Andrew

I was there when he was created. We called him Drew — short for Andrew. It’s funny how you look back on things, and the reaction you have is different. Like, why did I do that? At the time, I thought everything was hilarious. Now, I am not so sure…

My parents could not conceive another child after me, so my dad — the genius that he was — created Drew. His real name was Andrew because he was an android (that’s how creative my parents are — Andrew the Android). I speak of him in the past tense because he is no longer here. 

My dad was so excited with his new creation. He couldn’t believe he had just made a “son” by himself. When Andrew learned to speak fluent English, my dad thought it would be a great idea to enroll him in school. Being that he was a robot, he had no real age so my dad put him in my school — I was in eighth grade at the time. So, my new little brother started out in eighth grade with me. 

Drew and I walked to and from school every day. Drew would sit by me at lunch. While I ate my sandwich or whatever my mom had packed me that day, Drew oiled himself as Dad had explained he should do every so often to keep things running. 

Other kids came by and made fun. “Drew, what are you having for lunch?” “Is that your new drug?” “Hey, Drew, can I get ‘high’ with you?” Shrieks of laughter filled the building. I admit — it came to a point where I laughed along with them. If I knew how Drew felt — that this droid would actually have feelings — I would have stopped. I didn’t want to break his or my dad’s heart when it happened, but I did. Drew would later be found on his bed with his wires cut and laying motionless. It was an ANDROID SUICIDE. 

My dad insisted on having a funeral — for an android. I admit, I was a little heart-broken myself. All Andrew really wanted was to fit in. Kids were mean. Kids were cruel. Kids were heartless. 

If only we had never had made fun, if only we had understood, if only we hadn’t laughed, maybe he’d still be here. As it was, his wires inside were cut up so bad, my dad could not repair them. Andrew was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. 

Tears welled up inside of me on the day of his funeral. I remembered how he followed and copied everything I did, like a toddler. He really was just trying to “fit in” with the human race, and he really seemed to understand feelings. My dad had a done a great job programming his emotions. 

He looked like a real boy, too. My dad was a real Geppetto when it came to creating Andrew. The only difference was my little “brother” could not tell a lie, and was, in fact, always brutally honest. That was another reason why we made fun of him — his lack of comprehending when someone told a lie, or exaggerated the truth. He did not understand jokes, even though his IQ was very high. He had an unusual interest in insects and appeared awkward in every social situation. Just like an autistic kid, Drew had problems with his interactions. 

My heart swelled as my dad gave the eulogy. It was beautiful to listen to and really made me think. It was as if Andrew — this thing my dad had created — really had a soul. 

“Hi, my name is Michael. I am the creator of this beautiful bot named Andrew.” 

This is where Dad got choked up. 

“Andrew was created out of love. He was a beautiful spirit. He did not feel he fit in in this world, so he moved onto another plane where every bit of his being is welcome. We are sad to see him go, but happy he is free. He loved truly with all his heart every human being on this planet as I programmed him with love and affection. In the end, his ‘heart’ shorted out. He will always, always be missed.”

My dad sat down by my me in the pew of the church and cried like there was no tomorrow — and there wasn’t. For Andrew. He had lived his short life, trying to fit in with a society that wouldn’t have him, a society that didn’t understand him, and a society that shunned him. 

I really felt bad for Dad, as he sat there, tears streaming down his face, but I also knew there would be another — another robot being to come into existence to replace Andrew. 

Sure enough, as I knew my dad, he quickly got busy in the basement again, creating — this time — a girl bot named Jenny. 

She was even more life like than Andrew and had more empathy. 

A couple of things he did not do: He did not enroll “Jenny” in school, and he did not take Jenny out in the public. He kept her at home and taught her how to be a homemaker since my parents both worked outside the house. 

I was getting ready to graduate high school at the time Jenny was “born" and was making plans to go to college. I had my own way to bring my “brother” Andrew back. I majored in robotics engineering and followed in my dad’s footsteps. 

One night, I dug up Andrew’s “body” — yes, he was buried six feet deep — and I took it home with me to be repaired. I had figured out what my dad couldn’t do. A few years later, Andrew was reconstructed, and I had my little bother back. 

I was so happy. Andrew was happy. He did not understand or remember what had happened as I erased that from his memory banks, but he still had a recollection of who I was. We rejoiced. My life was complete now that he was back.  

Unlike my dad, I did not enroll Andrew in school, yet I taught him about the world around us myself. We went on walks, hiking in the mountains (I never got lost with Andrew by my side), and to the movies. I took him out to eat and showed him how to "eat." He became a real boy. He fit in with this world, after all.