ROBSY

As I get out of my Honda Accord, I see Cora Williams, my neighbor from across the street, with her Shih Tzu. I trot over to the retired elementary school teacher to say hi.

“Hey, Cora,” I call out as I tug up the zipper of my fleece jacket over my ample middle. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” she smiles. “I saw you had your grandson with you this weekend.”

“Uh-huh. Robsy stayed with me for a couple of days. He told my daughter-in-law that he had to have a sleepover with his Gran-Gran.”

“That’s so sweet,” she says, then repeats, “so sweet.”

“He’s a great kid and an incredible little performer. You must hear him sing one day. He belongs on America’s Got Talent, the way he can belt out…” She cuts me off. 

“How old is he now?”

“Um, just about eight.”

“Lovely,” she says, then tugs lightly on the dog’s leash. “Come on, Gatsby, we have to go in the house now.”

I look at the dog, then turn to Cora and say, “Did I ever tell you about Robsy’s amazing sense of humor? I bet you don’t know how robots eat guacamole dip.”

Alice adjusts her glasses and shrugs. “I have no idea.”

“They eat them with microCHIPS!” I giggle. “Isn’t that hysterical?”

“Very clever,” she says, then gives me an uneven smile.

“I know you taught grade school, so I bet you’d be interested to know that Robsy’s teacher said she never had a second grader who reads as well as he does. That’s ‘cause he started reading when he was three years old!”

I notice Alice’s eyes glazing over like a holiday ham, so I stop talking. “Whoa!” I laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on and on like that.”

“Don’t be silly, Meg,” she smiles as she turns to look at her house. 

“It’s just that I love Robsy so much…”

“I know you do,” she says as she picks up Gatsby. “Believe me, I’d like to hear more about him, but I left some perishables on my kitchen table.”

“I understand,” I say as I watch her walk away. “Have a nice day, Cora.”

#

Once inside my house, I go online to look for a toy called “Dogborg.” Robsy said he saw it in a commercial. It’s supposed to be some sort of a robot-dog that can be coded to do what the real animals do. I find it on CyberCritters. Price: $429 + tax + delivery. Very pricey for a toy, but my sweetie wants it, so I press: “Buy Now.” Delivery date: Two days.

I can’t wait to see his expression when I give it to him!

When the package arrives, I grab it, hop in my car and drive to my son’s house. When I arrive, I see Mitch and my grandson are playing catch on the front lawn. Robsy spots me carrying the box and immediately races over to me. His hugs are delicious.  

“Gran-Gran!” he cries. “You got me Dogborg! You’re the best grandma in the universe!”

My son rolls his eyes at me. “Kind of an exorbitant gift, isn’t it, Mom?” he says as he gives me a peck on the cheek. 

“Yeah… but it’s for Robsy.”

“And it’s just what I wanted! Thaaaaanks!” my grandson laughs. 

“You’re welcome, cutie.”

“Can you come inside and watch me open it, Gran-Gran?”

“Try to stop me,” I chuckle as I follow him in the house.

#

On Saturday, I take Robsy to a nearby amusement park. 

“Do you think I’m tall enough to ride the Rocket-Coaster alone?” he asks.

“Yes,” I smile. “You’ve grown.”

“Yay!” he shouts. “But how ‘bout if you and me go on the giant Ferris Wheel first?”

“Whatever you want,” I say as he races toward it..

“Come on, Gran-Gran,” he yells. “Walk faster!”

After going on a number of rides, Robbie spots the junior bumper cars. 

“I’ve never been on those!” he cries as he flies over toward them. “I’m gonna drive!”

A shaggy-haired employee, probably around nineteen, allows my grandson in the gate. I watch as Robsy climbs into the red car, then allows the worker to snap on his seatbelt. When the main switch is turned on, my young grandchild instantly turns into Mario Andretti, tearing around the track and laughing hysterically all the while. Such fun!

The moment the ride is over, he unbuckles himself and tries to leap out of the car, but his left foot gets caught in the seatbelt and he lands with a thud on the floor. Fortunately, his hands keep him from smacking his head, but I see that his leg is twisted unnaturally. My heart drops.

“Robsy!” I yell as I race toward him. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Y-Yeah,” he says, shaken but not crying.

I can tell from the awkward position of his left limb that it could be broken. A park attendee is summoned and told to quickly bring a wheel chair. When he arrives, I’m surprised that Robsy is able to use his right leg to hoist himself into the chair.  

“I’m calling an ambulance,” the attendee tells me.

Robsy turns to look at the man and sharply states, “No ambulance! I want my Gran-Gran to drive me.”

Turning to the aide, I say, “No need upsetting my grandchild. I’ll take him to the hospital myself.” 

I quickly wheel Robsy to my Honda where he’s able to mostly get himself out of the wheelchair and into the vehicle. 

#

I turn on the ignition, start driving, then call my son to tell him about Robsy’s leg.

“Where are you now?” Mitch asks. His tone is sharp.

“On the Expressway, heading east to Halbrook Hospital.”

“No!” he orders. “Turn around. Go WEST, get off at exit 68 North, Cobalt Road. About a mile up, on your right, is the Generative Systems Corp. Go to Building D. I’ll meet you there.”

“What kind of a hospital is that?” I ask.

“Just go there, Mom!” he insists. “I’ll meet you in the emergency parking lot.”

Less than half an hour later, I arrive. My son and daughter-in-law, Ellen, are waiting. They look concerned, but not distraught – my anxiety, however, has skyrocketed. Mitch lifts Robsy out of the car.

“Gran-Gran thinks my leg is broken, Daddy,” he says. “But it doesn’t hurt.”

