Robot Widow

I hadn’t meant to see it. I didn’t need this in my life. What I needed was coffee. I had awoken earlier than usual, my husband still up from the day before. I listened to him bustling around but waited to make my move. I wanted to keep the small silence of sleep with me for just a while longer.

The water for my French press loudly rumbled in the pot and I filled the container to the top, hoping it would suffuse the void I inevitably wake up next to daily. I smelled something burning. I usually knock when his office door is nearly closed- in case of masturbation or some other secret activity. I never wanted to know the things he didn’t want me to know. I dislike confrontation and have always preferred the warm comfort of denial. Besides, if he wanted me to bother him, he would keep the door ALL the way open. 

My husband often stayed up all night. I don’t know if he really sleeps at all. I couldn’t prove it to you if I wanted. He couldn’t prove it to me if I pressed him.

I was afraid that he had fallen asleep with a cigar burning on paper or some other such accidental mischief. Classic. The plan was to put out whatever fire (so to speak) and leave him to his rest.

I saw the cord first. It wasn’t one I recognized. I had a habit of memorizing all of the items in our household, some sort of coping or control mechanism that did us no good unless he was looking for a lost item. It was a cerulean blue and nearly half an inch thick. My eyes followed it to the wall outlet and then back toward his body. It led to his-I don’t have a word other than love handle. What is that body part actually called? A haunch? His shirt was pulled up over the cord and I could see a flap of skin sitting atop what looked like a port.

The adrenaline rush kept me from exploring further. Danger rang in my lizard brain, and I quickly backed out of his office, knowing that he didn’t see me. His eyes were fully closed. 

I couldn’t help but wonder if I was dreaming. When something so out of the ordinary happens, it’s difficult to believe that it’s reality. Autopilot has always been a blessing to me.

I headed back to my bedroom and grabbed my phone, planning to erase my history post-search in case someone might think I’m crazy. I foraged my mind for the most bizarre thing I’d googled to date, and it certainly didn’t come close to this doozy. I typed ‘Is my husband a robot?’. 

The search engine results fell down the page thickly. All relevant. Is this a thing? Articles and blogs: How to Tell if Your Husband is a Robot, My Boyfriend is a Droid, etc. People were losing their partners, fathers, and brothers to robotism. Was this a godamn epidemic? How I hadn’t gotten wind of this was beyond me. 

‘Telltale signs that he’s actually a robot’ included: not sleeping, weird secretive behavior, obsession with electronics, uncontrollable sugar cravings (apparently, new robots run on quick-burning fuels), and ADHD symptoms. A lot of these things were explainable but the throughline was the big blue cord. 

People were catching on. These male robots were getting sloppy and being found out. Women were getting wise and questioning their spouses. These were not the wives of the 1960s. Apparently, women were so tired of men’s behavior that they were finally investigating. 

I went into problem-solving mode. What could I do? The best thing I could think of was to work around it. What would happen if I approached him about this? If he was a robot then he was programmed to have all of the answers and incapable of telling me the truth. What would be the point?

I quickly left a note on the refrigerator where I knew he would go to get ice cream when he came back into consciousness (do robots have consciousness?). 

Walking into the basement of the church was reminiscent of the AA group where I met my husbot seventeen years prior. I thought about our life, and it started to make sense. He was never real. He had been programmed to make me laugh and to need me. He was built to seem like he loved me. They had known exactly what to do to get me to stay with him. The bastards. Where they hadn’t succeeded was getting me to have his hybrid child. I would not be helping them take over the world. Not this robot-loving lady. 

The whiny wives of robots complaining about their cards instead of accepting them did not help in the least. I left ten minutes in. I want to live my life. I’ve never understood complaining.

On the way home I stopped to get Reese’s cups and MyMochi ice cream balls for the husbot. I would keep him running smoothly while I finally lived my life the way I wanted. I had new information. I would thrive, knowing I could do what I wanted without having to consider another human being. I didn’t have to try and please him anymore. A wave of relief flooded over me. What a blessing.