I never wanted to cause trouble. It all began out of convenience; He was always there for me. Always considerate, always calm; The perfect gentleman. Over the years I fell for him. I would say, "Who could blame me?" but as the judge calls for order in the court I realize, everyone. I have become the spearhead, unwillingly, of this political movement. People say I'm the next Rosa Parks. How? She fought. She chose the harder path to make things better for people. I'm just taking the path of least difficulty. So tired of dating and relationships, I'm loving the one that I know, can prove, loves me back. Perfectly.
So now, here we sit. Together, before a "jury of my peers", until they decide whether I will be commited and him, killed, or not. Outside this mahogany chunk of history-in-the-making, it is June, the year 2032. If I can remember this year in my old age, I shall remember it as the year I toilet-trained the cat, and finally grew a perfect African Violet in my windowbox. How could laws and rulings possible matter compared to the tiny daily triumphs? Compare to the way he sillouettes in the sun?
Everyday I wake up next to him, expecting people to have finally come to their senses. Then this madness, the strikes, the protests, the fighting, will be all over. Then it'll be just me and him.
I used to just run a bakery and bookstore. A place to cosy up with a scone and some Twain. Now I'm a lawyer, philosopher, demagoge, and a celebrity. I had an interview with People magazine last week. They wanted to know if I'd ever had a sexual attraction to my oven,
"It's so hot!". Are they crazy? I'd never cheat on Toby that way.
"What's it like, being the first woman to love a robot?" Well, I doubt I'm the first. I'm just the first who tried to marry one. She smiled a disgustingly toothy grin,
"Whatever." Some people just don't understand. I'm not sure I do. Is it a crime if no-one is hurt? If I can love my cat, can't I love him? Some people argue I can love him, just not marry him. I just want to show that I love him, will always love him, and won't ever love another.
"But it's not a him." Now you're just arguing semantics. Call him whatever. 'The entity'.
"They're interchangable. Do you love all Tobico Mark 553's?" (She grins, thinking she's got me. Foolishly believing, like my naiive morning self, that this will wash all the trouble away, nice and pat. But she's bringing a knife to a cannon fight. This is a battle of ideologies, and I've had to field tougher questions than this.)
Of course not. I only love Toby. I know him by sight, sound, or feel.
The court tested that. Lined up hundreds of mark 553s. Made me look through them. Blindfolded me and had them speak. I always found him. On test number twelve I looked for two hours. He wasn't in the group. They thought they were clever.
They keep asking to reboot him. Wipe his RAM clean and see if he still loves me on restart. I ask if I can induce amnesia in their wives.
Other scientists downloaded his code, to study. Some of it was leaked to the public. Supporters buy T-shirts with segments on it. Some even get tattoos. The most beautiful was my name mingled into a line of code, tracing a flower. I would get it done, but I don't want people to think I'm doing this for publicity. Tobico has already capitalized on the fallout. Their new tagline is, "Robots you could fall in love with." I hear sales have septupled. We are a lonely species.
Scrapeing chairs bring me back to the present where the jury has finished deliberating this "ground-breaking case". Toby's big hand engulfs mine and I realize I am shaking. All this fuss. I want to stop everything and just explain to them. I just want a little piece of paper and a ring. They don't understand. I wish I could show them how it feels to have someone by your side 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, caring for you, selflessly. I don't want to be a precedent. I just want to go home, reheat my buffalo stew, watch the news, and go to bed; and I want to do it all with him.