The class assembled without prompt in the middle of the hangar like aisle. Feeling misplaced and without an escape route, I sat down in the suddenly formed chairs in parallel. Still, I reserved my personality, leaning low into the seat back. Some sat fully upright. Some tried to mimic the attention but sat falsely and agitated. Not knowing what was to come, hands around me raised. They leaned forward toward the front, a spot I'd yet to look, and some even twittled their fingers as if to studiously answer or ask some question.
A podium raised above the heads stretched out before me and several well gapped rows, and a voice rose with a confidence I was not prepared for. Turn to page 37. A book sat upon the tiny forearm desk suddenly attached to the chair. Brown with hard, brittle pages, the ink blinked on and off as the pages turned. Page 42, he moved quickly, me unaware. Now you see the moment the change shifts, we wind up back where we started, see. The crowd grinned in unison. Nerves crawled alight on my shoulder and around my back. Do you see, kids? They once again raised their hands as I sat back further into my seat back trying to dip below the desk. You, he said.
I laughed and ignored the prompt and focused with all my might onto page 24, the page I happened to be on. The tiny black words squiggled and letters flashed quickly. I hoped for it to shut down. Eyes crowded around me and he said, Yes. You. And pointed deleting the hopeful doubt I still craved. I.. I.. am not really sure, I said honestly. My circuitry inside sparked bedlam. I'm not sure what we're talking about, I pleaded.
That's okay. Anyone else?, the rest of the crowd eagerly switched focus and fingers darted at the invisible targets above them. A man a diagonal desk away from me said, on page 45 you can see the repetition congeal and the tempo unify making the piece whole and part of the broader systematic definition. This is not only conservational but orienting to the hemispherical lobe. He spoke some sort of well defined gibberish.
Do you see what he means? The voice from the podium headed back in my direction and I smiled suicidally and melted onto the desk.
The class dissolves just as quickly as it starts and the man hovers behind his desk as the college kids and some small children gather to ask him questions that without reason I fully can process. I wait my turn.
I am the last in line as I let the others go ahead of me. Still when they are done some hang around and speak to themselves. When I am close to him and the others are lost in each other, I tell him hello and thank him for staying to help me. Look at page 37. There. My pad is in my hand, I open it up and look at the odd page on the left. You see the omission there. Several lines were missing.
Yes.
That's it. That's all we were saying before. Those lines are the ones that complete the lullaby. The object performs the holistic gestalt. And the memory forms. In this case more readily due to the repeated function of the object. His shoulders are broad and pulled tautly back. I only reach about chest height. And only two feet or so above the makeshift desk before us. I tell him I see now the pattern and thank him for his time.
The doors open with a tear breaking the vacuum seal as I retreat to the emporium. They close pinching the seal back whole and recovering the bladder; the air becomes easier to breathe. Defeated, I pore down over the empty sliver of blinking ink.
The blinding lights that line the store soffits press down on me and speak in their quiet way trying to sell me metal sensors and candy plugs and meadow holograms. Things I want but don't deserve. They go dark as I pass and get deeper inside. The music comes alive suddenly. Inside me the words sync to my imaginary song. And every where that Mary went the lamb was sure to go. That's it.
I run back to the teacher hoping he's still around, the comprehension dangling from a thin, time sensitive wire. The lights strobe on and off as I sprint with my new found understanding. The doors tear and mend.
He's still there but different now. I do not feel surprise by this. He is folded up onto himself and inside a chair with two large wheels. His face is two dimensional and is as a cut up photograph pasted to the top of his chest. I look down upon him and tell him I'm happy he is still here.
I am leaving though, now he says. I'm sorry. I usually run on preservative power this time of the day.
I just wanted to tell you that I think I get the lesson now. The prescription of it. I say. And my heart is full and I believe I get it.
Good. Good. He says and expels a metallic cough. Two children I notice follow behind him, attending to his condition. I must go now, he says. Before he leaves he stretches out a hand to me to shake.
I look down on the false hand. And a need comes over me. A compulsion to impress. I shake his hand anyway and feel the rubber fingers give with my delicate pressure. Like an inflated latex glove. I try not to feel for the carbon skeleton I know to be underneath the aerated silicone flesh. I hold the hand and tell him how I feel.
I know I'm not the smartest student in your class, but I know this is unnecessary. He looks perplexed at first. Surprised, in fact. I hint down toward our engaged hands. I press on. This. I understand this. You do not need to do this for me.
He smiles and closes his eyes. His hand goes up and the two children leave his side. Come with me.
We walk over the metal floor where the class was held and is now cleared of desks and podiums and people. It's interesting you would tell me that. I can feel him studying me as he wheels himself along only a foot away. My sensors feel electric and I wonder if he's already hacked into me. He seems like a nice person and I hold onto doubt for as long as I can. Harmless even if he has.
We enter the emporium together and he seems anxious and less lethargic given his scheduled program. He crosses over and enters a parts store and I follow him. He scans the far wall, a matrix of plugs and adapters and power blocks. I use the lift, giving him space and span a different wall full of white, button like plugs, none of which are labeled. I wonder why they would not be labeled. Even in a store like this, more advanced than I'm used to. A feeling comes over me about this teacher. Searching for plugs high up here close to the ceiling. He surprises me, extending his chair up high, its own lift, close to me. He asks if I'd like to accompany him to the Retreat.
The retreat is a place where all the teachers come together and discuss human students. I've only heard about it, dipping into clandestine conversations between better students than me. Yes. Absolutely. I say.
Good. He transforms again into a receiver of two side paddles and a back plate that matches the curve of my spine. I turn around and the paddles pinch my sides tight and I hover up and then backward off the lift. My back doesn't fit into the back plate and this worries me as I look down to the ground a hundred or two feet away. In the corner of the store there is an adapter that receives the metal structure of his body and he plugs into it. A passageway opens up above the store and a hall of infinitely more buttons and power blocks is revealed. I see now that he is surrounded by these lifeless components all the time. I feel sad for him. His daily, objective existence.
My back finally clasps into place and the paddles fold over my chest. We detach from the corner mechanism but now float. The boosters engage and we ascend into the cave of infinite knowledge.
