SAD ROBOT: an autobiography of my unfortunate existence

68. I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU

68. I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU 

Milo pulls her close to him. This strange relationship that theyʼve built in such a brief number of days is wonderful yet he canʼt help but wonder if she is merely carrying out her programmed responses. Is this what is supposed to happen? Is she only saying the type of things she was meant to say, to provide the things she was meant to provide, and nothing more?

Am I just the single, lonesome individual who falls into the perfect demographic for the purpose of this female companion that is nothing more than a consumer product, an easy sell to my age and income bracket, of which I am only falling right into the hands of the manipulative corporation that produces these things, falling precisely right where they want me to be—convinced that I am IN LOVE with a robot, and vice versa—so that I may merely continue to supply them with the profit they receive from my loyal customership with the purchases of numerous upgrades and repairs to my female- friend, as they constantly introduce newer and better perks and benefits to product owners like me who will routinely come crawling back, throwing my money in the companyʼs face and continuing to demand more, more, more, for now I can no longer help myself; itʼs become an obsession, a transfixion. I am in love, after all, and nothing will stop me from holding onto that.

Has everyone become nothing more than the bottom-feeders of consumer culture? The rats who feast upon the treats dangled in front of them by the multi-millionaire companies? For if so, he has become one too.

"I will never leave you," she promises him, and for this moment, he believes every word of it.

"You mean that?" 

"Yes."

"I wonʼt ever leave you either."

Milo brushes a strand of that blonde hair behind her ear and, just like that, for a moment, one which seems to freeze time, she appears to him as a human, as a partner, as an equal. When he leans in closer and softly brushes his lips against hers, it is as if the transformation has fully taken place; she has become not that which she once was, but has become an authentically tangible human being capable of everything that he himself is capable of.

The moment progresses. They stand continually undisturbed on the walkway sheltered by small trees and brush, hidden to the world and focused on nothing but themselves in the here-and-now. He can fall only further victim to the lure of her perfect design. They press together, his mouth on her cheek, her neck.

She pulls away suddenly and Milo looks puzzled. 

"Now steady, youʼre going a bit too fast for me here!"

Milo sputters words out, an attempted apology, but then she laughs. Itʼs an unusual ripple of sounds, as if the programmers were unable to get the sound of laughter quite right, but it is a fault easily looked past.

"Hahaha," she says, "just a little funny joke."

He laughs too, embarrassed at his initial confusion.

In the distance, near the end of the path in the direction they had been headed, Milo notices the man that they had passed earlier on their walk whom had been crossing the street. He too must have decided a walk through the park was ideal for such a day too perfect.

"May we continue?" he asks Angelica, always feigning the gentleman. 

"Yes."

When he puts his hand back up to brush his fingers along her cheek, he stops. The man is closer now, coming towards them. Heʼll pass, but will he say anything to what would merely look like two lovers who have momentarily stopped to display their affection to one another? Of course he wonʼt. What reason for care could anyone else have?

He leans in again and is startled by a yell from the man down the pathway. Milo doesnʼt think it is directed at them. But at what? At whom else? Milo curses his paranoia. It happens every instance he leaves the comfort of home with her.

The shout was unintelligible but the man is approaching faster in their direction. Angelica still has her eyes closed, apparently unaware.

"Whoa, stop," he whispers. 

"In the name of love."

"No, seriously."

Her eyes flutter open. Milo pulls her apart from him as the man staggers closer, yelling something indecipherable. Maybe it is towards them. Why couldnʼt they just be left alone? Milo knows heʼd be ready to cuss back in return if he is to be tested. In the back of his mind, maybe what Milo was thinking earlier about the lawless criminals in this park had been true, but just not necessarily true only after dusk. This chills him.

Milo grabs her hand, beginning to tug her in the opposite direction.

"I think we should go," he whispers to her.

The man is still coming after them and Milo walks faster, hoping Angelica can keep up, but before they can reach the end of the park where the tree-hidden walkway meets the residential street, a second man turns onto the path from the way they had entered. The man, looking as aggressive as the one behind, begins to sandwich the two of them in the middle of the pathway, the trees and brush along the sides providing the only means of getaway as a leap through them with possible risk of being poked and gouged. Plus, if they decide to make a run for it, Milo has no idea just how quickly Angelica can move. It seems unlikely that her kind could be made for sudden sprinting races. The men, if serious, would catch them instantly. Miloʼs heart drops to his stomach.

He has to make a decision. He knows this now. Will he risk a conflict, and a possibly criminally violent one? He is scared, oh so scared, for Angelica more than for himself. There are many people out there who donʼt exactly approve of beings like Angelica moving in amongst society and have had a history of turning to more violent means of protest.

Surely, he thinks, Angelica could see the growing panic in his face as he tries to kick his mind into gear and choose the best way of escape, but before he can make the determination to leap through the brush with Angelica by the hand, a third vagrant comes out from behind Milo, yanking his neck back by the sudden hand that grips his collar.