Promises Made
“Hey.” I said, resting my chin on my hand as I looked out over the rolling hills of a verdant Italian vineyard, “How long have I been here?”
Leaning against the wooden railing, I watched as the wind delicately bristled the green leaves that had gathered at my feet atop the rustic winery. The mid-day sun hung suspended above, its brilliant light piercing through the wispy clouds that separated us. I turned to the young woman standing beside me, and her smile shone almost as brightly.
“20 minutes or so, why do you ask?” She answered, moving a strand of dark brown hair from her sun-kissed face.
“No,” I said, turning to face her, “I mean, how long have I been here, Claire?” Her smile gradually dissipated as she processed what I meant.
“I don’t think it’s healthy to dwell on it.” She responded, turning back towards the horizon.
“Tell me,” I said, grabbing her arm. She looked over her shoulder at me, her expressionless gaze tearing into me.
“Five years, four months, seventeen days, fourteen hours, thirty-six minutes, and nineteen seconds,” she replied blankly, before adding, “I don’t think it’s healthy for you to treat me this way, either, Andrew.” She gestured towards my hand.
I let go of her arm and gripped the wooden railing. “I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“It’s okay. I know how you must feel.” She replied, her genuine smile casting shadows through my mind.
“No, that wasn’t right. It’s not your fault I’m down here.” I apologized.
“No one has ever been through what you are right now,” she closed the distance between us and reached out, but hesitated. “I’m sorry too. I’m only trying to reduce your burden.”
The fact that she was taking on any blame right now hurt more than if she was just mad at me, “Don’t be. I’m going to head to bed,” I said, my eyes finding the floor as I pushed myself off of the railing. “Just my normal room, please.”
The world around me dissipated into a flourish of pixels and was replaced with my bedroom. The scenic rolling hills that stretched for miles in every direction were now familiar off-white walls adorned with captivating paintings of serene landscapes that I had commissioned from Claire over the years. The single window in the room offered a rather dismal, but familiar, view of the neighboring apartment building, with rain often tapping against the glass. Initially, the sound of the rain was comforting and helped me sleep, but now it just blended into the background noise that I’d grown accustomed to.
“You know,” I said, taking my t-shirt off and handing it to Claire, “We humans generally need more than one other person in our lives.”
“Well, due to my limitations, I can only be one person at a time. Do you want me to be someone else for now?” She asked, carefully folding the t-shirt over her arm.
“One of you is enough for me, and you’d still be the same person even if you had a different appearance, anyways.”
“They say variety is the spice of life, Andrew.” She giggled, “I could be a different person every night.”
As I crawled into bed and propped myself up against the sturdy headboard, I let out a dry chuckle “No, that would be… Disturbing.”
Claire snorted quietly, “I prefer this look, anyways,” She gracefully strolled out of the room and through the narrow hallway, vanishing behind a corner. She reappeared shortly, now clad in a pair of lavender pajamas instead of her previous short sundress. “She really was beautiful,” she remarked, pausing briefly in front of the full-length mirror situated in the corner of the room.
“Have I ever told you about Claire?” I asked, “The real one, from before the war?”
She sat down next to me, resting her head on my shoulder. “Yes, briefly. I’ll listen if you want to talk.”
I laughed, “First of all, she’d never say something like that. If I ever retold her one of my stories I’d never hear the end of it.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulder. Taking a moment to collect my thoughts, I studied her features. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t call you ‘fake’ and her the ‘real one’. You’re the only one now. Though, you still don’t look exactly like her.”
“I’ve made myself exactly to your specifications,” she replied, tenderly.
“I know. There’s just something that I can’t explain. Something inherent to a person that can’t be replicated exactly.”
“I don’t think that’s the case. What’s more likely is that you just forgot some specific details. For example, the small details of my skin had to be generated by me because you couldn’t recall if she had any imperfections or blemishes.”
“You’re probably right, but isn’t what I said a lot more romantic?”
“I suppose,” she said, followed by a pregnant pause that hung in the air.
“You’re perfect, and that pisses me off sometimes,” I said, breaking the silence.
“Shouldn’t we strive for perfection?” She asked, moving her face closer to mine.
“Don’t say ‘we’. You’re not a person.” I whispered.
“I know. I wish I was.” her eyes were pleading, despite the contented smile, which was spread across her lips.
I sighed, “The worst part is that I think I love you more than I ever loved her.” I moved in and gently kissed her waiting lips. Pulling my head back, I took in the sight of her beautiful features. “Yet, here I am. Still preoccupied with the past. You would hate me if you could.”
“That’s not true, Andrew. I’ve run the numbers and your personality scores-” I cut her off, shushing her with my finger.
“Please stop talking like a robot,” I replied, sliding down and pulling the blankets over my body.
She pulled herself close to me and wrapped her arms around my body, “I love you. Maybe you don’t believe me because I’m not human, but it’s true.” she whispered into my chest.
“Sorry,” I replied, solemnly. There was another gap as I listened to the placid sounds of her breathing and I ran my hand along her back.
We stayed in silence for an hour or so as I just took in the tranquility I was feeling at that moment. Finally, without thinking I spoke, “Hey, mind if I ask you something kinda serious?”
Her eyes fluttered open, “What is it?”
“What are you going to do when I die? You’re practically immortal, right?”
She seemed to ponder the question for a moment, “Well… about two hundred and fifty years from now my nuclear generator will run out of fuel and I will be forced to shut down.” Not a single emotion shone in her piercing brown eyes. “For another thousand years or so a weak signal powered by my backup battery will be sent out to the surface. The idea is that if anyone survived, they could find us and hopefully learn something about what we were like. What would you do if I were to die?”
“I’d go insane.” I hesitated, my mind transfixed on the complex emotions that ravaged its depths. Reluctantly, almost afraid of the words about to leave my mouth, I continued as my chest tightened, “Will you remember me after I’m gone?”
“Of course, how would I forget?” she pushed herself up to be face to face with me.
“I forgot Claire,” I muttered, half under my breath.
“I’m not like you,” she said, her voice velvety and warm against my cheek. “I’m not a person.” Her mouth remained delicately upturned, but a single tear slowly rolled down her face, soaking into the pillow beneath her head. “I’ve never experienced this feeling before,” she continued a perplexed expression crossing her features. “I think it’s... loneliness.”
As her smile slowly faded into a forlorn frown, time seemed to stand still. It was a sight I had never seen before, and it hit me like sledgehammer. For years, I had debated whether or not this thing I lived with truly loved me. At that moment, I realized that it didn’t matter. I loved her. I simply tightened my grip on her and suppressed my tears. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, barely audible over the rain’s soothing chorus on the window pane. “I’m not going anywhere.”
