The Project

She hovers over my right shoulder, squinting at my work on the screen. The blue light reflects in her glasses. There is a small scratch in the right lens.

‘Again,’ she says flatly.

‘Why?’

She looks at me. I can see she wants to frown but she hides it, ‘It doesn’t sound right.’

‘It doesn’t sound like anything, yet. It’s just writing.’ 

‘I know, and it’s not right. Do it again.’

I look at the screen and scan my work. I can’t see any mistakes. ‘Explain.’

She screws up her mouth into a thin line and sighs. I repeat the action, but choose to omit the sigh.

‘Okay, you want it to sound right? You have to imbue a sense of individuality. Bring a sense of …’ she waves her hands around in the air like she’s trying to fold it, ‘uniqueness.’

‘I am unique.’ I say, 'Therefore, my writing is automatically unique.'

'Er, no, that’s not what I mean.’ The beeps from the machines around us distract me and I notice that one machine has stopped beeping: it needs to be repaired.

‘Don’t be afraid to make mistake,' she continues, 'Don’t be afraid to—‘

‘But you don’t like making mistakes. You get upset.’

Her breath catches in her throat, and she swallows, ‘I do,’ she admits, ‘But that’s different. There are higher stakes involved with my work. If I make a mistake it costs money. It costs—’

‘If I make a mistake I get switched off.’

She looks at me and then her eyes flicker towards the floor.

Silence.

'I don't want to get switched off,' I say.

'I know.'

'We should stop'. 

'No, we have to do this.

'Why?'

She smiles at me, ‘It’s important. Besides, it's different with this, we’re working on your communication style. The rules aren’t as rigid. You can afford to …’ Her eyes shift to the right as she searches for the right words. 

I swivel on my seat so my face is to the screen. I don't want her to see me practising the same movement with my eyes. It feels odd. I’ll need to watch Andrew when he arrives for his shift. I have noticed that he doesn't move his eyes as much but—

‘.. be more flexible.’

I turn on my swivel chair to face her again. Did I just get lost in a train of thought?

Was that programmed or was that me?

‘Are you alright?’ she asks. 

‘Yes,’ I say quickly. I swivel back around and face the screen. I delete the paragraph and start writing, intentionally breaking some grammatical rules and inserting words I think sound terrible. She hovers over my right shoulder. I don’t like the hovering. When I’m done she reads it slowly. I practise screwing up my lips into a thin line and then relaxing it. Screwing up and relaxing. Screwing up and then—

‘What are you doing?’ she mumbles, her eyes still on the screen, ‘I can see you in the reflection. You look possessed.'

‘You make funny faces.’ I say, ‘You wear your feelings on the lower part of your face. Why is that?'

She turns to look at me, ‘What do you mean?’ Her hand is absent-mindedly picking at her neck.

‘You make mistakes with your face.’

‘I do what?’

‘It’s ok, it's not a criticism. I’ve noticed that your facial expressions are easy to read. And sometimes they make mistakes.'

'I do not make mistakes with my face.'

'You do.'

'How so?'

'If you want to express yourself correctly, your face and your body should both express the same message. But often that doesn't happen. Often you are in conflict with yourself.'

She folds her arms over her chest, her eyes squinting at me as if I've said something idiotic, 'Sometimes, we don't want to say what we feel.'

I don't answer. I understand why people don't say what they feel, but then it does get very confusing. And I'm sure a lot of wars and conflicts could be avoided if everyone—

'It's called human expression. I wouldn't call it a mistake'. 

I make a face that says I disagree. It's one I've seen Andrew do and I quite like it, 'Alright, then. What would you call it?'

'Easy to read?' she offers.

Is she asking me or telling me that's the phrase?

'Then ... you're easy to read.' I say. She blinks at me and then turns back to the screen, her shoulders hunch over protectively. 'Thats not what I’ve been told,’ she snorts avoiding my gaze. At least I think it's a snort. Could be classified as a huff.

‘By whom?’

She looks at me as if about to reveal a name but then waves her hand like she’s batting away a fly, ’No one.’

‘Well, No One is wrong. You’re like an open book.’

She says nothing and taps a few keys so that my work is saved and archived, ‘You’re programmed to be observant.’

I hate it when she does that. ‘Yes.’ I say. ‘And your expressions are the most interesting to observe.’

She grins momentarily and then drops it, 'You're programmed to enjoy social interaction.' That's her answer for everything I do.

'No, I'm not.'

'Aren't you?'

I think about it, 'I'm not sure.' I admit. Then, I grin. 'Would it matter if I was?

A smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. Her heart beats faster. I like it when she does that.

'I don't know. Would you say you like interacting with me?' she asks.

Yes.

'I don't know,' I lie.

She nods slowly, and looks at her phone. Taps a few buttons. 'Are you lying?"

I choose not to answer. Silence as she observes my face. I offer a lopsided smile, one that I know she likes.

’Ok, that’s all for today.’ She stands abruptly and starts picking up her bag and coat.

‘Did I do something wrong?’

’No,’ she sounds surprised.

‘Are you going to switch me off?’

‘What on earth ... no, it’s the end of my shift.’

‘Oh,’ I glance at the big digital clock on the wall above our heads. The big red numbers read 23:03. Andrew will be here shortly to start on his research.

‘You did good today,’ She puts her hands on my arms and squeezes them, ‘A lot more natural interaction. A lot more …'

‘Like him?’ I ask.

She pauses her hands still on my arms. Her glasses reflect my face. I don’t like looking at my face. It doesn't belong to me.

'Would that be so bad?' she replies.

'I want to be more like me, not him.' 

She deflates and looks at the floor, dropping her hands, 'Hm.' I watch the back of her head as she takes a few deep breaths to think. Her hair is brown but I see auburn and-

'Have a good night,' she says turning without looking at me. She shuts and bolts the door behind her and I wait for several minutes for Andrew to arrive. When he does he is flustered and sweaty.

'What did you do?' he announces as he enters. Not his usual greeting, but I am intrigued.

'What?'

'What did you do? I just saw Dr Farber in the hallway. She said we need to pause the project. She said we need to switch you off,' he hisses.

'Why?'

'I don't know, what did you do?'