Mechanical

by Pauline C. Harris

  Suddenly I heard a gasp and felt my arm being dropped from her grasp. I pulled my arm to my side and looked up to see her staring in horror at my scrape.

  I frowned in confusion and shock, wondering what could be so horrible, but just then I noticed a stinging sensation and looked down at my arm. My eyes widened, my breath caught in my throat and my heart went still, as though it had ceased to beat. Through the blood smeared across my arm where I had apparently fallen on myself, was a tangle of wires and metal. Something I was shocked to realize I hadn’t noticed before entering the office. Instantly I put my hand over it to cover it up.

  “What ...?” the nurse started to say. She looked at me, her expression a mixture of shock, accusation, and disgust. “You’re ....” she started.

  I shook my head, my mouth open to say something, but the words refused to come. “You’re a machine,” she whispered, standing up. “You’re not human.” She narrowed her eyes at me, backing away.

  I shot up from where I was sitting and bolted for the door. The nurse grabbed my arm and I tried to wriggle free but she had a good grip, her cold fingers digging into my skin. I didn’t want to hurt her or scare her more than she already was.

  “What are you?” she demanded, her eyes searching me, hoping to find some answer.

  I yanked away from her grasp and ran from the room, down the hallway and to the front doors of the school. I ran out into the crisp morning air and sprinted down the road feeling the wind on my bare arms and legs. My heart pounded with every step. My eyes stung.

  Suddenly I stopped and just stood there, staring at the pavement. Tears sprang to my eyes. I let them spill over and slide down my cheeks. Why was I crying? Why did this upset me? The humans were worthless, nothing, so why did I care?

  Why was I even capable of crying? It was such a stupid, emotional response, anyway.

  Many times, I had been told what I was ... but never with disgust and horrified astonishment. My tears started coming harder now. She was right. I wasn’t human. And I wasn’t any better than them, either. How could I have ever let myself even begin to believe either of those things?

  I was a machine.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Hey, where were you yesterday?” Jessica asked, running up to me in the hallway. “I saw no sign of you at lunch.”

  “I didn’t feel good,” I told her, and it was partially true. I had spent the rest of the day wallowing is self-pity and disgust, replaying the image of the nurse’s expression over and over again in my mind.

  When my absence at school had been noticed by several teachers, Glen had been forced to pay the school a visit and ‘get rid’ of the nurse somehow. I didn’t know what he did. And part of me didn’t want to know—at all. He said he'd found her a job somewhere else, but all talk about my leaving school had been silenced by the teachers. Glen was powerful in the world outside of the Institution and I was only now beginning to realize that. I wasn’t sure if that knowledge comforted me or scared me.

  “Do you wear makeup?” Jessica asked at lunch period while we were in the bathroom and she was adjusting her lip gloss. “Doesn’t look like you do. You’re so lucky, you don’t need it,” she said, giving me a sidelong glance.

  I had never thought much about makeup. Actually, I had never thought about it at all. Jessica was helping me realize that there were many things I never thought about.

  “I want to give you a makeover!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up with excitement.

  “Um ... okay,” I replied, smiling back as Jessica pulled a bag out of her purse. “I keep extra stuff with me in case. You’d look super cute with blue liner to match your eyes,” she commented, searching through the bag. “And light blue eye shadow.” She rambled on about various other products, deciding which she would use and which she would skip.

  I watched as she pulled out one product after another. “You won’t need foundation, your skin is perfect.” She started applying the eye shadow. The eye liner came next and I tried to keep still as she put it on. It felt so strange and it tickled as it slid across the small area of skin dangerously close to my eye.

  “Stay still,” Jessica scolded, grabbing my chin to steady me. “Now, mascara.” She pulled out a long black tube. I couldn’t help but cringe at the sight of the spiky-looking tendrils protruding from the stem. She put some on my lashes while I clenched my hands and tried not to think about the mascara slipping and poking my eye out.

  Once Jessica was satisfied, she stepped back for a better look. “I think that’s good. You don’t need lip gloss or anything ‘cause your lips are nicely colored already.”

  The mascara seemed a little heavy and I blinked a few times, trying to get used to the weight. “Now, look at yourself,” Jessica instructed and turned me towards the mirror.

  I looked at my reflection and, surprisingly, I actually liked what I saw. I was expecting the makeup to just bother me, but I actually looked different. Jessica was right; the blue liner did show off the color of my eyes and I actually noticed them more. I had never thought anything about my appearance and I wasn’t even sure if I was aware before that I had such blue eyes.

  “You look so cute,” Jessica said from beside me. “I always try blue liner but brown or black always looks better on me. I wish I had your eyes.”

  I looked over at Jessica’s eyes. The black did look good on her, but something else came to my mind.

  Jessica had a soul. She was human so did that mean you could see it through her eyes? I stared at her eyes through the mirror, pretending to study her makeup and making random comments here and there.

  Her eyes were different than mine. They were darker, not as dark as Yvonne’s, but a steady brown. They had more depth than mine. Did depth mean she had a soul? Could others possibly tell by looking at me that I didn’t have a soul? I looked away from Jessica and stared at myself in the mirror. I still saw nothing in my eyes. Just blue. A depthless blue.