“Well, that’s good, but we still have to have you looked at,” replies his father as the four of us go quickly into the building. 

#

My son, still carrying Robsy, immediately heads down the main hallway. Ellen and I follow. When we get to a door with the words “Surgical Dynamics Examination Room” on it, he says to me, “Wait outside, Mom.” 

I scrunch my eyes. “Why?”

“It’s just better,” he huffs as he, my grandson and Ellen enter.  

From the doorway, I can see a man in a white lab coat who tells Mitch to put Robsy on the treatment table, which he does. 

“Gran-Gran!” calls out my grandson. “Come stand near me.”

My son and his wife exchange glances.

“Gran-Gran needs to stay there until you’re examined,” Mitch explains.  

“NO!” hollers Robsy. “I want Gran-Gran by me now!”

I look at Mitch. “Let me stay.”

He stares at me, then shrugs. “Whatever.”

Dr. Botts – tall, bald and intense – hurries in. His strides are stiff, yet efficient. Mitch and Ellen move back a little. I watch as the doctor points to my grandson’s left leg.

“This looks like the leg that’s broken,” he mumbles to himself, then mechanically lifts it up and down, left and right. “How does that feel, boy?”

“It’s okay,” Robsy answers.

I wedge my way closer to the doctor and my grandson. “Are you sure, Robsy? You took quite a tumble. Doesn’t it hurt a little?”

Before he can reply, Dr. Botts turns to me and narrows his eyes. “Please, Grandma,” he says somewhat indulgently, “allow me to ask the questions.”

He then examines the young boy, then stands back and looks directly at Mitch. 

“The leg component is definitely fractured in more than one area,” he states. “I suggest that you leave him here for two or three days, so the technicians can do what they need to do.”

“Will the leg likely be repaired or replaced?” asks Mitch.

“Definitely replaced,” says Dr. Botts. “I’ll check our storage unit to see if they have one that will fit properly. I think he’ll need a 6/LL/40, or perhaps a few centimeters larger. It’ll be no different than any of his bi-monthly growth replacements. I’m sure that…”

“Hold on,” I interrupt. “What’s going on?”

My daughter-in-law walks over to me. “Meg, dear,” she says in a somewhat haughty manner, “this is why Mitch wanted you to wait outside.”

I ignore her and turn to my son. “What’s all this talk about technicians, leg components and storage units?! What are you not telling me?!”

“I can’t get into it now, Mom.”  

“No, Mitch! I want to know!”

“The bottom line is that Robsy will be fine.”

“That’s not good enough! What are you keeping from me? Tell me!”

My son faces me directly and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Okay, just remember, you wanted to know.” Then he heaves a sigh. “You recall when Ellen and I were having a hard time conceiving, around eight, nine years ago?”

I nod. “You were in China, finishing your doctorate at Peking University.”

“Right...”

“And…?”

“And I didn’t just receive my PhD in China, but it’s where we also acquired Robsy.”

“You mean that’s where my grandson was born,” I clarify.

“No, it means that’s where we obtained him.”

I feel my stomach twist into knots. “I don’t understand.”

Mitch takes a deep breath, then says, “A team led by Dr. Li Wang, a Mechatronics Engineer, an A.I. robotics developer, created Robsy.”

I hear my voice tremble. “What do you mean created?” 

“Mom, my son is a cyborg, a humanoid.”

“What?!” I hear Mitch’s words, but am unable to comprehend them.

“Robsy is an Android.”

  I’m unable to grasp what he’s saying. “ROBSY IS WHAT?!” I cry frantically.

“If I may interject,” says Dr. Botts looking directly at me. “Your grandson is an A.I. computer system that has been programmed to look, feel, act and think exactly like a human being.”

This isn’t really happening. It has to be a nightmare. 

I look at my grandson, then at my son. 

My body starts to shake uncontrollably as I begin to process the truth. With a rigid jaw and flaring nostrils, I stare with glazed, narrow eyes at Mitch.

“YOU KEPT THIS A SECRET FROM ME?!” I seethe. “MY GRANDSON’S A ROBOT? HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ME?!”

“What did you want me to do?” he cries. “Tell you that my baby’s not human? It had to be kept from you. How would you have treated Robsy otherwise? Look at how you’re acting now.”

I want to answer him back, but I can’t, because I don’t know. How would I have treated him? Did he do right by lying? Would I have been able to love a fake-grandson? 

Suddenly I’m short of breath and dizzy. I turn and stumble towards the door. 

But then, I hear: “Gran-Gran!”

I pull my eyes towards my grandchild.

“What’s wrong, Gran-Gran?”

He’s not human. He was made in a lab. He’s a computer for Godsake. 

I stare at him, but say nothing.

“MOM!” screams Mitch, “YOUR GRANDSON JUST ASKED YOU A QUESTION.”

My mouth opens wordlessly. 

“MOM! TALK TO YOUR GRANDCHILD.”

“But…,” I finally gasp, “he’s not my grandchild – or even human.”

I turn and stagger through the door.

“GRAN-GRAN!” he cries out.

I stop, but don’t turn around. He’s a robot! IT’s a robot!

“It’s me, Robsy.” His voice sounds small and frightened. “Don’t leave me.”

I turn again and look at the computer…boy…computer. His large brown eyes are round with fear and blurred with tears.

“GRAN-GRAN, I NEED YOU!” he sobs, holding out his trembling arms.

My heart races. I turn away.

“Please, Gran-Gran, I love you.”

I turn a final time, then run to him and hug him fiercely.

“I love you too, my Robsy! I love you too.”

###