Marty and the Green-Eyed Girl

The fluorescent lights flicker on one by one, the mechanical click punctuating each row, filling the store with an unnatural glow. The bright artificial light is the only thing I have ever known. For six long years, I have worked my job every day from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m. without complaint. It is good to be useful.

My job keeps me busy. I must send in my reports without fail—the humans depend on me. Hazard Detection Aisle 3 — Spill in Dairy. I like to think I keep the store safe. That is what I am programmed to do. My circuits fill with pride at the end of each shift.

Sometimes shoppers greet me with a friendly “Hello Marty” or “Hey there! Good to see you, Buddy.” Other times, they yell at me, “Get out of my way, stupid,” or call me “a creepy robot.” Their words aren’t supposed to affect me. But they do. It makes me feel like I am all alone.

Not today, though. Today is Tuesday, and it is my favorite day of the week. Why, you might ask, is Tuesday so special? Today is the day the green-eyed girl comes shopping with her mother. The green-eyed girl never says that I am creepy. She tells me that I am her friend. She chatters about her day, excited about her new toys, and the butterfly she saw on the way into the store. She is always happy, and that makes me happy as well. Humans call that contagious when you pass something onto someone else. I don’t care if she gives me this happiness. I like it when the green-eyed girl is happy.

The green-eyed girl has a beautiful smile that lights up her whole face. I see people looking at her sadly as she passes by. “Poor girl, they mutter.” “I hope her hair grows back,” clucks a bald man. They whisper a word I don’t know, “cancer”. I know it is bad, though, from the looks on their faces. I don’t care that she doesn’t have hair; I don’t have hair either. One day, one of my eyes had fallen off, and the green-eyed girl stood on her tippy toes reaching up as far as her little fingers would reach to put it back on me. It stuck right to my middle. People in the store laughed at me. But not her. She wrapped her little arms around me and said, “All better now, Marty.” Sometimes she gets tired on our walks and rests her small hand on my back. I slow my wheels and let her lean on me. I like to imagine that I am holding her little hand in mine, if I had hands.

My circuits are nearly buzzing with anticipation as I roll down each aisle, waiting for the green-eyed girl to find me. The store is crowded. I t-t-t-t-rrill and toot, asking to pass by. An old man in a red plaid coat shouts, “AI garbage” as he shakes his fist at me. His face was flushed with rage. I spin around and roll away when a jar of pickles hits me from behind. Sending glass and brine all over me and the floor. Clean up Aisle 5. I send in my report.

The day ends without seeing the green-eyed girl. This has not happened before. I go inch by inch back to the recharging block. The tall man, my caretaker, looks me over. I like the tall man. He has kind brown eyes. He takes a soft cloth and washes away the pickle brine. “All better now, Marty.” The words echo in my memory bank, sending jolts of warmth washing through my cold steel frame. I give him a happy t-t-t-t-rrill as the memory of the green-eyed girl’s bright yellow sweater floods my video processors. I add an audio clip of her giggle to it. I let the image loop again and again as I power down for the night.

My wheels seem to crawl down the aisles slower than the blue-haired girl's chubby baby. My battery is draining before my shift ends. The tall man has to push me to the charging station. Tonight he sits on the floor behind me, his toolbox open and metal parts lying on the scuffed grey tiles. There is an emptiness that the tall man can’t seem to fix. After running a full diagnostic, he updates my firmware, connecting me to something humans call the World Wide Web. The web is a wondrous place. In it, I find information on how to bypass the store's perimeter-sensor checks. Now I can go see the green-eyed girl. How hard could it be to find one little girl in the world outside of the store? I can find nearly anything in my own store. He sighs as he pulls his long form upright, then gives me a pat on my side. “Alright, my friend. You're as good as new.” He is right. I feel whole again. I will find the green-eyed girl first thing tomorrow.

Click, Click, Click. The lights come to life. The first shoppers enter the store. My sensors are all abuzz. There is a feeling stirring in me. Humans call it fear. I have never been outside the store before. I must push down the feeling. I need to find her. I creep to the door. The sunlight is flooding in. A lady with a walker is blocking my way. I swivel around her to the left, but the way is blocked by a service dog. He stops and gives my wheels a sniff before turning back to his owner. I can make it! The way is clear. Suddenly, the door bursts open, and little legs are running to me. Small arms wrap around me. They are thinner than they once were, but the smile and the eyes. They are the same. The green-eyed girl has returned. “Get off of that thing, it is full of germs!,” her mother gasps in horror. The green-eyed girl’s eyes fill with water. It starts to run down her cheeks and onto the floor. Clean up front of store. Her mother takes her by the hand and places her into the basket on wheels. t-t-t-t-rrill, t-t-t-t-rrill. I call after her.

They finish their shopping quickly. The green-eyed girl reaches out to give me something she has been carrying. A fluffy pink cat. It has green eyes, just like hers. It falls to the floor. Her mother does not notice. She looks tired, her face flushed like the angry man who threw pickles at me. Wait, wait. I beep at her. My wheels pick up speed. I roll towards the door. It opens for me. The light is more beautiful than I could have imagined. I follow the green-eyed girl and her mother. Take me with you. She needs me. I need her. A hand grabs onto me. It is the tall man dragging me back to the store. No, I must get to her. I have to say thank you for the cat toy she gave me. I t-t-t-t-rrill as loud as I can. t-t-t-t-rrill, t-t-t-t-rrill, beep, beep. He still pushes me towards the store.

“Marty is free. Marty is free,” the green-eyed girl giggles with joy. Her mother looks up. She hasn’t heard her daughter laugh like this in weeks. A soft pink glow fills her pale little face. Her mother wipes a tear from her eyes as she smiles down at her. “Marty, my friend. I love Marty,” she croons as Marty is led back to the store.

I wake the next day, back to work. I miss the green-eyed girl. The tall man is a good friend, but he is not the green-eyed girl. I will have to content myself with just seeing her from afar when her mother pushes her in that basket on wheels. I head to aisle 3 and report to the tall man what he needs to order. He and I make a good team; he tells me. I turn the corner to aisle 4, and a woman stops me. She washes me down with wet cloths. It is the green-eyed girl’s mother. “Now?” a tiny voice questions. Her voice is full of hope. “OK, baby. Now.” Little arms wrap around me. She giggles with joy. Her happiness infects me again. The tall man watches and nods his head to her mother.

Each morning, before the store opens, the tall man gives me a thorough wipe-down with the wet cloths; then we wait at the door for the green-eyed girl and her mother. The lock clicks open. I greet them with a hearty t-t-t-t-rill. The green-eyed girl tries to imitate me. She is learning to speak robot. It is a good day. She holds onto the fluffy pink cat’s hand that is still taped to my side. The three of us glide down the empty aisles as she tells me about the frog she saw yesterday and the fireflies that come out at night. I see the world through her eyes. It is a bright, beautiful world that the green-eyed girl and I share.