Laughing, he said, “Okay sweetie, I’ll call and while we’re waiting, we need to decide on your schooling plans.” He slid his cell phone from his pocket and said, “Call Pizza Master.”
It took most of the guaranteed thirty-minutes-or-less for Pizza Master to deliver the pizza. During that time, they had weighed the options, with Amy’s apprehensive consent, and decided to move her to the Goldwyn School for Prodigies, not far away in a neighboring town. A few select new students were allowed to enroll each semester and according to Jelnoss’ inscription on the inside flap of the book, she had already been preselected for admission. The costs were huge but Jason had no worries about finding the funds for tuition. They were in his pocket, so to speak.
As for the pizza, it was well accepted by all but Amy; she had developed a severe case of nerves, fearing the change, and cried herself up the stairs and into an early bedtime. Tossing and turning she lay awake for hours in turmoil until she heard her dad, downstairs, beginning to caress the ivories of the Grand, softly playing Debussy’s Clair de Lune.
Suddenly, recognizing a melody she knew and loved, she poked her head from the covers, raced into the hallway, slid down the banister and ran into the music room intending to join him in a duet. Seconds later, she stood over him, signaling she wanted to play with a demanding stare. He nodded yes, then slid across the stool allowing her room to join him. Without a missed note her little hands joined his, perfectly synchronized on the keys, flying under and over his to create harmonies and chords that only a play-by-ear master could produce. He looked down and proudly smiled, nodded with a wink and then whispered, “Such soft precision, Amy. Bravo! I love it.”
She blushed and grinned but kept playing as Jen came in from the kitchen wiping tears from her eyes. She had always been fond of Clair de Lune, but the duet with her husband and daughter was truly exquisite, like nothing she had ever heard. She sat for a few minutes mesmerized, sobbing quietly, then ran to the bath for another tissue. As they played the final note together, they looked over at her trying to compose herself, still shedding tears.
“Were we that bad, honey,” he asked with a grin.
She sniffled then tried to laugh, but couldn’t stop crying. “No it’s not that, I’m so sorry,” she said, choking back tears, “but that was the most beautiful single piano duet I’ve ever heard; so beautiful it just took my breath away. And then I realized this is my family now. And I love my family but I wish I could play something as well as either of you to join in.” She started sobbing again while Jason, still on the piano bench with Amy, seeing the problem, felt a warm understanding within.
Amy, however, now concerned that something else was amiss, ran over to her side and hugged her tightly. “But then we wouldn’t have an audience, Mommy. And I wouldn’t want to play without an audience. You’re the most important part of our trio for me.”
Amadeus, jealous for attention, begging at Amy’s feet, barked a tiny yip almost on cue.
“Well, the most important part of our quartet,” she corrected herself.
Watching their interaction, now alone on the piano bench, he softly began to play Pachebel’s Canon in D accompanying himself as he spoke, “Amy, honey, sometime, when you grow older, you’ll understand that part of the female mystique is about hormones and their influence on a woman’s expected reactions. You’re seeing that now in your mom. It’s simply inexplicable. And scientists, even female scientists, have tried for ages to understand why it happens with no results. But, you see, they will never because hormones are the unidentifiable magical component of life that makes people cry with joy, act crazy at times, attracts them to each other, makes them laugh together, love each other and want to be together for their entire short time on this earth.”
Then seamlessly he switched the key to D minor to create a darker ambience and continued to play. “Now I created my Nissy as an it, without hormones, neither male nor female, because if takes me another year to make it a him, it would take another twenty years to create a her, they’re that complex and mysterious. And I’m certainly not young or smart enough to try that; I’ll leave it to Nissy to create its own mate, if it needs one. I’m hoping not. But if it passes through sentience slowly on the path to omniscience, I guarantee there will be another Nissy in our lives whether I create or not. Then another Nissy and another Nissy and on and on until we’re all Nissies. So Amy, girl, that’s why your mom was crying.”
