Heart, hardwired.

I grimace at the lovely older woman that sits across from me. This is always the most awkward part- when they offer a cup of tea. 

How does one politely say “No thank you, if I ingest organic matter I will perish an electric death?” 

Luckily my beloved companion and fellow social worker, politely interjects.

 “No thank you, Mrs. Walters. We really should be going. Thank you for having us.” she gracefully stands up from the high back chair next to me, and I do the same, my legs stiff from sitting. As we leave the sweet apartment that is tidy, save for a few tissues strewn on the coffee table, and well decorated, I catch sight of something potentially hazardous and very out of place for a sweet old lady’s home.  

“Should that snake be in that box?” I say to Gloria as she adjusts her bag and opens the door. “It could eat her in her sleep. Ball pythons are carnivorous and-” “The judge ruled that the snake could stay, so long as it helped improve her....tendencies.” Gloria interrupts calmly,  lowering her voice at the end of her sentence. I look back at the sweet old woman who was now reaching into the large glass aquarium and petting the biggest snake I’ve ever seen. Running her fingers over the top of its head, it nudged her hand like a puppy. How something like that could make someone want to continue to exist was beyond me. 

I shook my head as I followed Gloria out. I’ll never understand humans. 

“‘I’ll never understand humans,” I say aloud once we’re out on the city streets. People rush past us, either coming or going but never really being anywhere. Gloria is looking up and down the street for an opening in the traffic that hums past us at frightening speeds. “But Circe you are human.” She argues distractedly. That’s something I admire about her; she can do multiple things at once without shutting down.  “Part,” I say, following her as she waves at a car that has generously decided not to punt us down the street with sheer force. “Part human..” 

“Just because you’ve had some issues with the physical part doesn’t make you any less human.”

 Gloria replies, striding down the sidewalk with confidence that others will move out of her way. I quietly walk behind her with awkward footfalls.

“Issues…” I mumble. The issue is that not only am I not human at all, I only appear to be.

 The issue is that one day a group of people, who I’m sure were considered very intelligent before this, decided to grow a human being in a lab, with no soul and only A.I intelligence. And in the year 2035, I was born.

Created.

Popped out.

Whatever you want to call it.

I nearly run up the back of Gloria as she stops, spins on her heel, and grabs me by the shoulders. Her skin is the color of wet clay and her dark hair billows around her like storm clouds, like oil in water. 

She’s the most beautiful human I've ever seen. 

“Circuits.” she says meaningfully, using the nickname that only she can make sound endearing.  “You are a miracle, of science, of humanity. So your brain is a motherboard and your organs use more machinery than the industrial revolution. So what!? You are the coolest, baddest bitch I know. You are more human than half these people.” she gestures around us and nearly knocks the hat off a man who looks like he’s stepped out of an educational film -“How To Look Like A Person.” His coat is long and tan, to match his mustache, which is the same color as the fedora he was now clinging to while shooting Gloria with a horrible stare. Gloria stares back. 

“Sorry.” she says. Her tone says otherwise. 

“Watch it.” he replies as he storms off. A piece of toilet paper is firmly attached to the bottom of his shiny shoes and it flutters as he stomps away. 

Gloria looks back at me and our eyes meet. A snicker, smile not candy bar, grips my lips and refuses to let go. Before long we’re giggling and Gloria is slinging her arm over my shoulder and I feel more like a person than I have in a long time. 

We walk back to the office. It’s a beautiful day. 

As usual, people watch as we walk by; Gloria assures me they’re not, but I know they are.

 I stare straight ahead as I march down the street. I can’t look at the ground or my balance fails, and Gloria says this unnerves people. 

 “Don’t forget to blink.” She reminds me as we near the office building at the end of a cobblestone street lined with small shops and thankfully some shade.

I dutifully close my eyes for a moment too long. 

I’ve crashed into something warm and moving. Arms are around me, holding me steady as the ground threatens to rush up and hit me. 

My eyes open and I find myself face to face with a man. A boy. No, a man- round, stubbled cheeks and blonde hair and little freckles on his nose. “So-sorry-I…” I start to say, too fast like I’ve been put on double time, but he just smiles at me like I didn’t nearly push him into the street. Other encounters suggest this is odd. 

“It’s all right, I should have seen you coming. You’re very-” He looks me up and down and heat pulses through me.  “Dazzling!” His scan complete, he looks me in the eyes and I’m not sure how to respond- 

Is he referring to the cuff of cubic zirconia earrings I wear? Or perhaps to my hair, the smallest amount of silver peach fuzz covering scar tissue? maybe the choker around my neck, audibly projecting vibrations from my useless voice box.

That’s probably it, I reason as I untangle myself awkwardly from his arms. 

Beside me, Gloria covers her mouth in a juvenile attempt to hide her laughter. I take a step back from the man, looking him up and down. He’s two inches taller than me, with sandy blonde hair and slightly pink-tinged skin around his neck where the sun has burned him- Irish descent? Scottish? He’s dressed in a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans- odd for the warm day.

He’s very handsome. 

And out of my league. Exceptionally. 

I worry I’ve said this out loud when the next thing he says is “I know this is weird, but could I maybe get your number?” 

When he speaks, the sound is soft like cotton in my ears. 

“Social or telephone?” I say slowly, my brain only half-listening to my mouth as my pulse slams against my skin.

An awkward second between us. I close my eyes and lift my hand to my head; a movement  I’ve seen Gloria perform whenever we encounter a particularly challenging case.

Luckily, the man is smiling. He missed the joke, but likes the punchline. Perhaps he thinks I’m some sort of manic pixie dream girl, quirky and fun.

Not a mashup of machinery and failing organs.

