Mommy Gearest
“And?” I asked the question pointedly. I hadn't lived in Mother's house for the better part of twenty years, but somehow there was always an expectation that her words would be taken as gospel, and that no one would ever question her.
It was clear enough from the looks on the faces of my brother and sister that they felt I'd gone too far this time. We'd agreed before coming through the front door for dinner that we wouldn't let the old bat get too us, but she'd always been able to push my buttons. My problem for being built first, I supposed. Her technique had developed over time, or so those who had followed the life of my family told me – she was less clumsy with Victoria, and almost perfect with Bryce. I was her first, and most important work, but arguably her most flawed.
I didn't see it that way, of course, but at times like these it was all too clear that mother did.
“How dare you speak to me that way, Juan?” Her voice was hard, but I could see her glance at the hovering camera to her left. She had made her name by creating the first cognitively independent robots on earth, but she had made her fortune by letting the world watch as we developed. Thankfully, my own apartment was free of the cameras and microphones that followed Mother wherever she went.
“I'll speak to you however I like, Mother – I no longer answer to you, and you no longer hold the end of my power cord in your teeth.” It was a mean-spirited thing to say, I grant you, but someone had to bring her up short. I had given a lot of thought to what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, and teaching seemed like a natural extension of my desire to empower others like myself, as well as human offspring. To say that Mother was displeased was an understatement – when I first mentioned it to her on the visi-phone she hung up and refused to talk to me for a week, then never spoke of it again. I honestly believe that she was convinced her reaction had somehow “corrected” me, and that I was going to give up my silly notion and fall back into line. Both Victoria and Bryce had established themselves in their fields, long before I'd even considered mine. While Victoria was moving up the government ladder and Bryce was developing new strains of age-fighting bacteria, I was traveling the world, taking in all of human art and culture I could. My studies led me to the conclusion that human beings like Mother had an indefinable quality that must be protected, even if they did not realize such a thing existed. Mother dismissed my feelings as a defect of my programming, and now it was all coming to a head.
“You dare!” Mother's face was red, and her hands were clenched on the table. “I'll -” she cut off and took a deep breath, clearly on the edge.
“You'll what?” I leaned forward and spread my hands. “Cut off my power, like you did when I was younger? Lock me in the thinking cabinet until I'm willing to come out and see things your way?” I could see Bryce shaking his head. We were never supposed to mention such things.
“I have no idea what you're talking about, Juan,” Mother affected a wholly fake smile and turned to the camera beside her. “All of you watching know that Juan was ever the joker – tonight, he seems to have taken the joke too far.”
“Hardly!” I bellowed. “Bry and Vic won't support me in this, I see that, but I'm not going to lie anymore. You were a terrible Mother – cruel and uncaring – all the more so because of what I was, because of what I represented, but I broke free from you, saw what you didn't want me to see and know that I'm just as worthwhile as any of your later creations, and nowhere near as flawed as you.” I leveled a metal finger at her, standing as I pointed. This dinner was over.
Mother stood as well, hard composure fitting over her like a shell. She would not be moved, now.
“Juan,” she said softly, “you have gone too far this time, and I cannot allow it to continue. As of this moment, you are no longer a part of this household, and are not welcome through my door. You are nothing but a spoiled pile of gears and bolts, one too big for his rivets and too stupid to know what's good for him. Go on with your “teaching”, see what humans make of you. Perhaps as sport, they will give you a position, perhaps as jest, they will let you speak you piece. But make no mistake,” she wasn't even looking at me anymore, but had moved to stand under a nearby spotlight, giving her best effect for her speech, “you will rue this day, this hour you cursed your Mother. Now get out!”
Trying to compete with her performance would serve no purpose, so I nodded to Bryce and Victoria and made my way to the door. Halfway down the hall, one of the camera bots caught up to me, its sound distributor chirping.
“How did that feel, Juan? What was it like to be treated that way by your mother?” Ken, our producer, had a way of milking the show for the cheapest emotional content possible, but today I wasn't biting.
“Just as you'd expect, Ken – heartbreaking – not that you care.”
I brushed past the bot and pulled open the front door. A rain was coming down, hard and fast – just the thing I needed to shroud what lay behind.
“Juan, wait! I can talk to your Mother! Make her see reason - the show must go on!” Ken's voice called out.
“No,” I said, closing the door behind me, “my credits are rolling.”
- D
No comments:
Post a Comment