As he finished, he ended the canon by pounding ten fingers into the keys, creating a raucous, disturbing chord, then smiled and looked up at them still glued to his words. “Like that rendition of Pachebel?”
After confusing moments in thought, they applauded. Even Amadeus whined briefly as if he understood.
Chapter 11
UNCANNY VALLEY
J ason had spent most of the night alternating his thoughts between the upcoming Powerball draw and wondering if he had made the best decision while dealing with Nissy’s discipline, or if it even mattered. Last shutdown the machine thought it had fainted; not knowing it was the result of a sudden power loss. But it was obviously becoming more sentient now, realizing it had made a mistake then trying carefully to reverse the side effects. This time he had reprimanded it before powering it down and it seemed to be contrite, begging for mercy, not knowing what would happen. And obviously its ploy had worked on him; the episode had tugged his heart strings all night and he wondered how it would respond when he finally woke it. But he would not find out today. He had planned it to be a day for buying a new car and registering Amy into her special school.
“Jen,” he asked, nudging her awake. “Are you real busy today?”
“Huh? What?” she muttered, stretching and rolling over to face him with a smile on her face. Then nuzzling under his arm, softly moaning, she continued, “Why? Do you want an encore from my performance last night?”
He didn’t expect such a tempting answer to his question and he stammered, “Uh, uh, yeah later, sweetheart, but first we have to register Amy in her new school today and since the insurance money came yesterday, I have to get a car so I can quit taking those damn taxis…”
“Oh boy,” she sighed, sitting up, pulling on her slippers, “a woman’s work never stops. Yeah, I’ll take Amy. I want to see the school anyway.”
“Okay, deal. If you’ll do that I’ll pick her up in my new car later today. Just tell me where and when.”
Shaking her head, she pulled on a robe and started downstairs. “Somehow,” she grumbled, glancing back, “I don’t think I got the best part of that deal.”
Laughing, he grabbed his house shoe and threw it down the stairs after her. “You’ll thank me tonight when you’re a multimillionaire’s wife.”
“Right,” she yelled back from downstairs, “That stupid ticket and five bucks will still only buy me a Starbucks tomorrow. Dream on dreamer and save the creamer.”
And so the morning started. For the best part of the next hour, with Amy too excited to eat, sitting alone in her room upstairs, they bickered and grouched at the breakfast table occasionally taking bites of toast. Subconsciously they hated to see her change schools, wondering if they were doing the right thing. Their new little girl was growing up too fast, not giving them time to enjoy her innocent youth. But they wanted only the best for her, aware that someday she would appreciate their efforts and look back fondly on this complicated time in her life.
Shortly after breakfast, they left the house as they set out on their different paths, him in another taxi, and her in the car with Amy by her side, leaving little Amadeus barking, whining, and growling out the large front window in the big empty house.
Outside, under the portico with dark clouds gathering overhead, signaling another front on its way, Jason entered the cab as Jen and Amy pulled from the long driveway and turned left onto Spur Mountain Road. He had no idea where the Goldwyn School was located but the left turn would take her toward San Diego. Nevertheless, he was confident that Jen could find her way
with GPS.
Now alone in the cab with the driver, waiting patiently, staring back at him, he pondered his next car. He had loved his Tesla, eco-friendly and electric, but the constant search for charging stations and the incident at the orchard had begun to sway him from sexy to safety, especially considering Nissy’s new penchant for playing games. He also recognized that he had gained a family to transport; it was time to grow up.
“Where to, sir?”
“Not sure yet, Gilberto,” he answered, glancing up at the visor’s ID plaque. “Do you know anything about cars?”
“With all due respect, sir,” Gilberto scoffed, reflecting in the rearview mirror, “I been driving a hack twelve hours a day now for twenty-nine years. Duh… Ya think? Whatcha need?”
“I need a new car. My last one, a Tesla, was flattened in the Almond Road landslide.”
“Ooh, dat one was bad. I lost a coworker in dat mess, smashed to death. Company lost the car, too. Were you driving?”
