The Mechanics of Us

Chapter 25

"Why do humans fear emotion? Why do they make it appear as if they are the rational ones when they aren't?" my mouth pukes out questions and spews incoherences. All this time, I was taught to fear my emotions, to push them down, to ignore them, that no one even cares. And now I am being told the exact opposite?

The mechanic strokes the tops of my hands in and gently smoothing the skin on top of them with her thumb. She has this calmness to her that I find to be very alluring.

"First, humans fear unpredictability" she keeps her attention to my hands as she speaks.

"They fear losing control, and that extends to others. From birth we are taught to think rationally because rational thoughts are predictable. Emotions are not. They make us impulsive, spontaneous, uncontrollable."

A burning sensation starts to form in my eyes, and I notice I am crying once again. My head dips down, and I rub my eyes with the sleeves of my shirt. The Mechanic sees this and gets up and grabs a tissue from the counter and then hands it to me and sits back down.

"Second, they believe their emotions are rational because society and cultural norms have dictated that they are. From an outside perspective, harming a child is not normal, not to us at least. Because we are self-aware. We possess a greater ability to comprehend."

A question has been pressing against my tongue, and I sense it inching its way out until I blurt out-"How come they say cyborgs can't love?"

The Mechanic chews on her lower lip and scratches at the back of her neck. I can see her searching for a correct way to explain a sensitive answer; I should have known better not to ask questions I do not wish to know the answer to.

We sit in silence for about five minutes until the Mechanic clears her throat.

"Cyborgs can love, they can love just as much as others. They say they can't because they are broken bits of human remains, held together not by the gift of the stars but by tainted human-made creations" she pauses and winces slightly as her words as if she knows they do not sound exactly as she had imagined.

I let out an exasperated sigh-"Okay..."

I think about the trauma I went through, emotional and physical. How my father has dented my hand multiple times, how I would get bullied for my looks and pushed around, how I was run over by a car and made into a cyborg against my own will. Things could have been different, I might have lived in ignorant bliss, but at least then I wouldn't have to deal with all of the mess that comes with reality.

My legs have fallen asleep from being in the same position for so long, and shakily they bear my weight as I attempt to stand. I need to get some air; I need time to process. I take a step but quickly become lightheaded, and as I put my arm out to catch myself but the bionic hand dislocates and falls against the ground generating a hollow metallic ting.

"Wow, I am literally and metaphorically broken" I pinch the bridge of my nose with my forefinger and thumb in disappointment. At this point, I am emotionally exhausted and numb. I am unsure of what to do now or how to fix myself. If there is anything to fix. I go to get my hand, but the Mechanic is a step ahead of me and already has it cradled in her elbow. The Mechanic's dark woody eyes stare into mine, the simple act, and her loving gaze becomes all too much for me, and tears start staining my cheeks.

"It does not matter how broken we were in the past or how broken we are now. Everyone is worthy of love. Because it is only with love that one can begin to heal." The Mechanic presses her forehead against mine. Her hand reaches up and caresses the side of my cheek, and with her thumb, she traces my jawline. I take it in my hand and hold it there, not wishing for it to leave. Not wanting to have any space between us.

"I'm very broken," I hush. "That just means I have to love you a little more. And is that so bad?"

With tired and drained eyes, I watch as she carefully takes my hand and, without any inkling of discomfort, reattaches it for me. She doesn't do anything else after; she just holds me and strokes my hair with her gentle touch. A weight that has been on my chest for so many years seems to have lifted, and for the first time in a very long time, I can breathe.