Um...How?!

The zany guy kept pointing towards his computer, striving to convince his best friend. Every time the guy threw out, “Come on, man! You got to believe me!” and “Please—a computer can have feelings, too!” the friend would shake his head, convinced he was crazy. As his friend muttered about his weirdness, the guy continued. “No, man!” He lunged at his friend, grabbing onto his arm. “You don’t understand! It’s—it’s a—”        

“Freak of a machine.” The man’s eyes were halfway shut.  He left, his dreadlocks moving as he shook his head.       

Trudging to his computer, the guy slumped into his stupidly boring plastic chair. Hearing the front door close, he went to his window. He was talking on the cellphone, his eyes cutting to and from the guy. When his dirt brown 2022 Honda Civic disappeared, the guy returned to his computer.         

“Yeah,” it typed, “I wouldn’t be so lonely if everyone just listened to me, either.”    

This computer didn’t have a face, because it typed words onto its screen whenever speaking to the guy. He didn’t have to look at the computer screen to know his friend talked to him; it clacked away, like imaginary hands typing on a keyboard.          

“Have a message for me when I get back.”     

The guy grabbed his favorite Nike hiking shoes, Adidas hoodie, and his keys, and drove to the nearby park. Some guys he recognized from college years ago were hanging out, watching a tennis match between two men. The guy jogged up to them, waving and smiling brightly. Some of the guys just looked at him and then turned away, putting hands in their pockets while others laughed as memories of last night’s bar night—the only place open until three in the morning—were concocted from the others.    

“Hey comes Mr. Wierdo.”

These guys were not in middle school anymore. Still, he told everyone his computer had a conscious. They just stared at him. Then they’d laugh, shaking it all off with a shrug. The guy gave a small smile and reached for a Coke standing on a small metal bench after entering through the court’s gate.      

“Hey!” One of the guys approached.

“Yeah?”

“Just want you to know you’re always taking advantage of our stuff. Always seeing whether you can get some drinks or a snack whenever you come. Come on, man, why don’t you serve us sometime?”

He thought.  “I’d love to—”

“Great!” The guy announced to everyone that the guy would bring snacks and sodas next weekend. Everyone cheered, slapping him on the back. The guy just bit his lip.    

“Because he’s a computer geek!”

Some of the guys roared, while others high-fived. This was the next weekend when the guy brought a bag of Cheetos, Lays and Fritos and two packs of Coke and Dr. Pepper. The same two tennis players jogged over, one of them stealing the open Coke right out of the guy’s hand. Laughing, the guy watched helplessly as he saw the refreshing brown liquid quickly slip down the man’s throat. Soon, all the young men, and some women who emerged from the gate, all started discussing their favorite movies. The guy noticed his sister’s good friend among the group, and went over, confidently telling her she had to check out his computer. “It does,” he said, bobbing his head up and down, “it really does have the ability to talk to you! Hey—I’ll invite you over to see it. ”   

“Oh…” She moved her eyes down to the turquoise and black concrete. “I…”

She gave him a look and walked over to her friends, who were grabbing rackets and tossing yellow balls up in the air. The guy watched them go off together. He then received a verbal blow to the stomach after asking whether any of the guys wanted to come over to see his talking computer. They all put their heads together. The guy pretended he didn’t understand them. But then he started biting his lips as one guy cut his eyes between the main guy talking and him. The guy pressed down on his shoes’ laces, untying them so he could busy himself while getting an earful of all the slander.        

“So…what’s the verdict, jury?”  

 Someone else cracked a joke. Everyone cracked up.

 Suddenly, the guy grabbed a tennis ball just before it hit the backboard. Seeing everyone’s amazement as how quickly he had caught it, the guy grinned as he tossed it back to one of the girls. She caught it, not thanking him. He slid a handsome grin on his face every time he caught one, showing off a little by throwing it over his shoulders or rolling it on his arms and then flicking his hand to toss the ball to her.

“Nice move.” She said flatly, and then jogged over to her friends. They all continued playing.   

The guy stuffed his hands in his pockets and then told everyone good-bye. He decided to take a long walk throughout his neighborhood. Jamming his hands in his coat pockets, he spotted someone he knew from work at the local bar.

“Hey!” He approached in a friendly way, narrowly missing a biker passing through. “What’s up?” He lifted a palm for a high-five, but the girl kept texting. He tapped her on her bony bare shoulder. She looked up, shading her eyes.

“Take out your earphones!”

The girl told him he didn’t need to remind her of his computer friend thing, and continued texting. Shifting away, the guy told her good-bye in a good-natured way. She didn’t respond. After entering his house, he slid down onto the mat. Crossing his legs, he heaved a huge sigh. Then he pulled his knees up to his chin and looked at the hardwood floor.

