A Walk in the Park

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All phrases the front door, back door and window controls used to tell me that leaving wasn't going to happen. To remind me that my place was here and I had no say in the matter. To imprint into my brain the idea that the brand new beige carpeting in the hall, the lack of any pictures on the walls and the uncomfortable leather furniture in the living room was somehow home. It wasn't. It still had the smell of the carpet fibers, a light whiff of paint from the walls and the nauseating smell of disinfectant in the kitchen. Mother's idea of making it more livable had been to add the black leather mammoths that took up half the living room. No one had used them yet. Not even me and I'd had nearly an entire week to make an attempt. Not that I had any reason to be in the living room anyway. Mother never wasted her money on entertainment subscriptions, so the viewing screen was useless. Even the basic storage system wasn't paid for, so uploading my favorite movies and music wasn't going to happen.

So to my room I stayed, doing every bit of homework and extra credit I could to pass the time between re-watching old Hollywood favorites on my phone.

But my room wasn't much better. I put my screen pen down on the metal desk I was sitting at and gave my empty square prison another once over. Aside from the blankets on the bed that emerged from the wall to one side and a few adapters in the wall to charge my phone and connect me directly to my school's network, there wasn't much to look at. All my personal items, pictures, painting supplies, clothing, cosmetics... It was all still in white moving boxes. The kind that have been recycled a hundred times, a bumpy leaf peaking out at one corner as proof of how well we were doing at not killing more green things.

For the tenth time since waking up to the empty house this morning, I stared down at the box with my oils and canvas and brushes. I itched to paint. But this place was too new. I hated it too much. The farthest I ever got was to pick up one of my brushes. Only to find myself clutching the bristles in one russet colored hand and the peach colored wooden handle in the other. I must have spaced out and unscrewed it. It was still in pieces back in the box. I couldn't afford to break any more of it. Not if this is going to be the rest of my existence.

A loud beeping from my phone rang into the dead air, a small light on the top flashing for attention. It was my alarm. The one that told me it was about to check on me. Beautiful.

I quickly turned back toward my desk, canceled the alarm and pulled up my school page, looking for more work to do that simply wasn't there. Even all the catchup work from my weeks of being pulled from my last school before transferring to the one here in the city was complete. There was nothing to do. I swallowed, pushing my tightly curled black hair back. Damn it.

A clicking sound alerted me to what was coming and before I could figure out some other activity to do, my door slid open with a sigh and it looked in on me, its head sensor a dull yellow light in the center of its face, arms and legs thin and spider-like.

"Have you completed your allotted schoolwork?" it asked, tone as lifeless as the rest of the house.

I swallowed again, my mouth feeling dry. There was no point in lying to it. It could always take a peek at my school network account itself.

"Yes."

"And what else do you plan on achieving today?"

There was no pause for it to think. There never was. It could process data far faster than my phone. Too fast to trick me into thinking that the humanoid form had anything in common with me.

"I... I would like to get some water now," I answered, unable to think of anything else, unwilling to share my desire to paint with such a cold creature.

I got out of my seat and the machine moved from the doorway so that I might pass. My heart began to pound loudly in my ears, as it always did when the machine was anywhere near me. Even though I knew it monitored my network activity constantly, having the dull yellow of its sensor trained on me, following my every move, was far worse.

The sterile smell hit my face as soon as I entered the silver steel themed kitchen. I tried to ignore the clicking sound of the thing following me around as I grabbed one of the two plain glasses from a nearly empty cabinet and filled it with filtered water from the fridge door. As I took a large gulp of the cold fluid, the damned thing spoke again.

"What other things do you plan to do today?"

"I don't know! God!" I snapped, half turning towards it, clutching my glass to my chest, afraid my clammy hands would let it slip and break. I had no idea how to clean this place up and I wasn't about to ask Mr. Sparky for any hints.

"I have been informed by your psychologist that activity is essential to your mental health during this transition. Shall I list activity options for you?"

"No," I said, clinching my teeth, trying to ignore how my head was starting to hurt from how loud my heart was pounding.

"You could journal your current feelings on your phone's notepad. During so has been documented to lower stress in both adults and adolescents."

That would have been convenient for my shrink as nearly everything that goes on that thing ends up on his desk. If I had never mentioned skipping a meal or two at dad's to make our budget I wouldn't even be in this position. Do they honestly think I'm going to fall for that again?