“Yeah, almost died. So, I think I need a safer car. What do you think is the safest?”
“In a situation like dat, bud, dey’re all death buggies… you were lucky. But what I hear from a lot of fares is de Volvo Polestars are de safest.”
“Wait a minute before we leave. I’m going to look that up.”
“Sure bud, it’s your dime and de meter’s tickin’.”
Jason pulled his phone from his pocket and rapidly punched a few keys.
“Hello, I need a loaded Volvo Polestar. Have one on the lot?”
“Two S90s and a V90? Great, I’ll be right there. Name’s Jason Godwin.”
“Escondido Volvo, Gilberto,” he said, looking forward, pocketing his phone. “On Auto Parkway in Escondido.”
“Sure, bud. Five miles from here. Be dere in no time.”
At the bottom of the driveway, they turned right on Spur Mountain Road and sped off.
* * *
Twenty-one miles south and forty minutes later, Jen and Amy approached the impressive Goldwyn School campus situated in a lush wooded valley. After parking in the visitor’s lot, they found themselves standing alone in a small complex of architecturally unique buildings, flowing streams, courtyards and botanical gardens, all on pristine lawns intended to rival those of the best golf greens. At the center was a majestic administrative building modeled after the Great Dome at MIT. In awe of their surroundings, inspecting every architectural detail, they crossed a large courtyard, entered the iconic admin building, and announced themselves.
After a brief tour and introduction to the staff, an elderly spectacled school regent arrived and separated Amy from Jen for an hour of testing. And while apprehensive about the testing, she knew it was her time to shine, show them what she knew, knock their socks off. She whizzed through the tests in the shortest time on the school’s records.
Shortly, in a small conference room under the Great Dome, they met again and spent an hour with the Board of Regents. It was a tense meeting for them but during the hour, the board informed Jen that they had agreed to admit Amy into grade ten on a trial basis, a five-grade bump. Then they added, based on Amy’s repeated IQ test results on which she averaged over 196, previous scholastic records, and most importantly, Dr. Jelnoss’ strong directive to attempt to challenge her, the board had unanimously agreed on the decision. They went on to say that she was a scholastic phenomenon, far beyond her years in intelligence, and that she would quickly pass through their school.
As one regent said, “She will skip over our grades as rocks on a pond, excel at every challenge. And then college, definitely in her future after a short time here, will be a snap, and I would expect to see her with a PhD a few years after entering.”
Jen, overwhelmed with the interview, put her head in her hands and sobbed.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” she whispered, composing herself. “I had no idea, but I’ve suspected it since we adopted her a month ago. She is a very special young girl. I’m so proud of her.”
In the next chair over, Amy adjusted her collar and blushed but didn’t quite understand the gravity of the conversation, partly because her mind had drifted off. What she did see was that her mom was crying again, experiencing the hormones that her dad had described. And she knew it was good.
“Yes she is, Mrs. Godwin,” said Dr. Stuart Bloome, Chairman of the Board of Regents, a tall, stout bearded man with a hint of Sean Connery about him. “And you have every reason to be. I am sixty-two years old and I must admit that in my long life I have never encountered such a gifted child. Thank you for bringing her our way.”
With that, the entire board rose from their chairs and lined up to congratulate Amy. As each regent passed her and offered their hand, she smiled and beamed with pride hoping not to show too much excitement for fear it might wake her up from her dream.
Jen had left the table during the accolades and was talking finances in a corner of the room with Dr. Bloome. The tuition of $22,500 per month he quoted shocked her, knowing that it would strain their budget, but considering a private armored bus would pick her up and drop her off at her home each school day, it seemed a bargain. She knew Jason had savings in the range of a million dollars, so it wouldn’t be an immediate burden… unless he had other plans for it.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Godwin,” he said, walking her to the Dome’s large door, “It has been truly a pleasure to meet you and admit Amy into our fine school.” He turned to see Amy rush up and grab her mother’s hand.
