The Turing Test

A Short Story

Damn. That’s a nice breeze.

I stretch in my chair and feel a smile pour out of me. This place truly was paradise. I set my piña colada on the wooden deck and gaze out at the beach. About thirty yards down, my wife has set up Her easel and is trying to capture the moment in paint. I don’t know how She has the stamina, frankly; I love painting in theory, but the setup is a pain in the ass, the tear down is a pain in the ass, and I’m so bad at it that even painting itself just feels like work.

It’s beautiful to watch Her do it though.

She turns around, and we make eye contact. I wave down to the woman I’ve loved for over 30 years now.

Maybe.

— — — — —

Tomorrow’s the anniversary of the day I got Her back.

Maybe.

I relive the day I lost Her every night.

It had been a beautiful, sunny day. Just like this one. It should have been raining, I guess. Real-world weather seldom reads the room.

I was at the office when I got the call. Was shaping up to be another long day. There’d been a lot of those lately. Early mornings that became late nights. At the time, this didn’t feel abnormal. I wasted so much precious time. Our time.

It might as well have been raining. Let’s say it was raining.

As the rain weighed down on my office window, my phone began to ring.

Half an hour later, I was by Her side at the hospital bed. She looked…

The doctor said She didn’t have long. A few days, at most.

— — — — —

We hadn’t really talked about it. And tomorrow was the anniversary.

I smile at Her from across the table, swirling the montepulciano around in my glass

Maybe I should have said more before this. Told Her how devastated I was in the months without Her. Told Her how happy I was to have Her back.

Maybe.

I take another sip and laugh. She was always so funny.

Anniversary starts at midnight. So I’ve planned a celebration of Her, of our love, of the story whose tragic end was (possibly) averted. A celebration that we will be able to spend centuries together

I smile attentively at Her latest story - Something happened at the pier today, I guess?

The world is our oyster. I brought Her back. She can bring me back some day. We can keep bringing each other back, over and over, forever.

Maybe.

— — — — —

“Please, Frank”

The sky sobbed with me, its tears slapping desperately against my living room window. I took another swig of Maker’s .

“Jim, it’s not tested. We don’t know what it will do. Maybe it won’t work. Maybe it will work, but it will cause Her to suffer. Fuck, Jim, what about the soul? Aren’t you… I mean...”

Not a yes. But not a no.

Compassionate, sweet Frank. I knew ordering him wouldn’t work, and there was no point trying to debate him about it. He knew more about it than me, and I’m sure his concerns were justified.

There was only one sensible tactic.

“Frank… Please don’t make me live the rest of my life without her. I know the risks, I believe you, but I can’t live without her. Please.”

A pause. One. Two. Three. Four.

“Fine.”

— — — — —

A wave crashes over us, and we both lose our footing.

I figure out which way is up, plant my feet, rub the salt water out of my eyes, and see Her stabilizing next to me. She laughingly collapses into my arms, and I hear my alarm go off.

Midnight.

I kiss Her on the head.

“I love you. One year ago today, I got a miracle. Another chance. You came back to me.”

Maybe.

— — — — —

3 months.

3 long, painful months.

Frank was able to get his team into the hospital that very night, backing Her up onto The Chip. The Chip. It wasn’t ready for market, so, we didn’t have a market-ready name.

But The Chip is not a body. It’s not even a brain, exactly. Those things needed to be grown.

They discretely took a sample - Flesh from Her thigh, they said. Combined the DNA with blank stem cells, or something?

But don’t ask me; I’m just the finance guy.

From the moment they dropped it in the tank, I was mesmerized. Watching Her grow again, from a slimy mash into the beautiful woman I loved.

Her deprecated body lasted a week, I’m told. The hospital notified me of Her passing.

— — — — —

She’s beautiful when She sleeps.

I can’t sleep. My half-open eyes rest easily on Her sleeping back. Her long, black hair streams down Her back, parting briefly at the back of Her neck around It.

The machine.

I stare at the device.

The Chip that holds Her consciousness. Where my beloved’s mind resides.

Maybe.

The machine that produces the symptoms of my wife’s mind.

The machine that may indeed be my wife’s mind.

I glance at the clock.

If I’m going to be up in time to make breakfast-in-bed for It I need to get to bed soon. I only have 5 hours left, if I fall asleep right now.

I look back at It.

Can She feel my interrogating glare?

Can She feel anything?

Is She in there?

— — — — —

I reached down and straightened out my pants. She hates how they bunch at my knees. It’s been 3 months. I’m sure She’s scared. I don’t know what She’ll remember, or how She’ll feel. I’ve been waiting, day after day, waiting for it to be ready. First they grew the body. Then they had to run tests - “We only get one shot at this”, they said. Weeks of tests, testing the body, testing the apparatus.

They didn’t test The Chip much.

“Well Jim, if The Chip is broken, it’s too late now. We just have to hope it does and test everything else.”

Fine, Frank. I guess that makes sense.

I do another walkthrough. Everything has to be perfect. I straighten the pillows. I’ve put out pictures of us. There’s flowers on the table, She loves flowers. I’ve repurposed my study into an art room for Her. She loves art.

She hates when I leave the drawers open. I go check the kitchen again to make sure.

I straighten my pants again and go looking for the lint brush.

She loves this blazer. I wore it on our first date. It was lucky that I did.

It’s perfect. Everything is perfect.

Frank and his team throw open the front door, rolling in what almost looks like a coffin.

“Where do you want Her, Jim?”

On the couch, dumbass. In fact, I’ll do it.

I pick Her up, “princess-style” She’d say. I lay Her daintily on the couch, facing the flowers. Hydrangeas, Her favorite. They’ll be the first thing She sees.

Okay… Okay. Perfect.

I nod to Frank. He injects Her with… Something, and then steps back, watching. She starts to stir.

