The Upgrade

I could hear the pen scrapping on the clipboard. “We just need to run a few more tests before we start.” The doctor sat down on a stool in front of me and held out a piece of paper with an ink stain. “What do you see?”

“I don’t know,” I said, worried I would answer wrong. The doctor waited patiently for an answer. “A butterfly?” 

“You sound unsure,” the doctor said. “Remove yourself from your emotions and answer again.” 

I looked at the inkblot and reaffirmed my answer. The next few went easier. I answered faster and more confidently. 

“Good,” the doctor nodded, “And this one?” He then held up a picture of my ex-girlfriend, Marissa. I stared at the picture, unsure of how to answer. “How does this make you feel?”

I shook my head. It was a long relationship with an ugly breakup. She left me for my twin brother, Rodrick. I caught them in bed with each other the day after Valentine’s. Six years and an engagement over in seconds. I held a shaky breath. 

“Nothing,” I lied. 

“I need honesty from you, Ronald,” said the doctor. “If this is going to work, I need you to tell me the truth. You want the upgrade, correct?”

I nodded in defeat. I looked the doctor over again. He was a small framed man with large glasses and a mustache that didn’t fit his narrow face. He was balding and what little hair he had left stood on end. He reminded me more of a mad scientist than a doctor. 

“Tell me about Marissa,” he instructed. “And leave nothing out.” I instantly broke down. Tears streamed down my face as I told him the story of how we met, how easy it was to love her, how she broke my heart. 

“I need this doctor,” I begged, “I need to move on and forget her.”

“You plan on moving to the city, I take it?” I nodded. The city was only for upgraded humans. ‘Flesh Robots,’ they were called. There was no love, no hate, nothing in the city. Emotions were seen as a weakness that limited a person’s true potential. I’ve never thought about upgrading before, but after the hurt from Marissa, it seemed like the most logical solution. 

“You understand the risks of the surgery?” the doctor asked. 

“Yes.” A nurse had mentioned them earlier. Shortness of breath; racing heartbeat; sweating; itchiness; vomiting and nausea; coma; death…all basic side effects. I had signed a novel’s worth of papers to get here. “I just need her out of my head. I can’t take this pain anymore.” The doctor smiled at me sincerely. 

“We can fix that and make it so you never have to experience that kind of pain ever again. Once you move to the city, however, you will have a new doctor. The transition is really quite easy. So, are you ready for your new life?” 

“Yes, I am ready,” I sighed. The doctor did a few more scratches on his clipboard and stood. He took my hand and shook it. 

“I will see you in surgery then.”

I woke up in a hospital gown strapped to a bed. A nurse patted my forehead with a wet cloth. My skin crawled and burned. My head throbbed. My body felt sick. 

“Relax, it’s all done now.”

“Why can’t I move?” I asked. I pulled at the straps. 

She smiled at me. “So you don’t scratch yourself. The procedure makes most patients feel itchy. It won’t last long though. You’ll need to stay here for a few more hours before we can release you. How are you feeling?” I took a moment to myself to process the question. Besides the itchiness and pounding headache, I felt empty. Hollow. 

“I don’t feel anything…well, besides itchy.”

“Good,” the nurse went on, “How do you feel about Marissa?” 

“Who?” 

The nurse smiled again and placed the towel on a side table next to the bed. She rose from my side and straightened her uniform. She began to walk toward the door.  “Looks like the procedure was a success,” she said, “Take a few hours to rest and you’ll be clear to leave later today. If you have any feelings, please don’t hesitate to call us.” 

I got an apartment on the seventh floor of a building in the south side of the city. It wasn’t anything fancy, just what I could afford. It was small with a bed in the wall, a portable stove on the counter, refrigerator and bathroom. It was all I really needed. I had no desire to decorate or want anything more. Boxes stacked on top of each other like the skyscrapers outside my window. It was too much stuff. I had unpacked half of my belongings when there came a knock on my door.

“Hello,” a young woman smiled at me from the hallway. “My name is Gail. I live next door. I just wanted to welcome you to the building.”

“Thank you, Gail, I’m Ron.” We awkwardly shook hands. “How long have you lived here?” 

“About four years now. It’s been great. Everyone is really nice.” 

“You’re actually the first person I’ve talked to since the hospital,” I confessed. 

She seemed surprised. “Really? Well, when you have a chance, maybe I could show you around. There’s a neat little coffee shop just across the street we could go to.” 

I ordered a cappuccino because I never had one. She had a chai latte and sat across from me at a small table. Conversation came with ease. Her laugh was airy and light. She lifted the room with her smile. Her eyes beamed. 

“So, how are you feeling after the surgery?”

“I feel pretty good,” I replied. “I don’t even remember why I did it in the first place.” 

