Haley Petcher
“Do you think I’m a robot?” I asked my mom. I sat on the porch steps and watched her water the flowers.
“Honey, you’d be rusty by now,” she told me. “Robots don’t cry.”
I nodded, considering. “Okay. Okay, but do you think I seem like a robot? Because sometimes–” Sometimes I think you’re a robot. Sometimes talking to you is more like talking to an interviewer than my girlfriend. It’s like you don’t ask the right questions. Sometimes I think you’re a robot.
***
Five things: A copy of East of Eden with a bookmark at the end of Part I, an old cup full of warm water on my bedside table, a folder of ungraded vocabulary quizzes in my bag–Sometimes I think you’re a robot. Talking to you is more like talking to an interviewer than my girlfriend. Sometimes I think you’re a robot.
***
“Friend,” I asked, “do you think I’m a robot? Because, you know, he said–”
***
Four things: My blue chair from college with clothing piled on top, a blanket covered in tropical fish at the end of my bed, a painting of a submarine deep, deep in the ocean that sings, “We must march, my darlings”– Talking to you is like talking to an interviewer. I’ve had a deeper emotional connection with people in three weeks than I had with you in twenty years. Sometimes it’s like you’re a robot.
***
My counselor told me to breathe in for four. Hold for four. Breathe out for four. Hold for four. Breathe in for four.
***
“Do you think I’m a robot?”
“…No? Why would I think that?”
***
Three things: A ring from Scotland on my right hand, a journal full of lesson plans written in black Sharpie pen, and my camera bag that looks like my grandfather’s.
Two things: I see a candle that a student gave me and–Sometimes I think you’re a robot. Talking to you is like talking to an interviewer.
***
But remember one time I made you cookie dough bars because I knew your eyes would light up when you ate them and maybe they would remind you that there’s more to life than that job you hate?
And remember another time I whisked you away to the city where I grew into an adult to watch my friends exchange rings in a backyard, and we walked over the Ohio River and through my favorite park, and you told me that you’d hit the jackpot when you got me, and I felt a warm glow like a candle inside me despite the early April Kentucky cold?
And maybe I don’t cry when I watch sad movies like Meg Ryan does when she watches An Affair to Remember in Sleepless in Seattle, but sometimes my eyes well up when my students bring me a college scholarship essay to review or when they make a point about Frankenstein’s commentary on humanity that I had never thought about before because isn’t it wonderful–isn’t it beautiful–that in that moment they understood something that I didn’t teach them? And I know I’m not a robot.
***
Sometimes I think you’re a robot. Sometimes talking to you is more like talking to an interviewer than my girlfriend. It’s like you don’t ask the right questions. Sometimes I think you’re a robot.
***
One thing: An oval mirror with my face reflected in the center, and I know I’m not a robot.
***
Breathe in for four. Hold for four. Breathe out for four. Hold for four. Breathe in for four.
***
It’s just that sometimes…
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Haley Petcher earned her BA from Auburn University and her MA from the University of Louisville. She currently teaches high school English in Huntsville, AL. This is her first publication.