  * * * *

  The rest of the day moved slowly along. I barely had anything to say when I got in the car and the driver asked me to report what I’d observed. “I ... don’t know ...” I started.

  The driver gave me a sharp look. “Don’t let anything interfere with your mission, do you hear me?” he bellowed, and I started listing off the things I could remember.

  Once back at the Institution, I went to find Glen. I had something I'd wanted to ask him for awhile now and I had finally built up the nerve. It took some time, but I located him in the mechanical parts department downstairs, a place I rarely went considering the android-told rumor that our origin had begun in that old and cramped area. It bothered us to look at the various screws and metal slabs and envision a person coming to life from them.

  “Glen,” I called, when I saw him, hurrying through the door and trying to ignore the strong smell of iron, metals and dirt. Mechanical parts were stored here, untouched and unsterilized.

  “Hey Drew,” he said, smiling. “How was your day?”

  “Fine.” I looked around at the room filled to the brim with metal, screws, and mechanical parts. I wondered if what I really wanted existed in here.

  “Did you need something?” he asked.

  “Oh ... yeah. I was wondering ...” I trailed off, suddenly feeling silly for asking him this kind of question. Certainly Glen knew what was best, right? I was surprised to find that I couldn’t even be sure if I believed that anymore. My mind was changing so rapidly I was having a hard time catching up with it.

  I paused, shuffling my feet for a moment. “Could you get me a soul?” I asked quietly, looking up at him and hoping with all my heart that he would just open his mouth and say "yes." That it would be that simple.

  But when I saw his face cloud over, my heart sank. “Drew ...” he said with hesitation. “You don’t need one. Don’t worry about it.”

  I felt my hope slowly diminishing. “But, is it even possible to get me one?” I tried again.

  He opened his mouth but no words came.r />
  “Anywhere?”

  He shook his head, and then smiled, trying to brighten up the mood. “You don’t need to worry about stuff like that. You’re perfect, remember?” He smiled in what I guessed to be a reassuring way, but it only made my mood worse.

  I didn’t reply.

  “You don’t need a soul. You’re already perfect the way you are.” Then he went back to what he had been working on before I came in, inspecting piles of metal and sifting through them.

  I turned to leave but suddenly changed my mind, standing up straighter and facing him. “You have one, right?” I asked him.

  He looked startled. “Um ... yes, I believe I probably do.”

  “Then why can’t you get me one? You got me my arms, my legs, my eyes, my whole body—everything. It couldn’t be that hard to just get one more thing.” By his body posture, I could tell he was upset, and knowing Glen, something inside of me told me to stop pushing, to let the subject drop, if only for a little while. But at the same time another part of me, a rebellious part, a part I didn’t even recognize as myself but wanted to meet and to learn from, pulled me from my doubt and forced me to keep going.

  “Drew, you don’t need it,” he said, his voice hardening.

  “I guess I don’t need it, but I would really like to have one. I’ll work extra hours, I’ll clean around here, I’ll ...”

  I'll do anything.

  “No!” Glen almost shouted, turning to face me, a glare etched into his features.

  I gaped at him, taken aback, my bravery dissolving like snow on a warm day.

  “I don’t want you to want one. I want you to realize you don’t need one and be satisfied that I made you the way you are. You are far superior to any human being, with or without a soul.” He spat the words at me, malice lining his tone.

  I stared at him in shock. “Okay,” I whispered.

  He turned his back on me and went back to work without another word.

  I stood there for only a few seconds and then hurried for the door. But just as I approached it, I saw someone in the doorway, a gorgeous, black-haired girl with dark, mischievous eyes. Yvonne.

  Great.

  I slid by her and shut the door.

  “What was he talking about? He seemed angry ...” Yvonne asked, and I could actually detect a hint of concern in her voice. How unlike her.

  “I was asking him if he could get me a soul,” I said without meeting her eyes as we walked down the hallway. I didn’t look up. I didn’t want to see the mockery in her face.

  Instead, she sighed and suddenly seemed tired. “Just drop it, Drew,” she said quietly.

  I looked up. “I can’t. They tell us we’re perfect, but how can we be if we’re missing something?” My voice sounded desperate, more desperate than I thought I was, and for a moment, I wondered how badly I really wanted this. How could I have faith, how could I feel, if I didn’t have a soul?

  Yvonne looked at me. “Because a soul is something you can’t hold. Anything else—an arm, a leg—you can grab a hold of it, you make a synthetic one...you can’t do that with a soul.”

  I was silent.

  “We’re physically perfect. Everything about our appearance and how our body works is perfect, like they say it is. But since they can’t create something like a mind, a personality, or a soul, I don’t know what’s inside of us.”

  I stared at her. I had never seen Yvonne doubt the creators or the fact that she was perfect, like they told her.

  There was a long silence.

  “Well, I have to say, they did a pretty good job on the outside,” she said after a while and laughed. Her previous concern had vanished, now replaced by her normal mask of indifference, only this time is seemed a little forced.

