Artificial Interactions

I met you in an alley—the one off of Fifth Street, where the homeless huddled around their trash can fires, under the neon shop signs that turned night into day. The light chased away the shadows and they went crawling into every nook and side street of the city; but I was proud and tough, an alley didn’t scare me.

I wasn’t the only one walking the shadows though, and when those street punks jumped me for the cash I had worked ten hours for, you came and nearly knocked their eyes right out of their sockets. I didn’t thank you. I didn’t believe I needed a man to save me. I could take care of myself, and oddly, you agreed.

***

The next time I saw you was during the day. I was glad I wasn’t making habits of needing late night alley rescues. It was raining and I swear whatever toxins we were pumping into the air had made our rainy season deadly. I hadn’t learned to walk properly in heels—after all, my mother had died in a drug overdose when I was three. I slipped at the curb, twisting my damn ankle, and sending my clear, plastic umbrella flying.

My eyeliner ran and my black lipstick smudged as I tried to keep the water out of my eyes and mouth. For once, I was glad I never wore white. It seemed all the grime and filth of the streets loved me in that second. People laughed at the wet mess sitting at the curb.

I’d never been so embarrassed. But the rain ceased its endless, acid assault and I looked up to see you standing over me with my umbrella in hand. Despite being pissed, I couldn’t help but smile awkwardly as you helped me up. You were soaked too, your auburn locks a heavy, wet curtain that fell to your shoulders. You took your jacket off and draped it over me.

“I’m fine, really,” I said.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind the rain.”

And then you jogged off. I hadn’t even gotten your name.

***

You knew I’d probably be angry. You ran off, leaving me with your jacket, gawking at your retreating form. But it was stupid, really. You had saved me. Twice. I guess that’s what annoyed me. Why were you so damn nice? I actually looked forward to running into you again.

So, when I saw you briskly walking down Los Metropolis Boulevard, I stopped you and gave you a piece of my mind. Even when I was yelling, you looked amused, as if you knew my anger wasn’t really for you.

“If you won’t tell me your name or let me drop your jacket by, then at least meet me for coffee,” I told you.

“Alright. Where at?”

We would meet at the Starbucks down the street, Friday. It was agreed. You tried to walk off again and that’s when I shouted.

“Kenya. My name is Kenya.”

You threw me that small smile that told me you could see not only what I was called, but who I actually was.

***

Your eyes are what stuck with me. One inner ring of gold and the outer ring a milk-chocolate brown. It matched my skin. I didn’t make a big deal of it. Biotech could do all sorts of things. It’s probably why you didn’t ask why my eyebrows grew a deep violet and the streaks of my bangs, a deep blue.

We met for coffee as promised, though you didn’t order anything. I brought your brown, leather jacket. Damn thing was as heavy as a person. I made sure I wasn’t wearing heels. Didn’t need another repeat.

“Not going to yell at me today?” you asked.

“Only if you want me too,” I said and actually laughed. I hadn’t done that in a long time.

“I seem to always run into you. Do you live close to here?” I said.

“You could say that.”

Why were you so damn mysterious?

“Will you finally tell me your name then?”

I caught those gold and brown eyes staring outside, at the protestors that had gathered at the corner. They held their signs above their angry faces. They had drawings on the signs, drawings of Androtrons. Their human-like faces had red, demonic eyes. Most of them said “NO MORE TRONS. ALL ARE CONS.” I watched a little boy, no older than ten, waving a sign around with a melted Androtron drawn on it, its human face burned away to show the robotic metal underneath.

“I didn’t get to thank you,” I said.

You tried to give me your smiling eyes, but they didn’t convince me.

“You already did,” you said.

My look told you I thought you were delusional. It only made you chuckle.

“That day in the rain. The way you looked at me.”

I didn’t even get to order before you said you had to go, scooping your jacket up as if it weighed nothing.

“Hey, wait,” I said. You looked a question at me.