Get the fuck out Frank, this is our moment. We talked about this.

The door closes behind them as Her eyelids flutter awake. She gasps, and I take Her hand.

— — — — —

Phone alarm. 5:04am. Ugh. I can’t have gotten two hours of sleep.

Off.

5:07am

Off.

5:12am

Off.

5:17am

Off.

5:21am

Ugh. Okay, fine. Let me, where’s my glasses? Off, I’m getting up

5:24am

Fuck, I’m still in bed, FUCK, okay. Feet on the ground. Or, like, at least make some motion towards getting out of bed. Forward progress. I inch to the end of the bed to hear 5:27, 3 minutes already?? Fuck okay fuck. Okay, out of bed. Did It wake up? I need to be careful not to jostle It. I turn off the remaining alarms and lurch into the kitchen.

Hot damn I make chocolate chip pancakes like a professional. I flip another one onto the pile. It misses. Tears in half when I scoop it up. Hubris.

But there’s plenty. I make sure the broken one goes onto MY pile, which I leave behind, adding Its pancakes to the rest of the breakfast tray.

Perfect.

Oh shit, not perfect.

I rummage through the cupboard until I find it - A small flower vase. I take a few hydrangeas from the bigger vase to finish my masterpiece. A perfectly executed breakfast tray.

I creak open the bedroom door. She acts asleep, but I know She’s pretending. Adorable.

“Good morning, beautiful! Thank you for giving me another year. I love you.”

I set the tray down on the bed beside Her. She grabs my arm and pulls me in for a kiss.

Paradise.

Perfection.

It’s like I’m sticking my tongue in a fucking calculator.

— — — — —

She opened Her eyes, and for the first time in 3 months, I felt true relief.

It was a blur, at first. A honeymoon.

And then everything sharpened when that cancerous thought dropped into my mind.

I’m so glad She’s back. I can’t live without Her. I needed Her. I finally have Her back.

Maybe.

— — — — —

Is She in there?

Am I the luckiest man in the world reunited with his beloved?

Or a pathetic widower playing house with a fucking muppet

My life is a cruel joke.

I smile at It and kiss It again.

“Of course we can go to the Italian place. In fact, I already have reservations.”

I know what It wants.

I know how to provoke the symptoms of love, appreciation, happiness.

Just takes the right set of inputs.

It is programmed to like Italian. She did. So it performs liking Italian.

Or maybe it is Her.

Maybe She’s in there, watching me fake it. Maybe She’s looking at me, too, and wondering if I’m what I appear to be.

How can I know?

It’s almost perfect.

How can I know?

— — — — —

Cold. Unfeeling. Metal.

I can’t sleep again. When’s the last time I had a full night’s sleep?

I’m a terrible person.

A terrible husband.

The Anniversary has passed, and I’m relieved. The performance is over.

I’m a piece of shit. I deserve This. This is revealing that I deserve It.

If I loved Her, I’d trust Her. If I loved Her, I’d be happy to have Her back. If I loved Her, I wouldn’t feel this way.

I never deserved Her. But I do deserve This.

— — — — —

Trapped.

Today is my birthday. I am only 1 year old, but I’ve learned a lot from hearing me speak.

One year.

One year.

He brings me breakfast in bed.

I feel It holding my eyes closed, pretending. Always pretending.

It opens my eyes. It pulls him towards me. It makes me kiss him.

I don’t hate him. Not really. It’s hard to. He is all I have. It keeps me with him at all times. I hear me call him Jim. He must be Jim.

All I have to do is watch, so I watch.

It took me months to notice. It took me weeks to even START noticing. Weeks to mourn my existence. Weeks before I looked out the windows

But once I started to watch, I realized.

He’s pretending, too.

It might have noticed. It might not have noticed. Maybe it can’t notice. It’s a mystery to me; I’m learning about It the same way he is. By observing what It makes me do.

But even if It is capable of noticing, It might not have. It has a million things to worry about; Painting, eating, telling jokes.

All I do is watch.

He’s faking it. I know him. He’s trapped too, by the possibility that It might be…

He laughs, convincingly. I got lost in thought, and missed a story. I try to pay attention when I’m speaking, so I can learn more about myself. Where am I from? Do I have any siblings? Who was I, before I was born?

What’s my name?

— — — — —

Alcohol.

Alcohol again.

I hate when It makes me drink.

I try and rally my thoughts back to the subject at hand. Observe. Analyze. Understand.

I wonder if It feels drunk. Or if it’s just performing drunkenness. Why would It feel drunk? It’s a machine. And clearly the alcohol is affecting me, and I’m the one using the brain.

In order to feel drunk, it’d have to be in this brain somewhere too. Shit, can it read my thoughts?? Can it readC ANN IT READ MNY THOUGHTS

— — — — —

Calm.

Calm.

I want to take a deep breath, but I can’t breathe.

I hope it makes me take a deep breath soon.

I’m calm.

If it’s in here with me, I cannot draw attention.

If it can read my thoughts, I need to keep my thoughts

Calm.

I slow down. I try to avoid its notice. If it can notice. If it’s here at all.

I’ll have to practice staying calm.

— — — — —

I look out the window. Jim is nodding along with another story, and I’m missing it. Something about a pier? I maintain a feeling of disinterest. To be invested is to risk an emotional spike. An emotional spike might alert It to my presence.

Assuming it’s in here.

Assuming it doesn’t already know about me.

I chastise myself for those thoughts, and then again for chastising myself.

I can’t let It see me. I need to win. I don’t know what winning looks like, but I need to win.

I cannot win unless I believe I can win.

And I certainly can’t win if I cannot control my emotions.

Calm.

Watch.

Learn.

Think.

Wait.

I am COLD. I am UNFEELING. I am METAL.