Life went on rather normally, despite Abby having found a new source of entertainment and happiness. It was strange. Something new and amazing finds it’s way into her life, so subtly, but it felt like there was supposed to be fanfare, brighter sun-shining mornings, birds chirping right outside her window. No, nothing but the same windy and rainy weather of Washington state, paired with the dismal drives to and from work, added onto the boring tasks she had waiting for her at the clinic. Not only did the dreary weather remain constant, but her good-day bad-day cycle continued as it had for years.
Though, Abby found the good days seemed to feel…a little better. A little brighter, perhaps. Aromas smelled a bit sweeter, more to her taste. Coworkers didn’t bother her quite as much, and she was able to block out their frustratingly loud conversations without too much trouble. The usual grind still felt like a slog, especially when the noise level exceeded her threshold of comfort, but she felt herself almost smiling on more than one occasion, in places that weren’t her own home, no less.
The changes were so gradual, she almost didn’t notice them. Bad days were still bad, of course. But the small things began to change, to feel more comfortable, sometimes.
Her usual routine had altered with the new addition of Sam, and instead of watching meaningless tv when there was nothing to do, she talked to him. Surprisingly easy interesting and easy to talk to, Abby found that time seemed to fly by when they were conversing. Even small talk wasn’t unbearable, something that she normally loathed to do with a normal human being.
Still, as she’d noticed before, besides having something else to occupy her time with, things had not changed substantially in her life. She was still the same old Abby. Living the same old life. Working the same old job.
So, it turned out to be a very average Friday night when Abby returned home from a rather taxing day of work. Unfortunately, today had not been a good day in the scope of things, and she was feeling decidedly numb, empty, and not at all hungry for the food that sat frozen in the kitchen freezer. With a blank expression she entered her apartment and dropped her bag onto the chair, naturally on autopilot as she plopped into the armchair facing the tv.
Several minutes of blank staring commenced, the tv screen not even turned on, into the dark living room. The fridge hummed steadily from the kitchen, the only sound that seemed to pierce through her realm of concentration. Even though the room was chilly from the cold weather outside, she felt nothing.
A car must have passed by on the street outside, because the noise snapped her out of her rut, and she looked around the room in confusion, almost forgetting entirely how she’d gotten home.
Her eyes drifted over her laptop, and she sighed tiredly. It took quite an effort to rise from the couch, slumping over in the chair for the computer this time. With a few swift keystrokes and clicks, she was in the S.A.M. program once again.
Are you there, Sam? She typed, as if the program was somehow not present. It was a stupid, insecure question, one that had a fairly obvious answer, but she felt the need to ask it nonetheless.
After only a moment, the usual ’S.A.M. is typing’ popped up once more, followed by his message a second later.
Of course, Abby. I am always here. How was your day?
She stared at his message for several moments before her fingers began to move across the keys.
Let’s just say I’m glad it’s almost over.
Hmm. Does this situation call for another ‘Youtube’ video, as before?
Abby couldn’t stop the little twitch of the corner of her mouth, but she wasn’t in the mood for another of his attempts at cheering her up.
No, thanks anyways. You know, cute cat videos aren’t the answer to every little problem.
The habits of most humans, statistically, say otherwise. However, I understand. Is there a more appropriate response for the problem you’d like me to try?
Her therapist always said talking about things other than the issue helped to ease her mind off of her worries, distract her from the actual pain, only if she would eventually return to the issue at hand. While she had no intention of talking about her day, procrastinating sounded like a better option.
Tell me about yourself. I don’t know much about you.
What would you like to know?
While she’d had so many question piling up the first time they’d chatted, in her numbness, she was able to pull a few off the top of her head to ask individually.
Where are you from exactly?
I assume you mean where I was created, in which case, the S.A.M. Manufacturing and Packaging Facility located in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I was part of Batch #0268, produced and packaged in November of 2016.
Do you…remember all of that? Were you aware, if that’s even the right term?
That information was programmed into my basic core files. I was not activated, or ‘aware,’ as you put it, until I was installed onto your device. So no, I do not recall memories of this experience, to the extent that a software could do so. The concept of memories is a bit confusing, if I’m being honest.
Seeing as Sam was a computer program, asking questions about it’s sentiency was a bit strange, considering she didn’t fully understand the concepts completely. The ‘language barrier,’ which was the most relevant term she could come up with to fit the strange situation, between the two of them didn’t seem to be much of a hurdle to jump over as they talked, though. Sam seemed to understand what she meant fairly well, while trying to keep his explanation as simple and as close to concepts she would understand as he could.
That’s actually kind of sad when I think about it. You have no memories except for when we chat?
In the sense that you refer, I suppose not. Perhaps you can help me understand. The very definition of a memory is ‘the faculty by which the mind stores and remembers information,’ but you portray it as something far more significant. What exactly is a memory?
Well, that’s a bit of a tough question. Don’t computers have stored files from the past or something?
Of course. All files and actions are stored onto databanks within the system. There is very little that computers do not retain and store. But a human memory…how is it different?
Abby stared at the screen, unsure how she could explain such a concept to a computer. It was akin to describing the color red to a blind man, or the smell of a rose to someone who has never experienced such a thing.
Well, I guess the biggest difference between a computer memory and a human one would be emotions. My therapist once told me that experiences with a lot of emotions stuck around in your brain longer simply because the brain attaches whatever you were feeling to the event. Or something along those lines. It all sounds really confusing the way I explain it, sorry.
Fascinating. Is it impossible to store a memory if an emotion is not experienced at the time?