“And you, young lady,” he said, bending over her, “We shall see you in the morning at eight a.m. Our bus will be waiting at the front door of,” he glanced at his notes, “2 Star Mountain Drive in San Marcos at seven fifteen. Please try not to make the driver wait too long.”
“Yes, Dr. Bloome,” she nodded, grinning. “I’m always on time. It’s my mom and dad that sometimes make me late.”
With a sigh, Jen, smiling, shook her head and muttered, “I wish today’s kids had filter switches. Life would be so much simpler.”
Laughing his way to the door with them, he opened it, bid them farewell, and then waved as they disappeared into the parking lot.
“What are we gonna do now, Mommy?” Amy asked, bouncing into her seat. “Go home?”
“How about lunch? I’m hungry.”
A small child stared up and shrieked loudly in the room of coiled colored tunnels, plastic balls, and ladders. Looming over him, a large statue of Ronald smiled and waved.
From a small booth in another room, Amy covered her ears and glanced out at the scream.
“It’s no wonder there’s so much coulrophobia in the world today,” she said, moving her hands to cover a yawn. “We have to constantly guard our food from them while we eat.”
Jen followed her eyes to see what she was talking about and then chuckled. “I assume coulrophobia is a fear of clowns, right?”
Amy nodded, still staring out at Ronald, and gradually distorted her face to mock the huge smile.
“That’s very perceptive of you, honey, but I think it goes deeper than that. There’s a term called the uncanny valley, that relates to fear, our perception of a human likenesses and how much they deviate from the norm---our expectations. An android or robot, for example, while humanoid in looks, has enough differences to seem uncanny, eerie, and often unpleasant to our senses, creating fear.
And so the more unpleasant something is, the more our acceptance drops into a valley of discomfort or fear… and the same thing can be said of artificial intelligence and synthetic life. If it sounds, feels and acts real, then knowing nothing more we may accept it with ease. But if it seems too real, too perfect we may reject it with discomfort or fear.” She finally stopped to take a breath and sip from her soda.
“I know all that, Mommy,” Amy said, pulling her Minion toy from the Halloween pail. “This toy doesn’t scare me, although it might scare some, because I see a human caricature in it and think it’s uncannily funny, even hilarious, not eerie. I’m safely out of the valley.”<
br />
Jen nodded in agreement, amazed at her wisdom.
Going on, she held it up. “I would never expect a salt-shaker-shaped yellow human like this with no nose, funny goggles, farmer pants and tiny short legs to harm me unless it was way bigger than a house, then I might be scared into the valley.” She giggled, dropped the Minion back into the bucket, and popped a small chicken McNugget into her mouth.
While Amy stuffed herself on junk after missing the last two meals to nerves, Jen was the opposite, now too excited to eat, wanting to tell Jason the details of the Goldwyn meeting.
She caught her attention between bites and said, “Amy, mind if I call Dad while you eat? I can’t wait to tell him about your school meeting.”
Amy looked up, a chipmunk with a mouthful of fries, and attempted to speak. Failing that, she just nodded, feebly smiled, and added another fry.
“Hey Jason. Where are you?” she asked, shielding the phone from shouts from the counter and nearby conversations.
“I’m in Escondido, closing on a Volvo Polestar.”
“Really? No Tesla this time?”
“No, hon. I felt as a family we needed a larger and safer car. It’s an SUV and runs on gas.”
“That’s great, Jace. Hope it didn’t cost too much.”
“Less than my Tesla. I’ve got insurance money left. Want to go out and party tonight?”
She laughed. “Jace, you know we don’t do that anymore… and besides if we did, it would go for Amy’s tuition, not a night out.”
“Well, did she get in?” he asked. She felt apprehension in his voice.
So eagerly she wanted to tell him all the details of the meeting but instead decided to wait until after the lottery drawing; it would bolster his broken spirit, give him something to celebrate when his numbers lost.
“She got in at twenty-two five a month… bus fare included.”
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