UNAFFECTED

Love is compared to many things, how many of them good, how many of them bad?  How is it possible?  What is the difference between love and hate?  Wouldn't we all be happier in the middle ground between love and hate, where no one gets hurt?  But if you are willing to face the pain, love me.

~

I am not affected by small words or doings.  Not modified by the necessity to wear black clothes.  Not changed by Roger.  Though I can be replaced, repaired and am not alive, it seems natural for me to exist somehow.  All of my doings are sincere to myself and have led me here.  But I am genuinely altered, perplexed, by my surroundings.  Am I unabashedly perfect, or perfectly naïve?

Oliver loves Laura because she's easy to fool.

Mr. Wise loved Mary because she was there for him.

Father loved me because his memories told him to.

Roger loves me because I'm perfect.

If there is no standard, how am I to know if I love Roger?  Father loved me, but it is clearly not the same as how Roger feels.  How does Roger know that he loves me?  What makes him so sure, why is he so stubborn about it?  He insists that I have not figured my own feelings or the intensity of his, into my statements.  So…  what are my feelings?

I wasn't quite present through that whole night, when Beck tried to use me to kill Roger.  I was being forced along by a disc, which acted off my operating system, and in turn, left records of its actions.  So I know what happened.  However, between actions 128 and 139, and after 157, the disc wasn't running properly and left no entries in that section of the log.  Yet I was not in control during these times.  In addition, my memory circuits do not have enough command to override a disc and a remote.  Unfortunately, because of the break down, I don't know what happened.  However, it would be foolish to wish for that knowledge, I would have killed Roger if not for the malfunction.

I feared the proto-MegaDues.  I felt compassion and sympathy for Pero.  I felt angry at the time of my father's death.  What was it I felt underground, seeing Roger curled at the bottom of the ladder, shaking?  What were those feelings as I picked him off the ground to settle his head in my lap?  Are they cheapened by the fact that everything within me is manufactured?

Why not?  My piano playing is downgraded by the fact that it is programmed.  I am used as merely a part of a larger MegaDeus.  I am only a tool and though humans are surprised and amazed by my outward likeness to them, I am quickly owed nothing more than their disdain or pity.  My entire worth is less because I am an android.

So then, what does Roger see that is so different?  His eyes are strange, the way they shift, the way they stare at me. 

"What am I doing here?"  I mumble to myself, standing on the roof again, amongst the rows of pillars that, like me, have lost their purpose.  "I should be…"

I should be what?  What am I supposed to be doing?  Father did not know how I operated, but surely he knew why.  And took the information to his grave.  I am fairly certain I was not made so that I could be at the Smith Mansion pondering love.  And it was not to love Roger Smith.

I am supposed to be out here thinking about my feelings and I am making no progress.  These feelings of love are obviously too complicated to have been programmed into me.  And Roger has yet to explain clearly why he loves me.  He proclaims himself to be the best negotiator, but he has not yet won a deal with me. 

It feels like he does not see me.  Roger cannot see that I do not belong here.  The only other android I know is Instro and although he had doubts over his true purpose, he had something to return to.  People appreciated his music and it did not matter that there was an R. before his name.  As far as I can see my purpose is gone, died at the shaky hands of some goon.  I do not have anything or anyone to turn to.

Roger Smith does not know who I am.  Does not know what I was programmed for.  Does not realize that I am not human and cannot just change occupation and residence, believing that afterward everything will be different.  I will look like this, like her, forever.  Not long ago, I was little more than a doll and now I am supposed to be human.  I suppose that part of this mentality, that I am human, is because they are the only things inhabiting this city, save for a few animals, a couple of androids and slowly disappearing MegaDeuses.

What am I to do with my freedom?  People live to be happy, work towards that ideal.  Will I ever be happy; is it even possible for an android to be happy?  If I was glad to have met Pero, does that mean I was happy?  Do I make Roger happy?  I will ask him.