“Telephone, to start” he quips, reaching into his right pocket and holding out a cellphone. 

“Oh. Thank you.” I say as I take it. 

“What is your name?”

“Cirice” 

“Greek, right?”

“Very good. What’s yours?” 

“Argar.” he rolls his R’s. It suits him. 

“Isn’t that a last name?” I ask as I scroll through the apps on his phone, momentarily forgetting to put in my number as I marvel at the sheer mass of apps on the screen. 

 My brain starts to count, first by use; Games-seven Finance-two, dating apps- 5 ( is that a lot?) then organizes by color. There are three green ones and that’s all I log before his voice brings me rushing back to the city street, the hot sun blinding me as I turn my attention to him. 

“Beg your pardon?” 

“It is usually a last name, but my parents were eccentric.” He gives a cute little shrug and holds out his hand. “Are you into Onomastics?” 

 I nod my head in response and look between his hand and his face. 

He wants the phone back.

The phone that does not currently have my number, but multiple dating apps. 

Filled with girls who are nothing like me.

My mind is a complete blank as I look him in the eyes; they appear nearly see-through, the exact same color as the sky. 

I’ve frozen. 

I can’t remember who I am, let alone an arbitrary phone number. The heat from the setting sun between the buildings mingles with my rising embarrassment and I thank God for the first time that the fans that cool my systems are silent. 

“I-I...I’m sorry. I’m…” I turn to Gloria, who steps to my side in a flash.

 “I’ve forgotten my phone number. Something must be wrong with my systems.” I whisper.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with your systems, girl.” Gloria winks at me as I hand her the phone. 

 She types my number, swift and smooth. She hands it back, and I hold it out for him to take, like some grown-up, serious, version of hot potato. 

He smiles at me and Gloria, bless her, acts as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

“Sorry.” I say again, assured this will be the last time I ever see him. “I’m not all there today.”

 I try a very human expression with a meak smile, hoping my imitation is enough to be perceived as cute instead of crazy.

He nods, un-emoting, as he slips the phone back into his right pocket. 

“That’s all right, I’m not all there myself.” 

 A sly grin flashes over his lips as he raises both arms in a low shrug. 

The flash of metal excites me.

“Whoa!” I reach out and grab onto the prosthetic left arm that had been obscured behind his back. “This is carbon fiber! The pistons! Oh my gosh!” My eyes wildly scan the piece of machinery, barely taking in all the information before I’m wretched backward. Gloria’s manicured hands are wrapped around my arm in a vice grip. “Cirice! You can’t just grab people!” 

“But he’s just like me!” I whine, withering under her dark-eyed stare. 

“I assure you no one is like you.” She says.

“Excuse me?” 

Gloria and I break our intense eye contact. The man is holding out the prosthetic arm, which he has detached. “You can have a look if you’d like.” 

I smile and the skin around my lips threatens to snap.

 Looking from the man to Gloria, I wait. She rolls her eyes. “Go ahead.” She laughs at my enthusiasm as I take the arm into my hands. It feels precious, like a newborn child and I’m very certain I’m going to drop it. Manually I tighten my grip before my eyes devour the detailed craftsmanship, the engineering that went into this “...is incredible!” I say aloud. I’m in complete awe with no way to hide it. Agar laughs, pleased with my reaction it seems. 

“I’m glad you think so. Took me ages to design it.” 

My eyes struggle to focus on him as I comprehend this statement.  “You MADE this!?” 

I couldn’t even fathom a project such as this. Where does one begin!? 

“That’s incredible!” 

Agar looks down modestly (humble and smart!)

 “No, I only came up with the design, but I suppose you can say I had a hand in the finished product….” he raises his eyebrows and waits. I wait right along with him. loading...loading...

 Gloria groans and he catches her eye.

 I can feel my circuits frying, trying...to...understand…hurry up…! Finally, it clicks and I let out a blast of obnoxiously loud sound. 

“Oh! Aha! Had a hand! Oh, that’s HUMERUS!”

 I hold up the arm with a forced smile, my shoulders sag and I give the prosthetic back to Agar, who is shaking in silent laughter. 

“Humorous! That’s very good. Ten out of ten.” His laugh is infectious, and I am not yet immune. 

“Well.” He sighs, turning those bright blue eyes back at mine. What color are my eyes? I haven’t checked in a while. 

“Now that I’ve let you see more of me than most,” he tugs his shirt sleeve over his arm, hiding everything but the fingertips under the fabric, “I’d like to see more of you.” 

He’s standing closer, he’s scanning me again and an old, but never dormant, fear creeps into the back of my throat.

 He wants to take me apart, see how I work, use me for his own gain…

“Um excuse me?” I put my hands on my hips and step back with more confidence than I actually possess. He cringes. 

“Oh, oh no that sounded bad no. No! That’s not what I meant.” He looks over my shoulder where I know Gloria is standing, waiting for the signal that I need back up. 

“How was it supposed to sound?” I ask.

  “I want to see more of you, on a date. Maybe two if you like me.” Agar amended his previous statement. “I want to see more of you, but in the way that I want to see you in different places and times. I want to see what you look like in the middle of the night, under the stars. I suspect even more dazzling.” He looks so sheepish. It’s adorable. 

“Oh-”

“Coffee? Tomorrow?” 

I scrunch my face. “Oh, I can’t-” but he leans closer and whispers in my ear, the sound crystal clear through my speakers.

“Coffee, purely so I have something to do with my hands. Drinking is optional.” 

If I could blush I would.

He leans back and gives me a questioning look, waiting for my answer. I look down, feel the heavy swoop of gravity. 

I look up at Agar and have the same reaction. 

“I’d love to.”