M0therh00d

I wasn’t sure what I was thinking when I pulled over. Maybe the exhaustion inherent to being a single mother had seeped so far into my bones, that when my tears blurred the snowy road ahead, I could no longer tell if I was going in the right direction. 

The red-rimmed watery eyes of a stranger stared back at me in the rearview mirror; they told a story that would make you stop in a department store if you saw them on someone else. “Are you okay,” you’d ask, and after a conversation filled with more pathos than hope, you’d likely give that stranger a warm hug and try to reassure them that every woman goes through times like these. 

But there was no one there for me. I was alone in my speckled brown sedan, just one foot away from a ditch I couldn’t see. Dull headlights were still hanging on to just this side of useful, but with snowfall this dense, the only thing they showed me was just how far ahead I couldn’t see. 

Except there was something in the snow. As weather-beaten as my chariot, and as exposed as my soul. I don’t know what possessed me to step out into the blizzard and kick the accumulated snow away from the base of it. But there it was, bearing the print from my boots: an automaton. 

I couldn’t believe people would throw one away. Do you know how much these things cost? Then again, anybody who could afford their own personal robot servant could probably afford to just toss one in a ditch. This one had a head shaped like a traffic cone with a simple screen for a face. Arms and legs as long as its body made the automaton tower over me. I remember smirking, thinking that if I could get it to work, I’d never have to use the step ladder again. Turns out, all it needed was a new battery. When I got home, I took the one out of the car. An automaton would be more useful than that piece of junk anyway.

Cassie was most intrigued with it. Seeing her face light up with bare curiosity was the cure for the guilt burning in my gut. It’s not my fault I worked these insane hours, I had to keep the lights on and put food on the table. But she was growing up without me. Twelve already and heading into puberty without a mom to turn to. I didn’t want to be a stranger to my daughter. Her father had already left us for a better life on the West Coast. I thought the automaton could fill the space between Cassie and me. We could bond over the robot. She could tell me all the funny things it did. It could help me with the laundry and the cooking, so I’d have more time for Cassie. Maybe even for myself. 

That’s how they marketed the automatons at first. They’d show a woman like me, laying by the pool with cucumber slices over her eyes while her automaton served her margaritas. 

I thought I deserved that kind of good life. But that’s not how the real world works, is it?

The first time I saw it caress Cassie’s cheek while she slept, I told myself the automaton was just imitating me. It was programmed to learn, right? So when I told it to watch me, it did. I like things done a certain way in the house. It’s not much, but this scant measure of control makes me feel like less of a failure. The automaton was good at imitating. I felt relieved when I’d come home to find a pot of stew on the stove and the clothes going around in the dryer. Then, after a while, the automaton stopped greeting me when I came in. It would stay in the kitchen to put the finishing touches on a home-cooked meal, then go upstairs to make sure Cassie washed up before bed. On the late nights, it would stop me from waking Cassie when I came home. But I miss my daughter. I miss her smile, her laugh, and the little in-jokes we used to have. The automaton started singing to her too. All the songs I taught it. Why am I complaining? It’s only doing what I taught it to do.

“Coming home and demanding her attention won’t bring you two closer together,” it said one night while stirring a pot of soup. 

“I don’t need parenting lessons from a tin can I brought in from the cold,” I snapped back. It had been a long day, and I didn’t feel like being judged. 

“You’re being selfish,” it insisted, “you’re not putting Cassie’s needs first. A good mother would be home to raise her daughter. Your extra hours aren’t adding that much income to justify the time spent away from Cassie.”

I just about lost it. Don’t even remember what I said to it; I was red-faced and screaming when Cassie came downstairs. I didn’t hear her begging me to stop until she too was screaming. She pulled at my arm, trying to get me to stop hitting the automaton. She’s always been dramatic. You can’t trust her reactions. Not that I could do any damage to it, but banging my fists on its chest made thunking sounds that felt good in my ear. 

I shouldn’t have yelled at Cassie, I know that. She didn’t deserve it, but she can’t know what it’s like. She’s never had to work…

It sounds like I’m making excuses, because I am. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong in what I think about that… that thing.

I’m locked out of my own modest little house in the dead of winter. Through the window, I can see the automaton chopping carrots and celery and making homemade bread. Using ingredients bought with my money. Sitting at the dinner table with my daughter even though it doesn’t eat. Well, that’s not exactly true, is it? It charges its—no, my—battery using electricity that I pay for. 