Love is compared to many things, how many of them good, how many of them bad…

Wandering through the building, I approach him sitting on a couch a few feet from his desk, where hourglasses have been recently turned and still expel that quiet, soothing sound, "Roger, do I make you happy?"

"Of course you do."  He says from his position, lying on the couch with his feet on the armrests, staring at the ceiling.

"Why is that?"  I ask.

…How is it possible…

"Well, I like seeing you around."  He replies while paying little attention to my spot near his precious desk, keeping his eyes fixed on what is above him.

"Then, it wouldn't matter if I hated you?"  I counter, trying to make it seem casual by visually inspecting the articles on his desk.

…What is the difference between love and hate…

"I suppose not…  But it would make me happy if you liked me back."  Roger chimes, tilting his head to see me upside-down while a smile sinks into his face.

"If you were happy with my merely being here, why did you bother asking my feelings?  Why did you tell me yours when normally they are more heavily guarded than the Big O?"  I turn towards him, to let him know I'm serious even in my questionable observation of Roger's priorities.

…Wouldn't we all be happier in the middle ground between love and hate…

Roger swings his feet to their proper place on the floor, and asks as though it would be possible for me to forget something, "You're the one who asked me remember?  Telling me that I wasn't paying enough attention to my emotions."

"That was because you were questioning my emotions, or lack of them in your irritation."  I recall the incident that started it all.

"That's only because you told me you loved me!"  Roger blurts out; standing up so quickly that it jars a piece of hair out of line from the rest of it.

"What?" I wonder if he has mistaken me for someone else or for a dream.

"Well…" Roger is rarely in so horrible a position as to stall with a one-syllable word, and although the situation also troubles myself, I take pleasure in the occurrence.

"What are you talking about?" I step towards him and he only looks downward.  When he has not said anything for a moment more, I prod him, "Roger Smith."

"When Beck used you to try to kill me, you said that you loved me."  He says calmly but avoids my eyes.

"I did?"

"Yes."  He says firmly, but the words are not aimed at me so much as the floor. 

…where no one gets hurt…

"Do you realize that even though there are both negative and positive emotions, with negative possibly even outnumbering the positive, when people use the word emotion as a feeling, it is generally positive."

"When you asked me if memory loss could lead to love, you weren't really talking about Mr. Wise, were you?"  He picks up the conversation from elsewhere, attempting to gain some ground. 

"I was asking a general question about love."  I said truthfully, only the second question was directly aimed at him.  But if he is confident in his ability to answer my questions, I will give him a third along those lines,  "But, if you fell in love and always kept your memories, would it be possible for you to fall in love again, with someone else?"

…If you are willing…

"I guess so, I just would never forget that first person.  Humans don't have the same capacity for memories as you do, but a part of us never forgets people."  He finally has the courage to look at me again and boldly asks, "Are you afraid to fall in love because you might be lonely when that person dies?" 

…to face the pain…

Maybe he's not so ignorant about me after all, "That's sweet."  He tells me.

Instantly, that respect he won was lost again, "That was not very kind."

"I'm sorry, it's a legitimate concern, but I know you won't be lonely."  He's back to smiling and comes closer to me, "You'll just storm up to some other guy and completely invade his life, in the nicest way possible."

"If I had never come here, would you be in love with Angel?"  I ask, avoiding the possibility that he might be or might have been in love with her anyway.

"No, and I think our coming together was inevitable.  I still would have saved you from the controls of Dorothy I and upon seeing you, Norman would have insisted you stay."

"What about you?"

"All that really matters is now.  And now, I am glad to have you here.  It doesn't matter what you used to do or what you're supposed to do.  And even if you don't understand yourself, try to be happy."  Roger said, putting on his overcoat as one by one his hourglasses run out of sand.  It must be time for him to leave again.

"Roger…" I said, seizing his attention.

"Yes, Dorothy?"  He asks, putting on his gloves.

"Even if I never understand, or have emotions, will you always…"

…love me… 

We have stopped.  I can't say the next words, his left glove is half on, and his last hourglass has run out.

"Never mind."