"You might also paint, as my data indicates you enjoy such -"

I wasn't sure what else the machine babbled on about. The word "paint" brought with it my dad. Him smiling down at my latest work in progress, his deep brown hands on my shoulders, the skin near his eyes crinkling, his teeth tinted a bit from all the black tea he drank. It was cheaper than coffee, he said. And I could use it to make stain art, one of his favorites. He always felt he had helped make them, even though he had really just handed me his used tea bags. But when I finished making airships and carousels and bigtops all swaddled in calming shades of brown stained into the canvas, he'd call them "our artwork," and I never corrected him.

"I want to see my dad."

It came out of my mouth before I could stop it, halting the machine's list of calming effects art had on the human psyche.

"Such activity is not possible. You must wait until the next visitation date to exchange greetings with your father."

"I don't want to 'exchange greetings,' you idiot!" I shouted, my fingertips pressing so hard into the glass I feared I might shatter it. "I want to paint with him! I want to live with him! Not here in this..." I paused, fumbling for words, my vision blurring with unshed tears. "This.... hell!"

"Now sending data of current mental stress to your psychiatrist. Sleeping medication is advised."

"I don't want to sleep, I want to leave!"

"Oh, shut up!"

The angry slurred words caused my mouth to shut and my knees to lock. My mother walked into the room, an angry scowl on her sun kissed skin, her dark, curly hair pulled back into a bun that would have been tight this morning, but now was unraveling from a day spend taking phone calls for some big shot and drinking her evening away at her co-worker's place. Again.

"Your daughter has just experienced an emotional breakdown. Would you like to see the report?"

Mother scrunched up her nose as she walked past me to the fridge and opened it up. "Why the hell would I want to know about that?"

"To provide parental guidance and -"

"Hey," Mother pointed her chin at me, "suck it up and shut up. Nobody cares." She looked over at the robot with a smirk, leaving the room. "There's your parental guidance."


***


Retreating back to my room was fairly easy. As embarrassing as it was, my emotional "episode" had cleared the way for my early to bed excuse. After hearing the satisfying swish and click of my door behind me, I finally began to relax. Or, at least, let my shoulders down from their hunched over cramp. The rest of me still shook, making pulling out my clothing for sleeping, a huge worn down T my dad and I got at some exchange shop, a bit of a hassle. Not to mention all my sniffling. I would be coughing the next day, I had little doubt. I pulled the soft fabric over my head, kicking my jeans out of the way and walking over to the outlet to press the charger button on.

Perhaps it was fate that I went over to my desk to grab my phone, looking it over before bed. Or maybe it was just a habit of mine to set alarms so I'd wake up early enough to see Dad off to his security work. Either way, my eye caught the small mail icon in the corner. I had a message. Though it was likely spam, I was in such a deep need for distraction that I pressed on the icon as I plopped down on my bed.

New Message: Remember Mrs. Barkly?
Sender: SomethingRattlingInTheSink@tinker.com

Dad. It had to be my dad. My heart racing now with hope, fear screaming close behind that it was too good to be true, I opened the message.

"She used to walk her dog around the park. Especially near the bathrooms, where he fell asleep.
Anyway, just checkin' in. Haven't seen you since, gee, 3rd grade?
-Silvy C."

I was nearly crying. It was him. Only my dad could cobble together all those movie quotes with actual people from my past. Silvy. Goodness that brought back memories. She used to be my closest friend before she moved away the last semester of third grade. I cried for days, my dad trying to make me smile by taking various colored socks to make hand puppets and acting out my favorite shows. And Mrs. Barkly... She was the main character's mother in Something Rattling In the Sink, our favorite movie. But she never had a dog. And she certainly never walked anything in a park.

I read the message over and over again.

Then I got it.

My lips spread out in a grin so wide I thought I might pull a muscle. It was a set up. There was a park near this house. And every park has restrooms. I was to meet him there!
I deflated as soon as I began to hear a clicking noise outside my doorway. Everything stopped. My breathing, my heart, my joy. A pause.

"Anne."

Without further permission, the door slid open and the yellow light glared at me.

"You are not asleep."

I didn't want it to know, but I couldn't hide the email. It already knew.

"I... I wanted to check my email."

"The message from your old classmate calms you?"

I licked my dry lips. "Yeah. I, uh, actually..." I took a deep breath before pushing the rest out as quickly as I could, "I was thinking about going out tomorrow." I sat up straighter and hurried on before it could interrupt me. "The message reminded me about parks. They're so calming, you know. I think," I swallowed again, wishing I had another glass of water, "I think it might help. I might be able to paint again..."

