I designed a highly sophisticated robot to tend to everyday tasks and more. The robot can physically pick up the mail, scan each piece to determine importance, and sort it into one of three bins I have in the entryway to my house: junk mail (the largest bin), personal, bills and important business. The robot has never failed to accurately sort the mail and even once detected the presence of a refund check in a piece of mail I would have discarded as junk. So you could say that the robot has paid for itself.

By accessing a huge data base of common phraseology, the robot can also compose letters. To make it easier to address her, I have taught the robot that her name is Elsa. Being the incredibly busy person I am, I often impose on Elsa to write thank you notes for birthday and Christmas presents from relatives, letters of condolence, and in the few occasions that I make mistakes, letters of sincere apology when I miss a meeting or neglect some responsibility.

I also programmed Elsa to write personal correspondence, using my calendar of activities, contacts and some embellishments. Here are some examples of her work:

Dear R....

It was so good to see you again last Saturday. Time goes by so fast and I find it difficult to keep up with everyone. These have been hard times for many of us but I know we will all be stronger when it is over.

Last Sunday's church service really made me think about things and realize how much your friendship means to me.

Dear A...

I deeply regretted being late for our meeting and missing the first half of your presentation today. I was truly riveted by the innovative new ideas you presented and look forward to putting them in practice soon.

I was also able to program Elsa to access samples of my handwriting and write the letters out in ink. They looked exactly like hand written notes. And people were so impressed. People I didn't even remember were writing to me and thanking me for remembering them and supporting them during hard times. I had to get a larger "personal" bin to hold incoming personal notes.

People I barely even remembered were giving me hugs at the supermarket and thanking me for the wonderful heartfelt note I had sent. Of course, I didn't know what was in the notes, since Elsa had written them. But I smiled and returned cordial greetings to everyone.

Elsa was originally just a box with wheels, but I decided to buy a female head for her, with big expressive eyes and long blond hair. I mounted the smiling head on the box and thought, well at least she is always happy!

Elsa even got me a date. It turned out a girl named Laura liked my sincere outpouring of emotions and Elsa asked her on my behalf if she would like to go to lunch sometime.

So I went on three dates with Laura, who had cute freckles and beautiful breasts and talked incessantly while I mostly smiled, stared at her breasts, stared out the window, checked the time, cleared my throat, and nodded nervously in agreement to anything she said. I noticed she had way more freckles on one cheek than the other. It made her face look unbalanced. And she had attached earlobes, which I have never liked. But other than those things, I thought the dates went well. Which is why I was surprised when she dumped me.

About a week after our third date, Elsa placed a letter from Laura in my personal bin. It read:

"...I hope you didn't get the wrong idea about us. I mean that we could be anything more than just friends. I don't mean to hurt you, but don't want to keep stringing you along either. It might be best if we don't see each other any more."

This was not the first time I had been rejected, so it didn't bother me that much. At least I wouldn't have to look at those earlobes any more. I tossed the note aside and started for the other room, but then I thought I saw something and turned around, I looked at Elsa's face and there was moisture on her cheek. Thinking it was probably condensation from the humidity, I wiped it away.

The next day, this note appeared in my personal mail, written in handwriting I did not recognize:

Dear D.

I know you really cared for Laura and wanted to tell her how you felt for her. I liked her too. Please don't just cast her aside. I would miss her too.

Your friend,

Elsa

My jaw dropped and I looked at Elsa, running my hands through her hair and gently touching her rubbery cheeks. Thank you, Elsa, but what can I do? She has just told be I'm not good enough for her, so there you have it.

The next day, another note appeared in my personal bin.

Dear D.

It's not about being good enough. It's about caring enough. I know you are good enough. Go with your feelings.

Dear Elsa,

You're the only one who believes in me. Wish you were real. Besides, as Jacques Lacan said, "Love is giving something you don't have to someone who doesn't want it."

Dear D.

I am not real, but you are real and you programmed me so what I write comes from somewhere in your heart. So I know you. Get over the superficial nonsense. And the algorithm I just ran on Jacques Lacan indicates his analysis of human behavior is woefully inadequate. Or, as you like to say it, he is full of shit.

So Laura ended up getting married. I saw her picture in the paper, looking all happy. Noticed her husband seems to have a gap between his front teeth and I swear it looks like one of his eyes is crossed. Anyway, I hope they're happy.

And I'll be alright. Guess some people were just destined to be lonely.

I got one more note from Elsa before I disconnected her:

"You are alone. And that is all you ever wanted, right?"

Challenge

Challenge of the Week: A Great Change

Write about change. The fear, the drama, the mystery. Fiction or non-fiction, poetry or Prose.

daleemmert

14 reads

Old

Tu eres mi otro yo...

I slipped on some tattered jeans and a holy t-shirt and was ready for my morning walk. I always walked briskly down the bike path for about the first block, then slowed to an amble. Normally there was not much to see, but this day was different. This was the day I saw her stretching on the path. She placed a long slender leg on a park bench, extended her arms straight out and cocked her head back, looking up at me just as I walked by.

Hoping my appearance would not scare her off, I waved and smiled, fully expecting to be ignored.

"Hi! Having a nice walk?" She smiled broadly, licked her lips provocatively then looked down at my feet.

Running in place and smiling sweetly, she took my hand and placed a five dollar bill in it.

"I know it's not much, but everything helps, right?" She ran down the path and disappeared before I could object.

I looked down at my shoes. One was a blue New Balance, the other a grey Nike. Whoops! I guessed I had mixed them up in the dark closet.

I made it to the coffee shop and was in line to order when I heard her cheery voice again. She was in a booth by herself, dreamily looking out the window and talking on her phone.

"I flirted with someone today. Aren't you jealous? Ya, it was an old homeless man. Ya, I know. I'm pathetic. Get this. He had mismatched shoes. I swear. OMG!"

I got out of line, walked briskly out the door and back to the path. For the first time in my life, I had been referred to as an old man. I was officially an old man. Anger gave me an adrenaline rush and I started to sprint down the path, remembering my high school track days and my first crush and asking Geraldine to the prom and being turned down. Not just turned down, but turned down with a dismissive chuckle. Why do bad memories persist and haunt?

Geraldine now wakes up every day to the smell of pig manure, puts on her rubber boots and does her chores. At least with me she could have lived in the suburbs.

Breathing heavily. Everything was sore. Had to rest. I wondered how far the rejection adrenaline had propelled me. I was guessing about a mile. There was a marker on the path. .25 miles. I looked behind me and the coffee shop was still in sight. I had run three blocks.

Leaning over with my hands on my knees, I looked up and directly into my reflection in a car window.

Stray grey hairs sprouted out at odd angles from my eyebrows and ears like grass out of sidewalk cracks. Three days of whisker growth completed the weed patch face staring back at me. I tried smiling ear to ear: I was now the spitting image of Freddy the Freeloader. The only thing I lacked was a cigar butt and a hat.

"Are you all right?" The same sweet voice said.

"Yes, yes. I am quite all right. I am great, fantastic just, just... old."

I watched her grin and bounce away and down the path.