Maybe I should renovate—this place’s a little spacy. Maybe I should get a pet dog. A Golden Retriever would be great. Or a Shepherd. Or a Lab. Or a…  He let his thoughts drift as he got up off the floor and headed to his room. After grabbing his cellphone, he called his parents. Falling onto the bed, the guy sprawled out.             

“Yeah.” He muttered, swallowing. “I tried talking to them, but they just stare at me and go back to their friends. I don’t know what it is. I mean, it’s just a machine I have in my room. I don’t understand what the awkwardness is all for. I just have a computer I befriended because it talks to me.”

“That’s weird, son.” His father said.

“Honey, just go back, bringing your computer this time. Then when you plug it in, you can prove them wrong!”

The guy blinked. “I’m sorry, Mom, but…are you guys making fun of me? I just have a weird machine in my room!”

“Okay.” She said, and then they all hung up after a few minutes of chatter. The guy lay there. My best friend walks out on me. He said he’d never been so weirded out before. Then Susie’s good friend doesn’t understand me all of a sudden. Then none of the girls are having it. What’s with these people? The guy grabbed his computer, texted everyone to meet at the bar, bright and early that Friday. They all responded reluctantly, and the guy grinned, sending the happy face emoji.

They all responded with the throw-up emoji. But the guy pushed one eyebrow up and smirked to himself. They’ll respect me when I prove myself to them.

Soon, Friday came. The guy flashed a grin, a nice shirt on and hands on hips. “Hey, guys!” As the whole crew came shuffling into the place, the guy situated his computer so everyone saw it. When he turned it on and started talking to it, the computer’s screen was wordless.           

“Oh, you don’t know, do you?” He joked. “Sorry, old pal, but you need to answer me. I mean, I’m just your friend, right?”

Some snickers.

“Come on!” He wore an embarrassed grin, and all the people rolled their eyes, got up and shuffled outside to the rest of the world. As he watched them go, he refused to even tear up. Then he relocated his computer to his room. It was only then when he finally got a response.

“I was busy trying to think of what to say. You said you wanted that message. But I didn’t know what to say—”

“Well, I’m the loser with this computer thing!” He went over to his bed, collapsing onto it. “I just…why everyone is so ugly to someone who is a little unique is a mystery. Am I wrong to just tell the world ‘different’ is okay—

He sat up. “What about that message I told you to give me?”

“Well, I’m just a machine. I have no ability to think outside of typing answers to you—”

“That’s a lie.”

“Well…yeah, it’s not true. But, you need real friends. Like, ones you can talk to and about and with. Human friends. You’ll always have me, but human companionship is good.”

The guy sucked in and then exhaled a huge breath. Everything I say is worthless. “What if I type for you?”

“No, no!” The computer begged. “Please—that’s like suffocating someone. You’re forcing me to talk for you!”

“Well, if you don’t, I will!”

The computer was silent, and then, “Okay.”

 The guy talked to his computer the rest of the summer. One day, he took a walk to the nearby park. Driving, he thought, was fine—the wind in his short brunette hair—but it was thirty seconds by car. Two minutes later, he emerged through the tennis court gate, the same guys all hanging out and drinking Dr. Pepper and Coke. He gave them wide grins and then sat down against the backboard, watching the match between his sister’s good friend and her best friend. Then, he wanted to play.

Hitting it with full speed, he got excited, playing really well, seeing whether the guys noticed. Afterwards, the girl said he didn’t have to play that hard—it was just a game. He looked at her silently, and then handed her the racket and ball. At home, he walked numbly through the door. His phone rang.

“Son, what are you going to do? We can’t crawl through the phone and solve your loneliness ourselves.”

Click!

Isolated in his home, the guy sat up. He looked over at his computer. “They don’t see you, still? Have you given it your all?”

He grabbed it, raised it above his head and then heard furious clacking of the keyboard. Jerking it down to his eye level, he read that the computer only had one life—if he threw it away, it’d be dead. Wouldn’t that be stupid? Sending his best friend away—

“I’m not your best friend! You’re just a machi—”

Then an idea came to him.

He put the computer down, and traveled to the internet, where the guy found out a comedy show coming up that following weekend. He went to it, studying the woman’s meticulous hand gestures that made the audience roar with laughter. The host asked her to return the following weekend. When he had seen auditions for a talent show on a commercial late that night, he went to the local theatre the following day to try out comedy for himself. The judges believed him, giving him whatever props he needed. When he got on stage a few nights later, all the guys and girls were there. Excited, the guy spent a significant deal joking that his computer had a conscious. Some of the audience laughed, but the tennis group didn’t laugh at all. They all walked out, bored with the performance. After the guy switched to the rest of the audience, his computer started talking. It wasn’t to his relief, but the guy sensed his computer never wanted him to have those people as friends. The guy felt weird about that, but silently agreed, feeling that the computer was right. Still, it was weird talking to a computer!   

