A New Start

by Morris Fenris

  “No... No, these are just for me.”

  A hint of fear came into your voice. “That's a lot of bags. Where are you holidaying, the land of no shops?”

  You knew I wasn’t going on a holiday.

  “I’m not going on holiday, I’m leaving.”

  I still remember the look you had after I said that, so wildly, exquisitely beautiful was the first moment of sadness as it struck you then. And when I think of it I always wonder why a happy face can never seem quite so perfect. Is it just me? There’s something as a face breaks just at the turning of a mood, when painful news filters from the thoughts and out across the body. Sometimes beauty lifts us; sometimes it reaches out and stabs at us. And when we know beauty, these feelings breach all our defences and come on in crushing waves.

  “But-” you tried, surprisingly stopping as I held up a hand.

  “I’m not saying it’s forever. But we should be apart for a while.”

  You stared at me in what I’m pretty sure was disbelief. That first moment of sadness had passed and now you just looked... well, almost annoyed. “You can’t do that. CyberG will-”

  “-CyberG will expect me to keep an eye on you. And I will, once a week. But at the end of the day, they’ll only really act if you run again; and, as we’ve already seen, if you want to run, you’ll run.”

  I hadn’t meant it to sound as harsh as it did. I had done a lot of thinking and sorting my head out in the last few weeks, but despite the amount of blame that I had acquired for myself in that time, it seems I still felt betrayed as well.

  “But it’s like I told you before, Tim, none of this was about you. It was about me.”

  “Your wrong, Mina. I don’t want to sound self-centred here, but I think I had a lot to do with you running, whether you realise it or not.”

  You folded your arms and looked at me, not expecting to be convinced by whatever I was about to say.

  “I don’t deserve you,” I said and you gave an impatient half-roll of the eyes in response. “No, I don’t,” I insisted more forcefully. “I’m not trying to be a martyr or play ‘no self-confidence’ guy here. I’m serious, Mina.

  “How many times have I said ‘I love you’, Mina? But to be honest, I still think of you like a machine. After all the time we’ve spent together and after everything you’ve given me – the love, the happiness – and I still see a machine when I look at you. I still treat you like something I’ve bought. Something I really love that I bought, but nonetheless...”

  “Well,” you tried weakly, “you did buy me...”

  “No!” I exclaimed with a stamp of my foot, “It’s not good enough. You’re a person, Mina, and a good one at that. You deserve better. You deserve to be loved, and after three years I don’t love you the way that I should... completely and without reservation.

  “Instead, what I’ve done is make you fit into the life that I already had, a lonely one with no real friends. I’ve made you a virtual prisoner, first in the flat and now here.”

  “But I can go out whenever I want.” You really were trying to stand up for me... against me, as it were.

  “And see who? The horse lady you had to keep from me? After the first few weeks of you coming I never once encouraged you to go out and make friends, never once gave you the impression that I wanted you to become anything other than the woman I had imagined I wanted.”

  Tears were welling up in your eyes and your voice was strange when you asked your question. “And did I?”

  I gave a mirthless little laugh. “No, to your credit. Instead you became someone that I’ve come to realise I didn’t know half as well as I thought I did.” You tried to say something, but only got as far as drawing your breath before I carried on. “And that makes you far more interesting than the Mina I tried to create. I want you to explore that – who you are. And I want a chance to make the woman you’ve become, fall in love with me, for real this time. I want to be the sort of man who is worthy of you and not the twenty-one year old adolescent trapped in an ever-aging body, the one who never wants his life to change.

  “But we can’t do that in the same place, Mina.”

  I could see in your eyes that you knew this was true; or, that you at least agreed with the solution to our problems now that it was explained. Either way, I was relieved to hear your next words, even if they were born out of a whole lifetime of dependence and attachment.

  “So, when do I get to see you?”

  “Tuesdays,” I replied. “And then, possibly, Thursdays or Fridays.”

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  “Hi, my name is Tim and I’m an Aquarius on the cusp of Pisces… whatever that means.”

  “Hi, I’m Mina. I’m only three years old, but I’m very mature for my age.”

  We both chuckled awkwardly; it was weird, but this was how we were doing it.

  Whatever else had happened, your interest in the Association of God's Children hadn't waned, so I had decided to meet you half way. Maybe it was a little bit of rebellion against that arse of a man Rowe from CyberG and his implied threat to my job, but I thought we could 'pretend' to meet at an AGC meeting, go for a coffee afterwards and see where it led.

  Rupert Gardner’s religion club-thingy – or AGC, as it was more usually known – certainly hadn’t been as I’d expected. For one thing, there had been hardly any mention of religion all evening. Not that this had assuaged my suspicions; in fact, it had probably deepened them slightly. Before the story we had all chatted as a group for a good forty-five minutes, Gardner vaguely leading the discussion by interjecting every now and then, moving the conversation on and making sure everyone was involved as much as he could. No chance to be the quiet, mysterious one at the back, as I had been hoping.

  Then, after the story, another discussion had followed about its themes and what certain things meant, Gardner asking questions but loathe to become too involved in giving answers or to label anyone’s opinions as ‘wrong’. It was all very fluffy.