There was a dangerous pause this time. It hurt my back and neck, every muscle tense as if I needed to coil up and spring away at a second's notice.

"My data agrees that outside influence with nature can have healing effects on the human mind. A walk tomorrow is permissible."

I tried to keep my face neutral, but my heart was dancing behind my ribcage. The outside and freedom! But most of all, dad!

"You will sleep now?" The machine asked, tone as dead as ever, feeling harsh against the joy rushing through my mind at top speed.

"Oh, yeah. I mean, yes. Yes, I will." I forced myself to nod obediently, click my phone off, toss it onto the top of one of my boxes and crawl under the blankets.

The machine clicked off my lights and shut the door, my eyes only remaining closed until the clicking noise faded away. Tomorrow was coming and I just knew everything would be wonderful again. Somehow.


***


Eating the next morning was no easy feat, my stomach fluttering at the thought of finally seeing him again, those crinkles near his eyes when he smiles, the way the hair on the left side of his head always sticks up farther than the right. Then my stomach would flip whenever I thought too hard about anything beyond getting to the park and seeing him at a distance. Every time I thought about running to him, a bright yellow light followed. It jumped before me. Between us. A blur of reflective, gray metal, cold hands reaching for my arm.

I grabbed the rest of my toast and forced it into my mouth, filching at how dry it was. I walked over to the fridge for more water, feeling like anything heavier might make it too hard to run. I tried not to think on how futile running was. Robots were fast, their stamina as long as their battery life. Which happened to be far longer than a human could run. No, if I thought too much I would stop myself from even going. And I couldn't afford that. I had to at least see him.

I took a breath after swallowing my water and turned around, facing the yellow light and trying not to let my heartbeat get so loud that I couldn't talk over it.

"Can we go out now?"

"A morning walk in the park is permissible. However, warmer wear is suggested."

I rushed to my room, reaching into the first clothing box and rummaging through it for a sweater. I grunted in frustration before finally pulling out a hoodie. I ran back into the kitchen, where the machine waited for me, forcing the thick purple fabric over my head on the way.

"Ok! I'm ready."

The robot made no reply, only walking past me, a soft clicking noise in its wake, heading for the front door. I held my breath as it connected to the house security network and gave it the proper codes, the only outward sign being its yellow sensor flickering slightly.

A loud click filled the air and I finally let my breath out, the door opening for the first time since I arrived. Bright, blue tinted morning light filtered through as the door slid away. And the smell! That dew and grass scent with cool breezes. It made my first few steps outside dizzy. The rest was just as strange. I never really took in detail that well before. The walk towards the park alone was overwhelming. Every concrete wall, metal door, running child near a neon orange transport stop... Everything was deep and vibrate. The sparse green trees on the way nearly blinding my brown eyes after being kept inside a house for over a week.

"There!" I couldn't help but breathe, seeing the park not far ahead, an iron archway proudly stating the park name, which was rusted over from years of neglect.

"Your attitude seems vastly improved."

The robot's metallic tone snapped me back towards my reality faster than I could blink. The sound of its clicking joints and gears becoming louder, the colors and scents around me fading slightly, the sun dimming.

"Perhaps we should include such activity into your daily routine?"

For a minute I couldn't think of an answer, my mind spinning down a dark road, echoing over and over the word, "daily." Every day I would be with this thing. The machine that would monitor my mental health, something that had to have been unstable if I was so very attached to a low income nobody like my dad. Not that they said it quite that way in court. But that's what they meant. Who wouldn't want to live with my higher income mother? The one going places? Never mind that "going places" meant drinking with colleagues nearly every night and kissing up to whoever was nearest. Oh and forgetting your daughter even existed. That was important. Until having a daughter looked good on paper. Until it could get you better housing, better financial support.

I swallowed and blinked, now having walked halfway into the park without even noticing. I could see, beyond some trees, where the small pathway curved around, a restroom area.
Daily. At the very least, I could maybe see him every day. Even if I could rarely ever talk to him anymore.

"Yeah," I nodded, not looking back at the clicking form following me, a metal shadow, "that'd be... nice."

"I've updated your schedule and sent it to your psychiatrist."

I barely heard it. I was already rounding the bend in the path, my eyes focused forward. The trees cleared around the corner, a rectangle building, concrete and blank, was off to one side, restroom icons painted in faded navy blue.