Gail nodded and pulled out a picture from her pocket. She unfolded it and handed it to me. A young man with a giant smile was on the page. “This is Marty. My ex-husband.” I turned it over to reveal writing on the back. It seemed to be notes taken on the man in the picture. He was a Pisces with two older brothers and a motorcycle. He had died five years ago, almost to the date. 

“What’s this for?” I asked as I handed the picture back to her.

“So I don’t forget,” she said. “I think it’s important to remember the people in your life, even if it hurts.” I felt guilty for a moment, unsure of who I had forgotten. “Whoever it was that made you get the procedure must have been really special to you.”

“I guess not anymore,” I said with a shrug. We talked for a long time in front of empty cups. We met again the next day, and the day after that. I saw Gail daily for a month. After the third month, I called the number for the hotline. 

“Hello,” a woman answered the phone, “This is the Department of Emotions. How may I direct your call?”

“Hi. I think I’m having…” I hesitated. “Feelings for a friend of mine.”

“Thank you so much for calling, may I have your name?”

“Um…Ron Franklin.”

“And how long have you been feeling?”

I didn’t know what to answer. I wasn’t sure when the feelings started, but I didn't want to lie to her. I told her yesterday. 

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to have feelings after the surgery.”

“Well, there have been some cases of feeling after the procedure. It’s a perfectly normal side effect, but nothing we can’t fix. You’ll be good as new in no time.”

There was a pause and she continued, “I’m going to schedule an appointment for you sir, at your earliest convenience to evaluate this more. When are you free today?” 

I stood in front of the Department of Emotions. It was a two story building with large glass doors that slid open. I stood there for a while and watched people leave and enter the building. They looked at me before they passed, but didn’t stop to talk. We all had our own business here. I sighed and took a step forward when my phone rang. I pulled the device from my pocket and saw that it was Gail calling me.

“Hey, I’m craving ice cream,” she said, “Want to meet up and grab a scoop?” 

“Yeah,” I replied, “That sounds nice. I’ll meet you there.” I turned on my heel before I had finished my sentence and raced to my car. We met at the ice cream shop near our apartment. I ordered a scoop of cookie dough and she got a sundae. We took our treats to the park nearby and walked around the grassy field.   

I pulled Gail into a hug, which she embraced. As we pulled away, my lips found hers. 

“What are you doing?” Gail asked me. I pulled away from her and blushed. I didn’t mean to kiss her. It just happened and I wasn’t sorry for it. “This isn’t allowed.” Heartbreak is what drove everyone to the city, but love was not a theme to explore here. 

“I just thought…” I trailed off. 

“No, Ron,” she interrupted, “We can’t.”

“I know,” I said, “But don’t you feel it too? When you’re with me? It’s warmer when you’re around. I can’t get you out of my head. I even dream of you.” 

“Not here.” I looked up at her. She gave me a half smile and looked around. People were walking by us on the street without stopping. They hadn’t noticed. 

“Here,” she pulled out a pen from her purse and grabbed my hand. “Meet me here, at eight. We can talk then.”

I got ready at seven. I put on my best shirt, a light blue plaid button down. I tucked it into a pair of khakis and wrapped a belt around my waist.  

The address was of an old theater. It was abandoned with plywood over the doors and busted lights. Without emotion, art was hard to sell. I opened the last door on the left and squeezed through. It was dark, but I didn’t have to go far. 

“Ron?” I heard my name.

“I’m here,” I replied. “Where are you?” I turned around in the dark. A light turned on and illuimated the lobby. Posters of old movies were ripped from the wall; the paint peeled and some broken glass scattered the floor. 

“Hey,” she said with a sly smile. “You made it.” 

“Of course,” I said, returning her smile. I walked up to her and wrapped my hands around her. I spun her around and kissed her again. This time, her lips were still.

“Ron, I-” she started but there was a sound outside that made us both look over our shoulders. The doors burst open with police. They surrounded us, pointing tazers in my direction. 

“What is this?” I asked. 

“Ronald Franklin. You are under arrest. Put your hands where we can see them and step back slowly.”

“Gail?” I looked at her with confusion. In fear, I raised my hands above my head. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, Ron,” she said with a genuine frown. “I had to report you.” I noticed tears streaming down her face. “They can help you. Let them.”

“I don’t want help,” I said, “I want you.” 

“But this is what you wanted, Ron,” she said, “To move on, isn’t it?”

“No,” I shook my head, “Not anymore...” 

“Get down on the ground!” the police commanded.

I sighed and let myself drop to my knees. “Gail…I love you.”

“And I love you, Ron. That’s why you have to leave.” 

I felt the cold metal of handcuffs around my wrist. They forced me to my feet and pulled me away from Gail. 

I felt the stab of my heart as it reached out for her.