“You know, they say if you meet a person three times in a day, their fates are entwined,” I said.

The smile you gave made my cheeks grow warm.

“Then, I hope to see you later today.”

***

It’s funny how I wanted to ignore you at first, but I kept going down Los Metropolis Boulevard, trying to get one more glimpse of you, or catch a conversation. I went to Starbucks and sat around, watching the protesters grow. I didn’t see you though, and after two weeks, I stopped looking. Then on a walk home at night, you popped up as if the very shadows had conjured you to life.

“I hoped you would stop traversing these streets so late,” you said.

“Old habits,” I replied. I was angry.

“It’s dangerous out. Gangsters, muggers, anti-tron zealots.”

“What do you care?”

This time, I was the one walking away. But you followed me.

“At least let me walk you home?”

Those eyes of yours seemed to glow in your handsome face. I rolled my own.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

I pursed my lips. “Were you avoiding me?”

“No, not you.”

I couldn’t stay mad at you. So, you walked me home. I didn’t want to pry. But I was happy to see you. And I could tell you were happy to see me. It made all those lonely walks through the bustling streets of Neo Angeles, hoping to see you, worth it. We ended up standing around outside my apartment looking like two high school kids on their first night out to the movies. That’s when I asked you to come up and have a cup of coffee or something.

“Sure. I have a bit of time.”

I thought you’d say no. I had you wait outside my door for a minute while I cleaned up a bit. I hadn’t been expecting company. When you came in, you complimented almost everything—it made me laugh. I was living in some shabby ass apartment out on Ninth Street, not a cliff side condo in Beverly Hills.

We sat, I had some coffee, and we talked. You told me about your job at the car factory and how you got fired. You did live close by, a few blocks from the Starbucks. I told you about my mom and her heroin problem, then about my job as a waitress. I turned the TV on for a while but I could tell you didn’t want to sit and listen to some newscaster interview protestors and talk about the bill that might annul Androtron legal citizenship.

Plus, I was fine just listening to you. Of course, you were always off in a hurry. After only an hour or two, you had to leave.

“Will I see you again?” I asked. I still didn’t know your name.

“I promise,” you said.

***

We did have more dates. I didn’t see you walking around anymore, but you always seemed to know when to catch me on my way home. I always invited you up and you always said yes. We were growing closer. We were laughing and joking around at my place when I swept all those thick auburn locks to the side. That’s when I saw the barcode on your neck and found out your name. “TT3711,” it read.

“You’re a tron,” I said, heart beating like a hummingbird trapped in my chest.

I stared at you; the bow of your lips, the arch of your eyebrows and the strong sweep of your jawline. I couldn’t even tell. Or maybe I could, and I was just lying to myself. I needed you to be real. To finally be able to connect with a real person.

“You’re disappointed,” you said.

“Because I thought you were human. Because I thought you were real.”

“I am real.”

I looked away and you took my hand. You pressed it up against your cheek. I cupped your face, covered in flesh as soft and warm as my own. I felt the tears burn at my eyes. You pressed me to your chest and I cried in your arms. You told me everything was alright and I began to chuckle. You were the one that was outed, not me. Why couldn’t I comfort you for once?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“How could I? You’re human.”

“I don’t hate trons. And you’re my friend.”

You smiled for me as you held me against your body and I felt a weight lift from the hummingbird in my chest so it could resume its frantic beating again. Only this time, it wasn’t trying to choke me with fear.

“What should I call you?”

“Eleven,” you told me.

Only trons had numbered names. It’s why you didn’t tell me at first.

“You’re not just a number to me.”

“I know.”

“Then how about, Eli?”

And you liked it. We didn’t stop being friends, we became more than that. I looked up into the double ring of irises in your eyes then pressed my lips to yours. Your hands were steady and strong, your lips were soft and yielding. And we sat there in the safety of my apartment, lips pressed in that warm delight.