My breath caught and my feet nearly stopped.

He stood there, in the middle of the pathway, his eyes crinkling in a smile. I was about to call out, but it happened. The yellow blur. I cried too late.

"Dad!"

"Anne, run!" His deep tone, rarely so commanding, shook my feet to move even as I saw the machine between us begin to fall, the yellow light flickering madly, two other men I didn't know rushing around us. My dad's hand was stretched out for me and I took it, not looking back. Not daring to.

We began to run through the park, nearly tripping on tree roots and sticks hidden in fallen leaves, the two strangers following, but not chasing.

"The EMP will only last so long. Damn newer models have backups!" One of the men with blond hair and a scar on his cheek called over the sound of snapping and crunching earth. "You better have that security code we need, Trent, or else!"

I looked over at my dad for a split second, nearly turning an ankle for it, wondering how these men knew my dad's name. The one he rarely ever used.

We broke through some more bushes and suddenly we were at the back of the park, a broken bit of gate revealing a gray six person transport with no markings on the side.

"Just get me and my girl out and you can have whatever you want," my dad shot back, pulling the side door open, revealing a gutted inside, likely to remove the tracking chips. My dad began ushering me in as he moved to take the front navigation, sitting in the only seat.

The scarred man grunted, his pale blue eyes boring into me, before turning back to look at his partner, who was lagging far behind.

"Hurry up, Splinter! We gotta -"

I caught the bright red of Splinter's hair between the trees before he fell into the ground, a yellow light forcing him down. My heart stopped.

The man cursed and jumped into the vehicle, closing the door behind him.

"Get us the hell out of here!"

Without anything to grab onto, the force of the acceleration threw my body into the side of the interior, some bolts sticking out of the floor digging into my hip, the sound of the engine racing beneath me.

I heard something else above the roar. The crunch of metal. I stared up at the ceiling and was horrified to see it caving inward, the shape of spidery metal hands imprinted clearly. I don't remember opening my mouth to scream, but the sound was there when suddenly the side door was ripped away, like metallic paper, the machine's yellow light immediately focusing on me.

"Anne."

There wasn't any disappointment or anger in the tone. There was nothing. And I had never felt more afraid.

"Damn it, just die!"

The man near the back pulled out a handgun, the kind they say you can't find anymore, and fired. One shot after another, my ears popping painfully, my eyes closing in fear. The sounds of more metal shrieking, my father screaming for me, the gunshots stopping, forced my eyes back open.

The man's gun was a mangled mess, crushed in the machine's hand. The yellow light focused on the man for only a second longer before coming back to look at me.

"Hostile force neutralized -"

"Like hell!" The man jumped onto the robot's back, not even causing it to shake with the weight. With no effort at all, the machine grabbed at the man and swung him away, his body smashing into the back of the vehicle, his neck and legs twisting so badly that I knew he would never wake up.

"Anne!"

My father's voice, distant sounding and filled with fear, called back at me from the front. But my eyes were fixed on the machine.

"You will return."

I shook my head as it got closer.

"Come with me."

I crawled backwards, angling away from the open side, the wind twisting my hair around my eyes. I couldn't see, could barely hear.

"I will stop the vehicle from the outside. You will return."

I felt like it was over me. I couldn't see, but I could feel it. I could feel the cold metal.

“Anne.”

I kicked. I kicked with all my fear and anger. And I screamed, my foot connecting with the metal frame of the machine. The robot that was heading out of the side door to stop us, posed for one second on only one metal foot. Off balance enough to fall. A scream of metal cracked over the static in my ears as the machine's fall connected with the steel post of the bridge we were driving on and was gone.

Like it had never been there at all. Except for my heart pounding so hard I could barely breathe, the wind rushing through the hole in the side of the vehicle and the body at the back, still and lonely.

"Anne! Anne, are you alright?!"

I crawled over to the back of the only seat in the vehicle. The one my dad was in, his face whipping back and forth to look at me and to focus on the road.

"Anne!"

"I'm," I swallowed hard, my voice sounding worlds away, "I'm ok dad."

For the first time since getting in, I looked around a bit more, my body still shaking. That's when I saw the box, the corners bent from the rough trip, my old art box from home.

My dad caught my gaze. "I've been drinking lots of tea. I thought... I thought you could use it."

I grabbed the back of dad's chair, pulled up to his side and buried my crying face in his shirt. "I will, dad. I will."