girl crushing on a reality TV star, all without any hope of ever meeting him.
Honestly, I never waited for him. I’ve had my own set of dates and a couple of boyfriends. Now, after an year of my last painful break-up, I’m back in the dating circle. This is my fifth attempt at dating since nobody seems to click. That’s why, I don’t want to see ‘him’ kiss another girl tonight and end up comparing my date with him. So far, it has always ended up in immediate disappointment.
To be continued
Short Stories 