Alternative Programming

Chapter 7

"F-r-i-e-n-d...F-r-i-e-n-d..." Eve mouths repetitively as she stares endlessly at the glowing orange coils in the toaster. "F-r-i-e-n-d...F-r-i-e-n-d..."

The fog has seeped all around her, in her ears, her eyes, her bones. The world around Eve is distant despite how she anchors herself on the kitchen counter. How long has she been standing in the kitchen, mouthing "F-r-i-e-n-d..." A minute? Thirty? An hour? Time seemed such an irrelevant concept. She feels both heavy and weightless all at once, floating in unknown waters but with a heavy chain pulling her into the dark. She stares transfixed at the steam rising from the toaster as the fog grows thicker in her mind. The events of the past three hours run on repeat in such a way that Eve is only an observer, detached from her own body as she rewatches her actions, re-hears her own words, knowingly unable to change the events but also unable to stop the images that repeat behind her eyes.

I let it in the car. I did do that, right? I said 'get in.' It's currently in my bedroom. It has a name. Friend. Friend. F-r-i-e-n-d. It ripped my jacket and then apologized, like a friend would. F-r-i-e-n-d. But we're not friends. I don't know this thing. I don't trust it. It's lying to me. It has to be. It's a machine. I can't be friends with it anymore than I can be friends with my toaster. But it apologized. Buttons likes it. It has a name. Friend. Friend. F-r-i-e-n-d.

It isn't until the offending burning smell of toast bombards Eve's nose that she sees through the fog just enough to hit the "cancel" button on the toaster. She had turned two perfectly good slices of honey-wheat toast into hard pieces of carbon. No salvageable bits at all. Snorting a breath of frustration, Eve tips the toaster's contents into the kitchen trash can and shoves the Nutella she was going to use deep onto the kitchen counter and away from the paper towel plate before her. With a slight tilt of her head she sees through the sliver of her open bedroom door. It's still in there, sitting motionless on the floor, petting a very contented Buttons.

That's good, she thinks, At least it's not doing anything bad.

The jingling sound of keys is faint just on the other side of the entrance door.

"Matias!" She snaps back to the present, the adrenaline of remembering he was on his way clearing the fog. With swift, urgent motions Eve dodges around the kitchen counter, kicks the remnants of what the robot wore past the threshold of her room, and closes the door just as Matias enters the shared apartment. He's looking down at his phone while he kicks off his shoes and lets his backpack melt to the floor.

Good, he didn't see me close the door.

"Mattie, I'm so sorry, I had an emergency and-" Eve begins, but is cut off by his smile.

"¡A la verga! Did you see the bots?!" He elates, shoving his phone back in his pocket and rushing to hug her.

Taken aback by his good mood, Eve responds, "Ah...no. No, I got out of there. Did you stay?" A tinge of motherly concern in her voice.

"Of course I did!" He says, letting her go and sauntering into the kitchen. He notices the burnt toast and half chuckles, "Hungry? I'll make something not burnt. I did promise dinner, after all. Grilled cheese?"

"Uh...sure," she says in a failed attempt to hide her confusion at the situation. "You're not mad?"

"Mad?" He responds with a cocked eyebrow as he spreads room temperature butter on some slices of bread, "No. Why would I be mad?"

"I took off without you..." guilt lingers in Eve's response.

Matias doesn't stop his grilled cheese preparation when he replies, "Oh. Yeah, I figured you would. You don't hide that you hate those things. Mira, I was calling so much because I wanted to make sure you were okay, but it looks like you are!" He playfully eyes the burnt toast in the trash can, "Well, mostly, I guess. But don't worry, I got dinner covered. Matias's famous grilled cheeses, coming up!"