  The story had been some sort of morality tale involving cave people and, to be honest, it had felt to me a little bit like story time at some infant school, rather than a meeting of adults discussing serious stuff about life, the universe and everything.

  One thing from the whole exercise really stuck with me, though; and that was how clever and insightful you were. My take on this weird morality tale involving the battle for survival by and love lives of a small group of ancient hunter-gatherers had scratched only at the surface of things, while your explanation to the group had taken into account so much more of the little nuances that play into the way we run our relationships. How sometimes we use sex as a tool – not a weapon necessarily – but a way to make someone else feel better, not just ourselves. How this can ultimately benefit us further down the line.

  Again, somehow these were not the conversations I had envisaged having at a religious meeting. There you go.

  “So what did you think of the meeting?” you asked. It was a little like you had been reading my thoughts, but really, it just made sense that you want to ask me that, I could tell in your eyes what it meant for you to have me there. Only now, so late on, do I understand what a true honour it is to have had my opinion matter to you in this way.

  Nonetheless, I picked my words carefully, I wanted at least to keep some of your good grace.

  “I'm not sure what to make of it,” I replied, trying to be both honest and tactful. “It was... not at all what I expected. Not that I could really say what I expected.” I paused for a moment. “I enjoyed it more than I thought I might.”

  “But you hadn't expected to enjoy it at all?” You said it with a gracious laugh, both a question and a statement. You seemed different somehow... more confident, wiser even; yet it had been less than two weeks since I had moved out.

  I had called you every day and made a couple of brief trips round to the house, but had felt it best that we give it over a week before starting to see each other properly. In truth, I didn
't know what the hell I was doing and, now that I was finally in front of you, I found a small part of me panicking, wishing I could be safely somewhere else, somewhere with no pressure, just like with every date I had ever had before you came along.

  “What about you? Was it what you thought it would be?” The question sounded awkward as it came out of my mouth. But wasn't 'dating' supposed to have a little awkwardness? A part of me wanted to just treat you like 'my Mina' again, to take you in my arms and whisk you back home, so that we could snuggle up together on the sofa. But even a dumb-ass such as myself can sometimes see when his ostrich instinct is kicking in, and somehow this all felt so critical to our relationship working from then on, far too critical to just be burying my head in the sand.

  “I'm not sure I had any expectations,” you said. I thought you might say more, but instead you just looked down at your skinny vanilla latte. You had discovered the skinny vanilla latte within a month of coming to live with me and, although you had occasionally tried other coffees (usually because of a lack of vanilla syrup and skimmed milk), you had invariably stuck to the same drink of choice for the last three years.

  It's something that maybe I have only now come to understand, how thinking of you as a cyborg – as a 'non-human' – is not always the worst thing in the world, not always the great insult that I thought it was. I had imposed our temporary separation largely because I felt that I needed to get to appreciate you as a person, but I had fallen in love with a cyborg. When I think about your addiction to vanilla lattes, I cannot help but wonder if this is a human-style addiction or a result of what you are and how you have been made. And in some ways, maybe that is okay. The 'cyborg you' should intrigue and interest me, I should want to know, because you are a cyborg and I am in love with you.

  Does that make sense?

  “What were you hoping to find?” I tried “What were you looking for?”

  And this was the more important question. Because you were as acutely aware of your cyborg status as anybody else. That is why you were there, although, even if I knew this at the time, I did not truly appreciate the way you felt.

  You looked at me, a small but wry grin flickering briefly across your lips. “The same as everyone else, I guess... Meaning.”

  “And...?” I asked, maybe a little obtusely.

  “It's only the first session!” you exclaimed, though not harshly.

  “You're right,” I apologised. “It's just... I want to understand.”

  You smiled at that. “Then maybe you came there for the same reason as well.”

  “Maybe.”

  There was another short silence, but more comfortable than the last one – or so I felt. After maybe thirty seconds you looked about to say something, then you stopped and fixed on your coffee again.

  “What?” I asked. “Please say it, say anything you want.”

  Again, you looked about to speak but stopped yourself. “Not here,” you said finally, pushing your unfinished vanilla latte away. “Would you walk me home?”

  ****

  You were different again, even in just the last few weeks since CyberG had brought you back. Somehow the jet black bob had grown out a little and become lighter, turning that rebellious, sultry, almost dangerous look into something more demure and respectable. You wore a knee-length skirt and the sort of smart coat a business woman – or a businessman's very present wife – might wear. It gave you an air of confidence, of belonging that I hadn't seen you give off before.

  Or maybe I just imagined it. I had imposed this extended separation upon us, but now I perhaps feared the monster I had unleashed: You outgrowing me while we were apart.

  “You look good,” I said as we walked a circuitous route home, a route that took us along the dimly-lit edge of the canal. It was a cheesy line, but it also happened to be true.

  “Thanks.”

  Or maybe it wasn't so much a confidence I was seeing in you, as a 'calm'. There was something peaceful in that expression on your face.

  “I'm seeing things,” you said suddenly.

