SAD ROBOT: an autobiography of my unfortunate existence

30. NOTHING NEW

30. NOTHING NEW

Today is the date Milo had written down on the refrigerator when he promised his mother he would come visit. The day on the artificial screen in big block letters was circled so as to not let him forget. I also added a couple exclamation marks for additional emphasis.

I hadnʼt seen Milo all morning except for when he briefly showed his face long enough to grab a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice - not even asking me to retrieve the items for him - before retreating back into the cave he calls his room.

I go over and knock on his door to politely inform him that the calendar has, as of today, reached the matching date as the one circled on the refrigerator door, and that the certain date was written on the door for a particular purpose.

Add passive-aggressiveness to the things robots can replicate quite well. 

"And do you remember what that purpose was, Milo?" I ask from my side of the door. 

At first there is no reply, but then he opens the door and looks at me in his disheveled state, finally realizing what I am referring to. 

"Dammit," is all he says. 

"Do you need me to do anything for you before you leave?" I ask him. 

"No, I just have to drive to the train station." 

"Oh youʼre taking the train? Shall I arrange for your car to be brought back here or would it not be easier to just take a cab to the station?" 

"Iʼm driving to the train station, dropping you off, and then driving home. Nothing complicated."

"Dropping me off? I donʼt understand."

"Youʼre the one taking the train. To see my parents. Not me." 

"Well, that makes little to no sense at all." 

"Iʼm not going, Hiram." 

Here he is, backing out again, for whatever silly reasons he has conjured up. 

"You promised your mother that you would."

"I know," he sighs as I watch an inner struggle wage inside him as he wrestles with going back on his promise. This is almost exactly what happens every time; trust me, this is nothing new.

***

We ride in the car as I stare absently out the passenger window, Milo set on dropping me off at the train station to go do something that he canʼt bring his own self to do, not that I have any issue with going to see his parents; I think theyʼre quite delightful actually. I would have been glad to tag along with Milo, had he extended the invitation rather than sent me on a solo mission.

I cannot really say for sure what is going through Miloʼs head right at this time, but I have confidence that heʼll sort through it all and regain his senses in time to at least fulfill his motherʼs promise and show up at their door apologizing, hopefully sooner rather than later.

When we get to the train station, he waits for me to exit his car where he has stopped alongside the sidewalk where cars pull up and pull away again at a constant pace, letting people out and picking them up in a never ending flurry of activity like watching someone having pressed the fast-forward button.

I get out of the car with nothing - no carry-on, nor anything - save for Miloʼs bank account card to buy my round-trip ticket with. I do not need to carry any bags, as I have no need for any such items that are required for me to bring along. The trip is not for a very long time anyhow; I will return tomorrow afternoon.

Milo pulls away to go juice up the car before returning home. The old model doesnʼt hold its charge like it used to.

Standing on the sidewalk watching Milo disappear into the throng of traffic, I recognize the sense that I must be very out of place even though I am positive I am not the only robot in this crowd. Robots stand at the ticket booth, at the security screening, and even at the front entrance. Some of them look like me and some of them look more like well- dressed mannequins. Soon enough, the fury of rushing people who can never be where they need to be fast enough makes me want to move my metal butt and scurry away as fast as possible to escape.