That night, the guy raved about how his comedy show got a standing ovation, thanks to his computer. The guy put them on Facetime. He videoed his computer and himself having a conversation. The parents started freaking out, leaving Facetime immediately. The guy stared at the phone and then, widening his eyes, begged his texting parents not to let this out on Facebook or Twitter or Instagram.

“Please!”

“What?”

“I’m…I’m going to be a wierdo! I’m—”

“The most famous guy out there? Look!”

The guy rushed to his window. Outside, a mob was roaring that “the computer that comedian used to make us all laugh hysterically must also be a magician!”  

No, no! Just a comedian. He headed straight for his front door, opening it quickly and strived to yell above the crowd, gesturing for them to be quiet! Settling down, the crowd soon became very quiet. The guy said over and over (complete with waving hands) that his computer actually had a conscious. He even strived to prove it with the computer (thanks to the extension cord he was using!). The crowd panicked and dispersed, leaving the guy with a text message to his parents, written in all caps. Kicking the door closed just as thunder boomed overhead, he blinked, mustering up the strength not to cry.

The guy always saw a message of ‘You go, man!’ scrawled on his computer. Late one night when he came home from work, the guy headed right to his computer. “You don’t do me any good! I’m done talking to a dumb old machine! I’m a comedian—at least I will be once I rid the earth of you.”

“No!” The computer’s keyboard clacked crazily, begging his friend he was no useless piece of junk—he could prove it to the world if he wasn’t so manipulative (even if it was a computer). When a paragraph emerged, the guy read it. If you delete my words and throw me away, you won’t have anything to do. You’ll be wasting your opportunity to show the world you do exist! Truly. Just go around. And don’t manipulate me. Stop using me for fame. Jerk!

“Then why don’t you talk?” The guy growled, confused. “Show them!”

I did at the talent show. And I will, if you don’t throw me away. But you’re so obsessed with trying to get people to focus on you. You’re not a friend—just a puppet master with a pawn.

“You’re right!” The guy admitted. “No more of that.”

He tried again at the tennis court. Hitting that ball with all the gusto he had, the girls and guys watched as he spread not only his handsome smile but also his love of machinery and comedy. But when he went back home, he didn’t understand why his computer hadn’t told him sooner.

I was waiting to see whether you would figure it out. I thought we were friends.  

The guy scuffed his shoe on the ground that day while waiting for the metro to take him to work. I know the computer’s right, but… it’s just a machine. Can I just be myself? I deserve friends, right? As he entered through the sliding doors, he let a woman sit down on the chair, and let all the hurt and pain he had endured back at the tennis court come back to him. He wished he had the day off. He blinked hard, imagining himself curling up next to his new best friend. Someone who cared.

“Hey.” A small voice called over. The guy looked over. “Aren’t you that comedian? I saw you on TV.”

“Yeah…” The guy nodded. “Yes. I am.”

“Could you show me that computer? I’ve really needed help with my schoolwork.”

The guy thought. Then he nodded. That summer, he took a tutoring job. Wow, the guy thought as he walked home from the boy’s house after his sessions were over that day, what a computer. Not a piece of junk after all. Guess…it was right. But the boy started seeing the computer as a toy rather than a mechanism to help him study for school. The guy didn’t mind. Shrugging his shoulders, he told the boy one day to respect his friend, or else he wouldn’t use it. The boy looked at him gloomily.

“Yeah,” the guy narrowed his eyes, leaning towards him, “so you better care. This thing has a mind of its own.”

The boy screamed and ran away. Getting fired was painful. I’ll be a teacher, maybe. Sub. Then they’ll see you, computer!

His computer was embarrassed, hating him. The guy saw it only as a tool again. The computer yelled at him, typing in all caps. One day, the computer suddenly had a mind of its own—its wires became like hands, typing away. The guy screamed, and ran away.     

The guy went from neighbor to neighbor, street to street, park to park, convincing everyone his computer was a freak of machinery. Everyone believed him. That night, he took a baseball to it, killing it instantly.    

I was just trying to tell you what a great job you did… You really pushed yourself… You… The computer’s screen flickered, the computer sparked, and then the screen went black.

“Sorry—I’ll be famous, and I can without you!”

Deep in his heart, he regretted sabotaging his computer friend. Truly. He missed it. Dearly. Standing in front of a computer store one day, he said to himself he wanted one. But couldn’t buy one. Just yet. What if I kill it, too? He scrunched his brows. Replacing my other one…is it too early? He sat there, looking at a big black laptop, from inside his car. He sat there, wanting to go inside but his hands rested on the steering wheel. He thought, long and deep, tapping his fingers.