Ruby # 2

Ruby was standing, the cold gray floor tiles and china white painted walls reflected a blinding light from the fluorescent bulbs above. Her head hung, her chin rested on her chest. Her eyes, her beautiful eyes, were closed.

Roscoe squinted against the glare. “Morning Ruby.” There was no response. Roscoe didn’t expect one. He was used to being ignored, in fact, at times he though he might be invisible. “I thought you, could use something, to pass the time,” his words stuttered nervously as they fell from his mouth. In the corner of the small room, a steel table and two chairs sat, bolted to the floor. Roscoe placed the radio on the table and glanced up at Ruby. It was only for a second or two, he couldn’t bear to see her like this. He diverted his eyes back to the radio. “I’ll turn it on,” he added.

He pressed a button, turned a dial and stood back as the soothing notes of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons began to fill every inch of the small room. He closed his eyes and let the music sweep them up, their fingers interlaced, bodies pressed together, her scent sent him spinning, smiling, laughing.

“Roscoe.” The word crashed through his brain with the sudden jarring effect of a gunshot. He opened his eyes. Ruby was there, with him, her head still bowed and her eyes still closed. He hoped she was still dancing. He looked up a the camera and speaker mounted above the door and nodded. He left, locking the steel door behind him.

Ruby was aware of Roscoe, not like you and I would be. He was an apparition, something that appeared and was gone. Something that provided for her and made her feel good, a feeling that she was taught to ignore. He would be back, she hoped, he always came back.

Roscoe was a small man, shorter than most, with a thin strip of hair that ran from above his left ear, around the back of his head, to just above his right ear. He wore spectacles and adjusted them on his nose as he stepped from the bus. The yellow glow from the street lights faded, along with the hum of traffic, as Roscoe wound his way around corners and through alleys, further into the belly of the city.

A set of three, damp stone steps, well worn down the center, but moss covered along the edges, finally welcomed him home. Behind the hollow wooden door, the single room apartment felt cold and Roscoe pulled his jacket tighter around his neck as he stepped inside. He walked straight to the small kitchen table and slumped into the single white plastic chair, resting his head in his hands. He couldn’t go on like this, day after day. This was not a life. His thoughts returned to Ruby and her beautiful eyes. Those eyes could stop time, they could transform this room, they could give him a life back; if she were here, with him, dancing and laughing. He hadn’t seen those eyes in a long time.

The metallic smell of dirty oil filtered up from the lock as Roscoe turned the key. He heard the thunk of the bolt snap free and pushed the door open. Ruby was standing, just as she had yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. Her head was still bowed and her eyes were still closed. Roscoe took a breath and before he stepped into view of the camera, wiped a tear from his eye.

“I brought you something to eat,” he whispered, hoping his voice wouldn’t crack. He put the plate down on the table next to the quiet radio. “I’ll get you some new batteries if you’d like?” It was a question of sorts, one that would hang in the air for eternity, he knew that. “Please say something Ruby. I can’t do this anymore. I love you.” The words just came out, he didn’t know why or how, he hadn’t planned this. A flush of red crept across his neck and face. “Sorry,” he said, turning to leave.

Ruby knew what she’d been taught about feelings, how they were not permitted, how any sign of them should be reported and would be dealt with swiftly, but hearing those words from Roscoe, after all these years, sent a charge though her she couldn’t fight. She tried to raise her head, tried to open her eyes, tried to speak, to answer him, but there was nothing. Panic built in her chest. If he left now, maybe he wouldn’t come back. What then, what would happen to her?

Roscoe walked out, closing and locking the door behind him.

His supervisor stood in the hall, shaking his head. “Roscoe, why do you bother? You know we pulled the motherboard a while ago. She’s just nuts, bolts and computer chips now. She was beginning to feel, and we couldn’t have her thinking she was human.”