Tuesday, October 12, 2010

System

It's like a computer system. A complicated machine that calculates and codes and decodes in the blink of an eye. Do you think we realize how much we depend on this articifial stystem? Most of us don't even realize it exists.

It's still dark, because I haven't opened my eyes yet. My mother is shouting at me from downstairs, I need to get up, I have things to do. The day's list is scrolling behind my eyes, in green text on a black vacuum. That's just how it works. The alarm is singing an annoying song in my mind, reminding me that music is encrypted into my system and will not leave unless I reboot.

I open my eyes and sit up. It helps to work like a computer: force the cold away, shower, get dressed, stomach what food I can. You tell a computer to multiply four hundred thirty-seven by one and a third, and it does it. No questions asked.

"There you are," says my mother, when I appear downstairs. Mechanical smile, make my eyes light up. It's automatic now, like wiggling the mouse to get the screen to light up. She smiles to see me smile, and hands me a glass of juice. My system falters for a moment; it has trouble handling unexpected affection. Just a bug. Just another something to work out. Again, the smile, and the words, "Thanks, Mom."

"I'm off to work," she goes on, her voice busy and and cheerful just as mechanized as mine. I don't think she notices, though. She depends heavily on her system now, ever since dad left. It's just easier that way.

"Okay," I say. Didn't even have to think about that one.

"See you later, sweetie." She kisses my forehead and she's gone.

The house is quiet, but I have long since learned to play my mind's music and block the silence. Carter will call in a bit. His system has a glitch in it, and sometimes it doesn't work at all, and he pretends it does. It makes me sad. I can tell when he's at a loss for words, when his smile is fake, when his eyes are troubled.

I don't realize I've been drawing on myself until I notice the parade of elephants and kangaroos up my arm and around my wrist. I frown. Distraction without knowing you're being distraction is a problem.

The phone rings. I glance at the clock. He's a bit early, but I will recover from the disturbance. My schedule rewrites itself as I pick up the phone.

"Hey."

"Hey," I say, studying the parade on my skin. This is an automated conversation, it requires little brain power.

"What's up?"

"Not much. You?"

"Bored."

"Mm."

We've covered everything to work us into a real coversation. Most of our coversations are automated now. It's easier on him and his faulty computer.

"You busy?" His voice sounds eager. Somewhere inside myself I allow a smile. He misses me.

"Of course not." Let the smile into my voice. It will cheer him up. I revel in this subtle touch. It's a new feature I just installed.

"Want to come meet me at the park?"

It's cliché, but that's alright. It's Carter, after all. "I'll be there in a bit. I have to walk, Mom took the car."

"Okay."

I hang up the phone and lean back against the couch. My battery is still recharging; I'll have to make Carter wait for a bit. I can't have it die on him. That's not fair.

Semi-consciously, I fix my hair and makeup. When you look good, people don't necessarily notice what's wrong about you. They compliment you first, and if your system is running well, then you can cover anything you like. Their systems will do the same thing: they will cover anything wrong about you. If you look sad, they will rewrite that and feed the code back: you're just tired. If you're irritated, they will translate it and tell themselves you're stressed with school. It's amazing.

I walk the distance to the park, the music still playing gently in my mind. I nod to the people who recognize me, enthusiastically hug the girls who enthusiastically scream my name, help the little old ladies across the street. It's automatic. My computer doesn't fail often.

There's Carter. I smile without my computer telling me to when I see him. He's flat on his back, his arms and legs spread out in a haphazard manner, staring at the sky. I've never fully understood him. Maybe that's why I like him so much.

"Hey," I call. Green text falls into place before my eyes. Break into a jog. Smile. You're happy to see him. The last one makes me uncomfortable because the truth isn't in my computer system.

He sits up. And smiles. Again I feel uncomfortable because I don't know if he smiled because he's glad to see me, or because his computer told him to.

"Hello."

We wander around the park, holding hands. This is always when my system begins to break down, when I can feel the affection pass between us and suddenly I feel guilt that didn't come from this complicated web of wires and signals.

He stops suddenly, and glances down at me. "Everything alright?" he asks, and his voice holds a tone that the system can't account for. I am nervous that I am failing, and I brighten my face and smile at him. The choice flashes briefly before my eyes, a green scar, but I don't even bother to debate.

"Just fine," I say, convincingly. He looks relieved, and for a very short moment I feel that guilt again, burning against the back of my conscience. I don't like to trick him.

"Let's go this way," he says, and tightens his hold on my hand. We move off the path into the woods, and my computer says laugh, so I do.

"Why in here?" My voice is bubbly and tinny, proper and expected.

He grins. "Why not?"

We push through the woods and accumulate a collections of cuts and scratches. The river is on the other side, which is where I assume we're going. We're both laughing. It feels good, and I forget about the all-too-easy lie that I told and have been telling him. My computer can take care of it.

The anti-virus walls I've put up always start to crumble when I'm with him. Sometimes I don't even want to follow my stone-code of smiling, happy me. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really being fair to him, or if I'm cheating him out of something he needs to know as someone who cares for me.

We sit on the bank the river and catch our breath. When we were younger, we toted out two huge boulders to sit on so we couldn't get muddy. They were still there, but someone had installed a bench, and so we tended to chose the bench over the rocks.

I lean against his shoulder comfortably. He puts his arm around me and my system suffers a fatal failure, and I suddenly want to cry.

He notices, somehow. Frowning, he asks me about it. "What's wrong?"

The green letters burst into my vision. They ask me the question, they give me the choice. Should I lie to him again? I don't want to hurt him by being sad after spending an afternoon with him. Why do I want to cry anyway?

I chose the the letters fade away. I look up at his eyes; his eyes are worried. I feel sick inside but I reboot my system and smile.

"I'm perfect."

***

It's still dark, only because I haven't opened my eyes yet. My mother is shouting at me from downstairs, and the green list plays behind my eyes. I type in the mental numbers and get out of bed. Calculators don't ask questions. Calculators are blind slaves. Calculators just do what they are told.

"See you later, sweetie." She kisses me on the forehead and is out the door.

Carter will call in a bit.

The parade of elephants grows. The other one blurred in the shower.

The phone rings. He's a bit early, but my schedule will rewrite without me telling it to.

As I touch the phone, I realize he's been early the past three weeks. I wonder why I hadn't noticed before.

"Hey."

I walk to the park to see him. I smile when I first catch sight of him. And then I wonder why. There was no reason to smile. No one to impress. I wrinkle my nose, knowing my computer didn't tell me to smile. I smiled. I did.

He turns around and he smiles too.

We walk on the path down to the river this time. We hold hands, and I feel my system already starting to strain. He hasn't asked me how I am yet. We are talking about school, jobs, important things. Sobering things. Computer things.

We sit down on the bench and he puts his arm around me. The green letters shake before my eyes and I can see the error lights blinking.

He looks at me. "What's wrong?"

The choice again. I bite my lip. The red lights are still flashing, but I can fix the system in a minute, with just the simple lie. The green letters beg me.

Carter waits.

I close my eyes and dismiss the system. I say no. I turn off the code, I turn off the computer, the error lights go away. It shuts down. A tear slides down my cheek, and I pull a painfully real breath.

He knows. He holds me and doesn't tell me not to cry.

And somehow, everything's alright.

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