SAD ROBOT: an autobiography of my unfortunate existence

59. WHAT BEING HUMAN IS

59. WHAT BEING HUMAN IS 

I am all but prepared to take the blow of impact upon my metallic body, or to shield Beth if worse comes to worse. Never in my life have I seen Milo so enraged, like he has caught a cat burglar intruding in his home. We are nothing of the sort, but he treats us as scum just the same.

"Out!" is all he yells. He swings the door open and I expect him to physically throw us out through the doorway.

But Beth is his sister and he dares not treat her in such a way. She is the good one after all. The one who treats him like a sibling and not like a waste of breath.

She is confused. Perhaps she thinks that I had awoken him, and maybe why he hadnʼt at first heard us buzz from outside. She does not know what was going on behind that closed door.

Perhaps it is better this way.

Milo is practically turning red, that funny thing that humans do, whether from anger or embarrassment I can not know; and seeing that we are not moving, he tries to forcefully shove us out.

"I said—"

"Hold up!" Beth shouts at him, slapping the edge of the door to put her weight against it to keep Milo from slamming it shut in our faces. The door senses her stopping it from sliding closed and withdraws.

"You two think you can just barge right in—"

The look on her face is shock. It is apparent she has never seen or experienced Milo act this way towards her before.

He rushes the two of us, throwing all his weight behind his strength and thrusts us out into the hallway. Beth stops herself with the wall and I am sent sprawling off-balance, smacking onto the carpeted floor.

"Youʼre being irrational!" Beth shouts, right before the door slams shut right in front of her before she can reach it, nearly taking her out had she been a mere inches closer to it.

"Why wonʼt you talk to us?!" She pounds her fists on the door, a useless tactic.

She strikes the door with clenched fists and yells at Milo some more, while I decide if it is worth the effort to pull myself back up or if I should just remain lying there until the end of time, a broken-hearted robot gathering dust, discarded on the hallway floor. A monument to sad robots around the world.

***

Back in the car, we just sit there out in front of Miloʼs apartment.

Now there was no way for us to return. By now, Milo would have scrubbed me from the security system and I would not be able to regain admittance.

I will never get back in. I will never get to my computer. According to my blog, I am M.I.A.

But that should hardly be the least of my worries and I know it.

"Now what? Do we just hang around, waiting until Milo regains his senses and he lets us back inside to kindly apologize and have a rational sit-down conversation? Just the three of us, old buddies, old pals?"

"Yeah, sounds likely," Beth says, downcast, not a hint of reaction to my insertion of humor into the situation.

What am I going to do? Shall I confront Milo and his mistress and make a big scene for the neighbors, even more than we had already? Not that anyone who may have overheard would have cared even in the slightest. The citizens of this city are well accustomed to ignoring outbursts and loud behavior. I do not blame them; it is usually in their best interests.

Surely I could confront Milo, but would I? I am not the type to create conflict, but rather the kind to completely avoid it. I am not a confrontational robot. I am a simple pacifist. Just look at how I had reacted only moments ago. My reaction was flight, not fight. What could I even say? Surely I couldnʼt convince him to take me back. Iʼm not the one that looks the part of a supermodel. I do not offer such added perks.

The gloominess of the outcome of the situation leaves me saddened once again. 

"Can we leave?" I say to Beth. "This was a terrible idea."

"If only I could just talk some sense into him!" 

"Whatʼs the point."

"Donʼt go all existential crisis on me here."

"I am serious. What is the point? Why donʼt I just accept my obsoleteness and move on, even if that means turning myself in for spare parts?"

"Youʼre not spare parts! Stop talking like that!" There is some kind of fiery passion in the way she says it, as if she really means it.

"Iʼve always wanted to go out theatrically, actually. Like leaping off a tall building or jumping in front of a bus. Leave a big mess behind, cause a scene. I think I secretly have a flair for the dramatic."

"Hiram."

"Milo only wishes to be left alone to his hedonism. He is not the same friend I used to have before."

She presses the switch that locks all of the doors. "Neither of us is going anywhere until you promise me one thing. That you will, under no circumstances, do or even think of doing any of the things you just said."

I donʼt respond. 

"Promise me!" 

"Okay."

"Say it!"

"I promise."

"And what did you say about Milo?" 

"Nothing."

"You said something! What did you see? What made you react like that? What did Milo do to you?"

"He did not do anything to me." 

"What did you see?"

"I donʼt wish to talk about it." 

"Hiram!"

"He was fornicating with that android," it bubbles out of my mouth like a burst dam. 

That quiets her quickly.

I stare listlessly out the windshield.

"Look," Beth breaks the silence, "I donʼt care if youʼre a robot, or that you donʼt think youʼre good enough to be considered equal to us. I can see that youʼre unique and special. Maybe you donʼt think you have a purpose, that your whole existence is meaningless. But you know what? I see it. I think I understand now. God can still use you for unimaginable good. Maybe something happened with you, with your programming, that maybe somehow, it caused you to gain a frame of mind, a way of interpreting everything around you in a way that few robots can. Look at you! The entire time Iʼve been around you has been surreal, like Iʼve actually just been hanging around with another person. Thatʼs not normal, Hiram. Itʼs not. Robots donʼt think the way you do. Youʼre much more than that. Itʼs strange, yes! Itʼs strange for me to be saying it, but I think youʼve started to accidentally become human. Even more human than many of us ourselves are. And thatʼs your purpose. To remind us of what being human really is."

Beth wipes her sleeve across her eyes. Was she wiping away a few tears? But why? Everything she has just said, so impassioned, so genuine, strikes me to the core as I try to process it. But how would it be possible? The hypothesis itself is absurd—robots donʼt become more human. Sure, our intelligence is vast, our awareness quite remarkable, but there is and will always be a large gap between artificial intelligence and the natural intelligence of the human brain. It is an organ constantly recreated, never duplicated. It would completely defy all modern scientific and natural principles.

"Hiram," she says to me, "if things donʼt work out with Milo...you can always stay with me. As long as you want. Okay?"

"Thank...you."