***

Anti-tron hysteria grew, but you never stopped sneaking through town at night to see me. Then one night, you showed up with your face beaten. The gash on your forehead bled blood that was a bit too pink and a bit too watery to be human. I didn’t know anything about how Androtrons healed, but you told me you were fine. It scared me, you know, what was happening in our city.

“Did you call the cops?”

“No. They ran off,” you said.

“You fought back?”

“No.”

“Why? You could have been hurt worse than this, Eli”

But you smiled, “I’m made of tougher stuff.” Then it faded. “You know I worked at the car factory. I can bend metal with my bare hands. They’d say I’ve gone rogue. And you know what happens to trons gone rogue.”

I did, but I didn’t dare say it out loud, as if it would make it any less real. Then you told me about the crap place you were living in and how management couldn’t stand anyone other than humans living under their shitty rooftop.

“They can’t evict you for what you are,” I told you. But I knew they could under different pretenses. I wasn’t a stranger to discrimination.

“You’re still a citizen. They can’t fucking do that. Is that why you were fired as well?” I said.

“I’ll be alright, Kenya.” And you held my hand. Of course I didn’t believe that. I was pissed and most of all, scared.

“Well you aren’t going to live out on the streets, I won’t let you,” I said.

“I don’t have a home anymore.”

“Yes you do. Your home is here, with me.”

You decided to stay.

***

Riots began and people became more violent towards trons. They were afraid of the very thing they had created. There were “too many problems with trons,” and “no one could predict when they would go rogue.” I thought it was all bullshit. Every time I came home to you standing by the dinner table, food ready for me, or waiting with a movie picked out for the night, I saw what no one else could. And I know, I can’t say for sure whether your smile reflected anything other than programed happiness, but it was all I needed.

I know you saw something in me too, that smile of yours said it. You could read me like a book, like no human ever could. I thought we were normal—hell, what was normal? No one could tell us what we felt was fake.

We had a favorite movie, Titanic, a classic. I liked it because against all odds, Rose and Jack fought for their love. You liked it because Jack would sacrifice anything, even his life, for Rose. I remember seeing it for the first time with you.

It rained that night, but I swear I couldn’t hear anything but the beating of my heart. We didn’t even wait for the credits to roll. You scooped me up in your arms, effortlessly, and laid me down in bed, but you didn’t just walk off to go clean or do laundry like you usually did. I pulled you down and you kissed me. It made my breath catch. I swear we could communicate without words. Or perhaps I was easy to read.

I didn’t stop you as you climbed into bed and slipped my clothes off, hands tracing all that delicate flesh. I watched you as you stripped. Underneath the t-shirt and jeans, you were just like any other man. I saw the smile that tugged at your lips when you caught my surprise. I also saw that smile give way to something else when you entered me for the first time. You were gentle. I knew you wouldn’t break me. The rain slapped against the glass and my body shook like the windows that rattled with the thunder. Lightning stirred something low in my body and bowed my back. A different kind of storm was inside of me.

I can’t say what you felt. I don’t know if it was the same for you, but as I looked into those glowing eyes above me, I saw all I needed to see. With my body still flushed, tears rolled down the sides of my face. For the first time I said to you.

“I love you.”

***

Every day from then on was full of life. Some might find that weird. That so much life could stem from a man made of metal. But you weren’t some robot worker to me, you weren’t even a tron. You were just Eli.

When that bill got pushed through and tron citizenship was stripped away, all the pro-tron hippies came out of the concrete. Everything got worse and you made me promise not to go marching out there with them. People were being hosed, beat with batons. And what was our government doing about it? Jack shit. It was like a damn war zone but I knew what I believed in. No amount of fear was going to change that, even when they announced that recall.

Recall sounded nice, like all the trons would get together to be fixed at the back end of Wal-Mart and not like they were being totally destroyed and extinguished—deactivation was the official term. I really can’t say I enjoyed those last few weeks.