  My stomach lurched, only because I had thought you were going to say, 'I'm seeing someone'. I couldn't do this, I realised, I couldn't cope with all the fears and neuroses that being without you brought out in me.

  I didn't reply, just looked back at you hoping my expression successfully masked the inner turmoil of my thoughts. You carried on.

  “I'm seeing amazing things, Tim. And I'm not sure if they're just in my head. But... that's...” You faltered momentarily, but then I saw your calm come straight back to you. “It's not the reason for the AGC meetings, but I'm hoping that there might be some answers.. some clues, or something.”

  “What sort of things?” I asked.

  You stopped and regarded me for a moment. “Do you want the safe answer or my guess?”

  “I want you to be open,” I said. An admirable thing to say, and I thought I meant it. If only I really did.

  “I think I'm seeing life,” you said. “I'm seeing how it all works, how it all... fits together.”

  That didn't make the slightest bit of sense to me; and I think you saw that, as you took my hand and led me (a little like a child) down a path to where a tree stood on a small, circular island of grass about thirty feet across. Concrete, tarmac and brick surrounded it, making it seem like these living things existed upon sufferance. One day the gleaming sprawl of the High Street complex would cross the river and the canal and find its way here, reshaping this old landscape, then the grass and the tree would be no more.

  “Touch the tree,” you said, leading me onto the grass.

  I failed to suppress a giggle, but you didn't seem to mind and waited patiently for me to reach out and place my palm against the bark of the tree.

  I felt that buzz, that charged little flutter which sometimes comes when we place our bare skin against a living plant. Is it just the coolness giving us this feeling? Or is there something... electrical there? Either way, it caused me to make a sharp, if small, intake of breath.

  “You feel it?” you asked.

  “I feel something,” I said, “but I'm not sure what.”

  “I can see it," you said, a touch of wonder and excitement finding its way into your voice. "I can see what it is that you feel. I can see how the tree flows into you, and you into the tree."

  I pulled my hand back, flexing and massaging it, as if trying to revive or protect it.

  “Or maybe you think you do,” I said. “Maybe CyberG did something to you when they had you.”

  “Something to make me hallucinate? Why would they do that?” You weren't worried by my suggestion or angry at me for making it. You were calm – almost annoyingly so – calm and sure of yourself.

  “Or maybe something's...” I couldn't say it, so you finished off for me.

  “Maybe something's gone wrong with me?”

  I looked away, ashamed again of how quickly my thoughts turned to your otherness, your constructed nature.

  “Maybe it has,” you said. “And did you stop to think that it might be something incredible and astonishing that has gone wrong with me?”

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  Three weeks and two AGC date nights later, I moved back into the house. In one way it was a really healthy process to have gone through, helping both of us to better appreciate each other's company. To be honest, I had spent every moment of each week looking forward to the AGC meetings and seeing you again. Such a head state had even made me a little more receptive to the contents of the meetings themselves, though I was far from being a convert.

  The down side of all of this was that, in such a short time, you had changed so much without me. You had grown more independent and become this incredibly spiritual person, whereas I was still just 'Tim', the same guy I had been a month before.

  Your claims grew ever bigger and you wandered about in an almost perpetually ecstatic state, seemingly spellbound by everything you saw. In a way, it was so uplifting to see you li
ke this, but in another way, I couldn't shake that terribly insecure feeling of being left behind.

  You had put more of yourself into the house while I was away. They were little things – a picture here, a throw there, pot pourri in a bowl, those sort of things. Still, it all added to the overall impression of a blooming flower, or a butterfly crawling out of its chrysalis, or some other equally obvious metaphor for your personal growth.

  At first I felt like I was in someone else's house and did that thing where you sit awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, like placing one's posterior fully on the cushion and risking temporary a bum print when getting up to leave, is the height of rudeness, or something. Or maybe it's just something more primal; being ready to run if need be... Anyway, yes, as you semi-eloquently point out, I'm bloody-well digressing again.

  ...But I did relax before long and you seemed genuinely pleased to have me back. As much as I had meant the self-deprecating stuff I said when I left, I guess I had also hoped you would just realise how much you missed me and maybe even drop all the religion nonsense. I'd wanted to be supportive in going along to the AGC meetings, but deep down I was hoping that it was all just a fad that would pass. My plans had backfired somewhat.

  You had carried on with the respectable housewife look and somehow your face now seemed older than when CyberG had first taken you away from me in a field just outside of Drewsteignton. The girl was forever gone, I realised. I sat watching you as we watched a movie on the CyMedia Centre that first night I was back, and I realised how you had somehow gone from being a young woman to just 'a woman' while I had been out of your life. You wore a white woollen jumper, even though the lounge was plenty warm enough and you curled up like you belonged in that sofa, like you had been belonging in that sofa or ones like it for thirty years or more. You had never looked more... human.

  And I found myself thinking about the things you would never have; like children, like the freedom to travel where and when you wanted, like any sort of existence beyond the next couple of years. I wanted them for you, I wanted them for us. And, for the first time since I had ordered you several years before, I wondered about the ethics of CyberG's companion programme.