Miss Fantastic the Wonderful

In a reality where toys can make snacks and where people fall in love, a couple observes the everydayness of the world from a park bench, attempting to work through one of life’s most difficult decisions.

 

“There’s something in your hair.”
“What?”
“Your hair. There’s something in it.”
“I don’t have hair.”
“Right. Well, I guess it’s where your hair would be, were you able to grow it.”

He swiped at his head, in the general area of where hair grows (when it can in fact grow) with a smooth, metal hand. The reverberating clang of metal on metal rang for a brief moment then dissipated. A single feather or wisp of some sort drifted aimlessly from its former place on his head down to the freshly cut grass.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked, watching a couple push a stroller past them. The mother gazed lovingly at her child, cooing something ridiculous at the small being, who squealed with delight.

“You can’t stop thinking about it, can you?” he asked, watching her eyes follow the man and woman, their smiles making the sun seem even brighter.

She shrugged and looked away, her concentration momentarily focused on a bird eating some old bread a child had tossed on the ground earlier in the day.

The late morning air was filled with chirps, the wind in the trees, private conversations between lovers, and the gleeful screams of children playing nearby. The girl pulled a sandwich out of a brown paper bag, offering half of it to her bench mate.

“I don’t really eat,” he said.

“Oh. Right.” She retracted her offer, putting the bread-wrapped stacks of finely shaved, extra rare roast beef, lettuce, tomato, imported Swiss, and the thin layer of chili lime mayonnaise back into the bag, including her half of the snack he prepared for her that morning. She reached for his hand, which was cool to the touch, despite the warmth emitting from the sun shining above them.

They sat in silence for a few more moments as a jogger bounced by, tossing her gum in the recycle bin, possibly thinking it was intended for trash, but perhaps doing it out of an unfathomable disdain for the overall nature of recycling itself. There was no real way to find out without asking her, and by the time it would occur to either of them to do so, she would be out of sight.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“I don’t think so.” She shifted her weight on the bench, her hand still touching his.

“We always come here when you’re thinking about it.”

“Do we?” She glanced about as if she were just realizing where they were for the first time.

He nodded.

She watched the clouds, perfectly placed in the sky, their fluffy masses merging into their neighbors, each cloud almost forming a familiar shape before morphing into something else.

She turned to face him, tears pooling on the bottom rims of her eyelids, ready to spill with the slightest urging or even the nudge of a faint breeze.

“I just can’t stop thinking about it,” she said, her voice broken without being unsteady. Not quite a whisper, but barely audible. “I guess I didn’t really think about this when it started. I mean, when we started, or however you want to say it. You know what I mean.”

He nodded, his gaze intent on her face and her bright, round eyes.

“When I was a little girl,” she began, her tears distracted by a memory, “I had a doll named Miss Fantastic the Wonderful, and she was beautiful, and she would sing me to sleep at night, and when we had tea parties, she always made the best snacks. I never knew where she got the ingredients from, but they were so good, you know, the snacks. We would watch movies and giggle like schoolgirls, which, at the time, I was. We both were, I guess, except that she was a doll who could bake. You know?”

He didn’t say anything. He just listened with uncompromising intensity, like he was made to listen only to her.

“And sometimes I miss her so much, but now I have you, and I love you more than anything I’ve ever loved, and you make even better snacks than she did, but she filled a void in my life, similar to the void you filled when I first met you and that you still fill today. And I wonder if someone can have more than one void, like a dual void. At one point in my life, I would say that it wasn’t possible, because every void I’ve ever had was singular. Now I’m not so sure.” Her voice trailed off as she watched a butterfly tease a flower, then another, until it landed on a third flower, doing its pollination dance on the vibrant yellow pedal.

A steady, electronic beeping interrupted the air, the sound musical and inviting. He held up a finger and disappeared, returning moments later with a freshly baked cinnamon pie on a plate, steam rising from the golden crust. He brandished another plate, along with a fork and a cloth napkin, and served her a slice.

She smiled at him, her hand reaching up to brush his cheek, accepting the pie and taking a bite, sucking in mouthfuls of air to cool the molten filling.

They sat quietly for a few more minutes, feeling the simulated breeze blow over and between them. She turned to him once again, her eyes telling him that she was ready to leave. He nodded, producing a remote and pressing a button. The park faded away, and they were in the SimPod again, its white walls surrounding them where the trees and grass and children were only moments before.

They relocated to the sleep chamber, and he held her against him, his metal body molded to fit her warm flesh.

“Maybe we can try again,” he whispered into her ear.

“But you’re a robot,” she said, her face resting against his smooth, shiny shoulder, her tears sliding down his glassy surface.

“Shhh,” he replied, caressing her back, his hard drive spinning.