BY PABLO LIBEDINSKY
Copyright is held by the author.
I WISH I had known earlier that you weren’t human.
I wouldn’t have wasted all this time befriending you, trying to understand you, and getting to know you. I was happy just being with you, looking at your perfect face and listening to that sexy, low voice that drove me crazy. It reminded me of a movie actress.
After the terrible experience I had with my first robot . . . yes, I know, I shouldn’t put her down, but she was a robot, you know . . . I thought that I had finally met my first real, living, breathing, and caring person, one capable of real affection.
But I was wrong. Or rather, you cheated me and hooked me under false pretenses. It’s not enough to have smooth, warm skin, soft hair, and beautiful eyes; it’s crucial to have real charm, a real personality, and real feelings.
But you don’t have them. It’s all programmed and packaged by a technician, just like a cash register or a self-driving car. So sweet, but the sweetness is artificial.
What did you say to me? You said that you wanted to be with me forever, that you had never met anyone like me. You looked me in the eye, fluttered those long eyelashes, and told me that you had found the love you’d been looking for in me. And I believed you.
In return, I thought I had found a life companion. You accepted my invitations and always liked the places I took you to: the restaurants, the movies we watched, and the walks we took.
Never a complaint or the slightest show of dissatisfaction.
Now I know why you didn’t get upset when I stepped on your foot when we were slow dancing.
Now I understand why you didn’t cry in pain when I spilled hot tea on your hand.
I wondered at the time why it didn’t leave a red mark on your skin. You just wiped it off, smiled at me, and said, “Don’t worry, it happens.”
I relished our long conversations. You were interested in everything I said, and you were so bright. You always knew so much about everything.
Tell me, were you telling the truth when you said there were some things you didn’t know? Are you really convinced that the capital of Brazil is Rio?
What a fool you made of me! You were programmed to be that way, smart and knowledgeable, sweet and agreeable. But not to be perfect, or you’d be unbearable and friendless.
And you need friends.
What am I saying? You don’t need anything. Except for new batteries . . . maybe, ha, ha, ha.
Yes, I am funny. And don’t look at me like that.
Remember that café we went to last winter? It was a cold, rainy evening, and inside it was warm and cozy, with a candle on the table.
We talked for hours. I shared my feelings, my life, and my hopes for the future. You told me about yours, but what feelings are those? What life do you have? And your future? You’ll live forever! All you’ll need is a tune-up.
I felt like I was inside a French movie, with you smoking cigarettes, looking at me silently, making long pauses. I was taken by the atmosphere, I must admit. I felt good because you made me think that I was important to you. I wanted that evening to last forever.
Why did you do that? Wait, don’t answer, let me guess. It’s all part of an experiment. Everything I say and do is being recorded, right? Those beautiful eyes hide tiny cameras that record everything in front of you, right? Then somebody, a Ph.D. candidate or a professor with a herd of postdocs, will write a research paper. Will it have graphs and pie charts? Maybe an equation or two?
You are trying to find the science behind relationships and human behaviour, I’m sure.
Am I wrong?
Yes, I’m finished.
Are you crying? Are these real water and salt tears?
Did I hurt your feelings? Are you sad? Or just sorry for what you did?
Your cheeks are cold… and wet.
Don’t say anything, I may believe you.
No, I’m not leaving. I brought something for you, and I’ll be right back.
So, you are still sitting here waiting for me. For a moment, I was afraid that you’d be gone.
Here, open the box.
Do you like the hat? Try it on.
I’m glad you like it — but of course you’d say that.
It makes you look like an Italian actress in the old movies. I don’t remember her name, but she was beautiful.
No, I didn’t have to get you anything. I wanted to.
You’re welcome. It’ll be perfect for the cruise.
What? Of course I want to go on a cruise with you. You know how much I enjoy your company.
Let’s go. We have to pack.
***
Pablo Libedinsky is a retired computer programmer living in San Francisco, California. He wrote a few stories when he was 12 years old and then stopped, later returning to writing as an adult. His stories have been published in Down in the Dirt and Let Me Tell You a Story.