  I half-laughed, but only to be polite. Yvonne was back to herself once more. The subject of souls didn’t come up again that day, but that wasn't the end of it in my mind. I wanted a soul now more than ever.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I stood outside after school, waiting for the van that picked me up every day. I skimmed cars as they drove by and watched the parking lot, but so far, I had been standing there for fifteen minutes and saw no sign of it. I sat down on the curb, setting my backpack beside me.

  “Hi,” I heard a voice say and looked up to see Michael. “Your ride not here yet?”

  I shook my head, still scanning the road.

  “I could give you a ride,” he offered, cocking his head to look at me.

  I smiled in gratitude. “Well, they’ll probably be here soon,” I told him truthfully.

  He sat down next to me, pushing my backpack farther back so he could sit closer. “Well, I’ll wait here with you then.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

  “Okay.” I went on scanning the road for the van, although I was silently pleased he had joined me. Another roller coaster feeling surged through me and I couldn’t help but cringe at the thought that I was behaving like just another boy-crazy, teenage girl.

  “So what do you think, you’re gonna do your English assignment on?” he asked, apparently unaware of my distress.

  “Ugh. I haven’t even thought about it,” I replied, feeling myself relax with the topic. “What about you?”

  “Dunno yet. I could help you think of something if you want.”

  I considered his offer. I had no idea what to write about and Michael actually could be of some help. I looked into his eyes. “Okay, thanks.”

  We sat there in silence for a few minutes and soon the parking lot was empty. Still no sign of the van.

  “I could just give you a ride,” Michael offered again.

  “Well...I guess...” I said, giving one last glance to the road before turning in his direction.

  “Good.” He stood, offering me his hand.

  I let him pull me up, although the feeling of his hand on mine was strange, sending a shiver up my arm. We walked across the parking lot to his car and I climbed in the passenger side. “Same place right?” he asked and I nodded. He started the car and we were on our way.

  “So, any ideas for my paper?” I asked him, feeling that this subject was overused, but thinking of no alternative conversation starter.

  “Hmmm ... well, have you taken Miss Clark’s advice?”

  I turned away. Ugh. Had I ever. I had spent hours staring into my eyes through a mirror and nothing could convince me there was anything there worthy to be called a soul. And how could I write something from deep within my soul, as Miss Clark had put it, if I didn’t even have one in the first place?

  “Come on, you’re going to be a writer someday, remember? High school English class has to be a piece of cake,” Michael said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  I laughed. “You were the one who picked that certain career for me.”

  “Well then, what do you really want to be?”

  I paused. What did I want to be? Did it even matter? There was a huge barrier between what I wanted and what I was forced to accept. Would wishing for something I could never have just be a waste of my time? But being a writer did sound like fun...

  “I’d like to be a writer,” I confessed.

  Michael beamed proudly. “See? I knew it.”

  “But that still doesn’t solve my problem for the paper,” I replied, staring out the window at the sidewalk whizzing by. “I tried to take Miss Clark’s advice, about the soul thing, but I don’t know if there’s anything there to write about.” I barely whispered the last part.

  “Sure there is,” Michael told me. “What do you really care about? That’s all she wants us to write about. I don’t know ... something you really want, something you’re feeling, something you admire ... stuff like that.”

  Suddenly, I was filled with a sensation of happiness. I wasn’t sure why. All of a sudden, I wanted to smile at him, talk to him, just sit in his car. I liked talking to him; I liked how he talked to me. I liked how he encouraged me and I liked his smile. And he did have really nice eyes...and hair.
..

  Oh gosh. What was wrong with me? This was not normal. Was it? I was a machine. Everything inside of me worked rationally. Right? I felt my old self slipping away and I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to hold onto her or let her go.

  “Drew?” Michael asked, pulling me out of my frenzied thoughts.

  “Yeah?”

  “Where do I turn again?”

  I pointed at the road sign and Michael took the turn.

  “So, what are you writing your paper on?” I asked him.

  He shrugged.

  “Well how can you offer to help me think something up when you can’t even think of something for yourself?”

  He gave me a guilty look. “Dunno. Maybe ‘cause helping you is much more fun.”

  Just then I noticed we were only a few blocks from the Institution. “Stop here,” I said quickly.

  He stopped the car. “Which house is yours?” he asked.

  “I can walk from here,” I told him.

  “No, its fine, I can drive you,” he urged and started to drive forward again. I knew he would see the Institution if he drove only a few more seconds and I panicked.

  “Stop,” I said, and when he didn’t react I opened my door.

  Michael slammed on the brakes. “What are you doing?”

  “I need to get out here,” I said, climbing out before he could continue driving.

  “Um ... okay,” he replied uncertainly.

  I grabbed my bag. “Thanks so much for the ride.”

  He looked confused. “See you at school.”

  “Bye.” I stepped back and watched him drive away.

  I walked up to the Institution, but as soon as I passed through the doors I was confronted by a man I recognized to be David, my driver. “Where were you?” he demanded.

  “Where were you?”

  “Okay, I was a little late,” he admitted.