I went out to grab my mail one morning and saw some kid-sized tron being held down at the mouth of an alley. She was strong as hell for someone who looked seven years old. No one said anything as the five men holding her down began to saw her arms and legs off. They called trons “other,” but I’d never seen something so damn inhumane. I was glad you pulled me back inside, but I still hear that trons screams when I shut my eyes.

***

I know that damning day was when that robber broke in. We were curled up in bed, but you didn’t need sleep, so you heard him break in and woke me. He was in the living room, probably trying to steal something just to make rent, but he saw us and pulled out his gun. How was he supposed to know you were a tron?

The gun went off and you moved faster than I’d ever seen. His fragile throat in your hand. I didn’t tell you to stop. It was my fault too, that he laid there crumpled on the floor, head bent at an awkward angle. You turned to me with eyes bled white, as if all the color had drained from them. White fire burned in your eyes and I could see you weren’t yourself.

How do you know when a tron has gone rogue? I didn’t ask you. We just stood there. I was afraid, but not for the reasons you might think. Even so, you saw my fear and I had to watch color—and worse—sadness, come back into your eyes. Or maybe it was guilt? Remorse?

“I just wanted to protect you,” you said.

“I know.”

And I thanked you that time, for saving my life once again.

“I’ll take him somewhere,” you said. I don’t know where you hid the body, but I hoped no one would be missing him.

I was wrong of course because a few days later, cops came knocking, talking about reported gunfire. They took one look at you and somehow they knew. It was probably the eyes, those beautiful double irises. We let them leave, and they came back with those men in dark, nano suits, padded vests and black helmets that covered their entire heads. I knew a Deactivator when I saw one. I admit, they scared the shit out of me. They had those electric guns that shot blue lightning and could drop a damn elephant dead.

You know, I was wrong about you. I thought you were the Jack to my Rose, but you weren’t. It was the other way around. It’s why I put myself in front of their guns and hoped they didn’t cook me from the inside out. I’m glad you knew this too and that you trusted me. Don’t think I cursed you when you escaped through the bedroom window. I was relieved. Not even the cold steel of their handcuffs or the freezing cell they put me in could take away my triumph.

***

They shaved my head, put me through the system and implanted one of those chips all “rebels” and pro-tron activists got. I’m not going to say my time locked up was anything but awful. However, when I got out, I was different. I didn’t have a layer of metal beneath my skin, but I was hardened.

So I’m breaking my promise to you. I know, I’m sorry. But I’ve hit the streets and joined in with this rising group; underground activists. They called themselves SFT, like “soft.” Safety For Trons. They’re a little extreme, but they are getting things done. They have resources. Military issued weapons, tunnels and hideouts. I think I can do a lot of good.

There are secret safe houses and I’m one of those people getting illegal trons there. Everyone is asking, “What makes a person?” I don’t really have the answer but I’m fighting for what I believe in.

I try not to think of you at night, being held down and sawn apart or gunned down and deactivated. You’re the only man that’s ever made me cry. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

I got “TT3711” tattooed on the back of my neck. It hurt like hell. Getting a tron’s number tatted on you isn’t for everyone. People call us “An-drones.” My comrades and I wear our numbers without shame.

I go to Los Metropolis Boulevard every other day. Not for the coffee. I’ve drawn up signs of my own and march the streets whenever I can. Our group took up to chanting, “We rely, on AI.”

A little girl came up to me. She looked three.

“What is AI?” She asked me.

“Love,” I said.

And I wasn’t wrong. In Japanese, ai meant love.

Her mother pulled her away and shot me the ugliest glare I’ve ever seen. But what mattered most is the look on the girl’s face. Her wonder. Those eyes were the eyes of the future. And that’s what I’m working for, Eli, the future. So that one day you can come back to me. And if you’re dead, or gone—wherever disassembled trons go, I’ll keep fighting. I’ll keep fighting for the love we had, so that all trons can say, “I am real.”