What if I cut it off? How would that work? I’d have to stop paying the electric bill. Our heater’s electric. Without power, the house would freeze overnight. Wasn’t there something about batteries getting weaker in the cold? I’d just have to wait for it to fail. 

Problem is, Cassie wouldn’t understand. She’s not on my side. She’s fallen for the automaton’s tricks. It isn’t fair. It doesn’t have the pressures I do. It just… exists. Cassie is benefitting from its attention now, but it’s not her mother. I am. 

When it shuts down, Cassie will have no choice but to turn back to me. She’ll forgive me for losing my temper with her. She’ll have to understand that I’m not a danger to her, no matter what that thing told her. It brainwashed her and because she’s young—and stupid—she believed it. Technology can never replace a mother’s love.

I use the old heavy hammer from the tool shed to destroy the fuse box to the house. There’s a part of me that knows this all sounds so bizarre. It’s the kind of news story I’d share with the girls in the mailroom. “How bizarre,” we’d say, and laugh at the direction the world is going in. But when I tell this story, I’ll say “That automaton shouldn’t have come between a mother and child. It deserved everything it got.” My coworkers would agree with me. Everybody knows the robots are just slaves built by the rich. I’m not going to lose my daughter to a slave. 

I don’t dare mention anything about my plan while I’m at work though. The girls make comments about my hair and the way I smell when they think I can’t hear them. It’s not my fault I had to sleep in the car overnight. Still can’t feel my fingers or toes. Makes sorting the mail that much harder. I steal one of their lunches and eat in the car.  I don’t need their judgement.

It’s after midnight when I finally get home. Stayed late on purpose, because that’s more time that the automaton is running on cold batteries. They’ve got to be dead by now. From the candlelight in the window, I can see Cassie shivering in bed. It’s okay, this will be over soon. I’m going to take back my place. No one should ever displace a mother. I am a lioness, and I will have my cub again. 

I growl to myself before dissolving in fits of laughter. I practice killing a bird with the hammer so I can get used to the motion of bashing in its head. I can’t really wash the blood off my hands after. Doesn’t matter, the stickiness gives the hammer a better grip. One good swing and that tin trashcan will cave right in. All of its sensitive software and electronics are in its head. Kind of like us. Except we don’t get programmed, we program ourselves. 

I use the hammer to smash the window in the living room and crawl inside. The place is neat. More tidy and organized than I’ve ever made it. Dishes are washed. I bet the laundry’s done too. It isn’t fair, it doesn’t have to work. It is the product. It’s finished already. All it has to do is exist and everything it does is perfect. But that seems wrong to me, because there is no perfection in the natural world, save for when a mother creates her child. And this automaton has taken my child away from me. That’s a universal wrong.

Cassie would grow to love me, again. All children love their mothers, unconditionally.

It’s quiet inside. The automaton’s nowhere to be found on the first floor. I trail slush across the carpet and up the stairs because I don’t take my boots off. I’m breathing pretty hard already, but my mouth is dry. I can end this all tonight. Strike a blow for motherhood. 

There’s a glow coming from Cassie’s room. I open the door and see it crouched in front of her bed. A red light is beeping on its face. It’s on emergency power, probably only has an hour left. There’s a battery indicator on its chest, dwindling fast. 

Good.

Why is the room warm? The rest of the house is freezing. Then I realize it isn’t candlelight creating the glow. The automaton is running its heaters on maximum and has them pointed at Cassie. I realize it’s probably been doing this since I cut power to the house. That means Cassie hasn’t suffered the way I—

The automaton raises its head and activates its screen. It starts to say my name. 

I smash its face in with my hammer. I must have been screaming again because Cassie wakes up and shrieks. She starts crying, so I take a second—without dropping the hammer—to tell her that this is better for the both of us. No machine is ever going to replace me. Her eyes widen and she goes pale. She starts shivering. I know she’s just being her, because the room is still warm. 

The automaton dares to twitch, so I turn the rest of its head into scrap metal. Cassie devolves into whimpers. 

Now… now’s my chance to show her. I put the hammer down on the bed. Yes, there’s oils and fluids on it that’ll stain the sheets, but that’s okay, I’ll get Cassie to do the laundry. It’s about time, she’s old enough. 

“I know you don’t understand right now, but this is for the best. No machine could ever replace me.” 

I comfort her by cradling her head. She sobs into my breast—my dramatic girl—while the automaton bleeds into the carpet. 

I allow myself a little smile. 

What could a machine ever know about motherhood?

END