BETA LOVE

1

          She sits. Wait, can she sit? I mean, can I say that she sits? Is it the appropriate term? Dogs sit, so why can’t she? But dogs have legs. She doesn’t have legs she has wheels. Nothing about her moved into a sitting position, she just stopped rolling. Though, technically sitting can be defined as not in motion. A car can sit. No a car comes to a rest. A car has wheels. So why can’t she sit? Oh shit she looked at me. Smile. No, frown. It’s a God damn funeral, frown! That seemed to have worked. She’s looking away at her husband lying in his casket. Can I call him a person?

         It’s a tough thing to decipher. You never know what a Beta-person is thinking, or if they are even thinking at all. I don’t understand half of the technological terminology for what goes on in their brains- or hard drives, and I work for the company that designed them. It goes to show how big that company actually is. It has workers that can be successfully employed by them without having the slightest idea what it is the company is designing. That’s not my job. I’m a personality. One of many. It actually says that on my nametag right under my name: Personality. I’m one of the ones they use to create the personalities of the Beta-people. So I guess, come to think of it, I do know what Beta-people are thinking. They are thinking exactly what I am thinking. I just can’t understand why they would be thinking about themselves in a third person. No wait, I’m doing that. Wait, now I’m confused. I think the woman beside me is touching me but I can’t risk a look. What a bizarre thing to do, to touch another stranger? Why would she be touching me? Who does she think she is?

         Where was I? Right. She sits. Wait, why is she sitting? She should be standing. I’m standing. Wait, why am I standing? Oh my God why am I standing? Everyone’s sitting. I sit.

I now understand why that woman was touching me. I apologize. She smiles. At a funeral, really?

* * *

          In the cemetery, where the funeral has proceeded, the rain falls heavily on our black umbrellas and I watch her, as she makes sure she stays completely dry. Is that because she is not allowed to get wet? That's absurd. I’ve seen Beta-people swim before. They aren’t very good at swimming, mind you, but I am completely aware of their ability. It was in the transition between this thought and the next that I noticed her LCD eyes had changed to a pale blue. It was a sad blue.

        They lower the casket into the ground. A few other people I know are gathered around. All of them are from the office. Most are from my floor. None of them are Personalities. They all appear sad in the way that you should at a funeral, which I guess is appropriate, even for a Beta-person. Though, I’ve noticed several others avoiding her eye contact similar to the way I am. They struggle to console the widow. I’m hungry.

She turns her back to the hole as they begin to shovel. Others start heading back to their cars away from the rain. She stays.

       “Excuse me,” I would like to say and to that I would hope the reply, “How are you?”

       “I’m fine, thank you. I was you’re husband’s Personality.”

       “He always talked about you.”

       “Oh did he? What were some of things he used to say?”

       “He would go on about this and that.”

     “That sounds like your husband,” I would finish then head to my car and out of the rain. I would possibly throw in an, “I’m sorry for your loss,” if I could work it in somewhere.

      Sadly though, such a conversation would never materialize. I give her one last notice, then head to my car and for the entire ride home I justify my actions in my head. I make myself believe that no one even noticed I was present.

2

            The morning her husband killed himself I had been slightly in a jam with my superiors over a malfunctioning Gamma-bot unveiled at the AC memorial Convention Hall. I had been chosen along with a select team of five others to accompany the Gamma-bot to the hall and be present for the unveiling. I stood in the back of the group and watched the Gamma-bot play a variation of a Beethoven piece on a violin. Up until that point I had not been aware that technology had the ability to recreate music to the quality that was being showcased. I clapped along with all the others.

            The malfunction was slight, and I would even make the argument insignificant. As soon as the Gamma-bot finished its piece and as soon as the applause subsided I noticed that it had forgotten to bow. I made note of this.

            After, I spoke briefly to the other five. They had noticed it too of course and were already discussing the reason. Several of the people present were key components to the design of this specific Gamma-bot and with that being said I wondered exactly why I was present. I had no real knowledge or affiliation with this Gamma-bot. I was only acting as a representative of the company.

            The jam came when my supervisor, after I had jokingly mused that “maybe he wasn’t satisfied with the way he played?” noticed that the Gamma-bot was still present and could overhear everything the six of us were saying. I was told to be more courteous to those around me and that I should not be speaking in fields I am unfamiliar with. I pondered again why I was present to begin with.

            I apologized to the Gamma-bot while he watched us eat lunch an hour later. He practiced while we ate sushi.

* * *

            The moment her husband killed himself I was heading up the front stairs to the entrance of the building. Many others were around walking in and out and down the street. It was a miracle that he didn’t hit anyone on his way down from the tenth story. That, and the glass that came along with him landed between a man on his bike and a beta-woman on her telephone. Both screamed when they realized what had happened. It took five hours to clear the body and the window on the tenth floor still isn’t fixed. It gets quite drafty at my desk.

            Later that evening, I fixed a marginal steak for my wife and myself. She disagreed with the way I cooked the meat. I told her our marriage was a loveless one. I agreed with her in my head that the meat was poorly cooked, but in the world around me: my condo’s kitchen, I couldn’t help but disagree with everything she had to say. She picked up on my anger exceptionally fast and for the rest of the evening we didn’t speak. Not even when I choked on a piece of the meat and she had to help me.

3

            A week later I was tempted to knock on the door of the... I wouldn’t know what to call her, a Beta-widow perhaps?

A week later I was tempted to knock on the door of the Beta-widow, just to see how she was keeping. It took me several attempts at driving past her apartment before I was satisfied with the idea of engaging in conversation with a widow, Beta or otherwise.

She answered as soon as I knocked, holding what appeared to be a handkerchief. I found the concept of her tears rather perplexing.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello Beta-person, my name is Triiamco. I worked with your husband.”

“You were at my husband's funeral. I saw you there.”

“I was.”

“And my husband used to talk all about you.”

“Of course, because your husband was my leech.”

It was at this moment, when I watched her eyes fade in blue, that I realized the possibility that Beta-people have the ability to withhold information from each other. For as it seemed, she was unaware of whom her husband’s personality came from. Is it because she didn’t ask? Or did she try and he wouldn’t tell? Or maybe she didn't want to know? Maybe by not knowing, her husband seemed more real to her."

“You killed my husband.”

“I do not understand,” I replied, rather alarmed.

“If you were my husband’s leech than you killed my husband. My husband became very depressed within the last eight or nine years of his life. I didn’t know why. I never asked him who his leech was. He never thought to tell me. He never spoke to me at all. If you truly are my husband’s leech than you must understand what I am talking about?”

“I am aware.”

“Then you are aware that your depression killed my husband.”

"I was not aware until now."