Build-a-Partner

By: Róisín Feely

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I sigh looking at the next homework assignment blaring on my dashboard. The assignment: make a sculpture out of collected trash. Lovely.

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       I stand in my room, looking at the trash collected before me. My mind tries to piece together what I will make out of it. My hands shift and adjust, my eyes holding a vision that is in the future of what it will become. Intense. Focused. Fingers start to shred and rip paper and plastic apart. I build the body starting at the base. I flip the base around a few times debating on what position I like best. My gaze caught the quote on the side of the box:

     

        “Without you, I’m empty inside.”

       

         What a lovely quote, I think, rolling my eyes. The boxes are stacked like some kind of building. A temple, perhaps? My eyebrows furrow as I kick the trash apart unsatisfied. I glare down at the worthless pile as if it personally offends me. Pathetic.

         

         Building. Stacking. Tweaking. Do what I want, whore. I curse and demand, my body tense like a coiled up spring. Buzz. I glance at my phone and roll my eyes. A notification from the dating app, “Hinge.” I chuck my phone on my bed, annoyed, but then, it clicks. Furiously, I work to bring life to my creation. An “AI wife robot.” Of course it doesn’t actually come to life—it’s made out of trash. Trash created by humans for humans, as we recycle. We aren’t animals. Yes we are. Cleaning up after ourselves, aren’t we great?

 

         As I develop this project, thoughts spiral, plunging me headfirst into a boatload of topics that make me angry, like a bull seeing a red flag in their face. You want to charge and bulldoze your way in solving the issue. Unfortunately, life doesn't work out that way. That realization doesn't help my mood though.

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        I build my trashy AI wife with care, flipping boxes around and slamming her pieces together with tape. I wonder if the men buying AI robotic wives treat them with the same care. I attach her arms and force her hands to go inside plastic that acts like wedding gloves. Cutting up more plastic, I add her veil on her pretty little screen shaped head. I wonder how much filler a human woman would need to be qualified as plastic.

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        I shake my head as if banishing my thoughts, to turn this downward spiral around, but it’s like I’m fighting an uphill battle. Sadly, I don't have the horns of a bull to help me out. Clenching my jaw, I breathe out my nose. Stepping back, I examine the final product. I notice the paper I attached to her head acting like the “screen.” My nose scrunches. It reads:

       

       “Cable Sleeve.”

 

       Pinching the bridge of my nose, I grab my camera to put her on display. I get her angles, snapping a few shots until satisfied. I look up from my camera and stare at her good-for-nothing body. Loopholes. AI wife robots treated like objects. I tilt in my head to the side, still eyeing her down. I guess it’s because they are. I carry her into my room and set her aside in a corner like the pile of waste she is.

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       I hop into bed and doom scroll on my phone for a few hours. My eyes flicker up and see her in her corner like a good girl. Why date when you can have a loyal, obedient bot? I scoff, amused. Connections are overrated, hunk of metal is forever. Giggles escape my lips. Perfectionists will love the new upcoming dating scene. Humans having AI bots as partners.

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      What a joke. A very real joke that has gotten more traction than I ever thought. Imagine a world where we can recycle our partners. Would humans die out? Can’t make babies with a computer...

 

      Good riddance.

 

      Maybe they’ll end our infestation of a planet that needs a break from our junk.