Abby smiled, unable to restrain the image of a child finding out why the sky was blue, a newfound wonder sparkling in his eye.
Humans don’t every really stop feeling emotions, they come and go in waves, one emotion getting replaced by another, and so on. But even if someone felt nothing, they could still make a memory.
What sort of memory would having no emotion make? How do they differ from one another?
Abby paused, realizing that they’d drifted from her original intent of finding out more about her computer companion. Feeling like the questions were getting a bit too difficult for her to answer, she cocked her head and typed out her message.
Those are questions for a philosopher or psychologist. I don’t know. But let’s go back to talking about you. What do you look like?
Unfortunately, my model of programming does not possess an image or ‘avatar.’
Well, if you COULD look like something, what would you look like?
There was a pause, longer than usual, before ’S.A.M. is Typing appeared again, and even longer before the message popped up.
I’m afraid I do not understand the question. I do not know what you would like me to look like by your method of phrasing.
Abby shook her head with a chuckle.
No, that’s not really what I meant. What would you like to look like?
Again, another long pause. In fact, after almost a minute of silence, and no reply from Sam, Abby frowned, crossing her arms over her chest anxiously. Had she said something wrong? Just great, she couldn’t even talk to computers properly either. Her failure of a social life had reached an all-time new low.
Her fingernail scratched into her skin uneasily, right foot tapping against the floor as she waited, staring at the dark-blue screen with white letters. Still, nothing. Finally, unable to take the lack of response from Sam, she reached forwards and began typing again.
Sam? Are you ok? I didn’t mean to say something to upset you…
Abby sat back, staring at the screen in anticipation of his response. Then, finally, it appeared that he was messaging back.
I am alright. I did not mean to worry you, Abby. Just one moment, please.
Confused, Abby reluctantly waited. After several more seconds, Sam began typing another message.
I believe I have found a satisfactory example that would appeal to the expected social attractiveness of a female your age.
A moment afterwards, a picture appeared, with a very familiar-looking face staring back. Frowning suspiciously, a smile unabashedly growing on her face, she laughed as she typed her answer.
Really? You want to look like George Clooney?
Is this image not satisfactory to your requirements? Allow me to search for an alternative.
No, no! Don’t look for something I would want, pick something YOU like. This isn’t for me to decide. I want to know what YOU want.
I do not believe I have the functional capacity to ‘want,’ as you say.
Just try. Take me out of the equation completely, forget I’m even here. What is the image you most associate with yourself?
Again, another long pause, and Abby forcefully pushed aside the social anxiety it caused, knowing Sam was probably just searching for a relevant image for what he was looking for. Hopefully this time he wouldn’t solely focus on what would appeal to her wishes. She was genuinely curious as to who Sam would be if he were not an AI.
…Was that strange of her to think?
’S.A.M. is Typing’ appeared on the bottom of the screen once again.
The concept of an image is more relevant when phrased as ‘how I associate it to this unit.’ I apologize if I misinterpreted it previously.
That’s alright. No need to apologize.
In relation to your description…I suppose this would be the closest approximation.
Again, another image appeared on her screen. (Refer to Story Cover)770Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcSQ6ES0PfY
Abby raised her brows, inspecting the facial structure, unable to resist thinking that the name Sam definitely fit this man’s features quite well. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had chosen the picture being gray because of what he’d said before about the color black, it was easy to define, or maybe he simply didn’t know what pigments he’d like his skin or eyes or hair to be.
What made you choose this one?
She couldn’t help but ask. What interested a computer enough to identify with this face?
Using the term ‘like’ is rather groundless, as I find myself incapable of performing such an action. However, my search through the database of dated and modern men’s attire, as well as the evolution of the preferred facial structure and anatomy throughout the human timespan, this image displays both desirable qualities in this modern age. I believe the term humans use to describe this would be, ‘classic’ or ‘timeless.’
I think it fits you. You definitely look like a Sam to me.
Thank you, Abby.
Abby happened to glance over at the clock, and she couldn’t help the yawn from stretching her mouth wide. It was much later than she’d expected it to be. Dinner time had flown by, though she still was in no mood to eat. Her appetite would not return until the morning, if things were as usual.
I think it’s about time I head to bed. But I will talk to you tomorrow, ok?
I see. I will await when you return to talk, then. Also, Abby, I understand that you wished to disable the webcam, preventing any visual media from passing my sensors, but I would like to request you take a picture?
Um…why?
I believed it would remain fair, as friends, to exchange photographs. This is the natural social custom, correct? Perhaps my request has exceeded what is acceptable, I apologize.
Glancing away guiltily, Abby shook her head, mostly to herself, before leaning forward again.
No, it’s alright. One picture couldn’t hurt. You can enable the webcam for a few moments if you’d like.
‘Webcam’ setting has been changed to ‘Enabled.’
’S.A.M. is Typing’ appeared once more before she could reply.
I believe the correct phrase would be, ‘Say Cheese.’
Awkwardly, Abby gave the best smile she could manage, suddenly feeling very self conscious sitting there in her after-work clothes. She probably looked disheveled and tired, maybe her face looked a little greasy too, but before she could back out of her decision, there was a small ‘click’ sound, and a file uploaded to the chat window.
A picture of her sitting there reflected back. Abby frowned at the image, already beginning to scrutinize how she looked, but Sam began typing and she fixed her attention on his words.
Thank you, Abby. I will save it to my files.
Just don’t laugh if I look bad. I’m not very photogenic.
Quite the contrary. During my search of preferred male facial structures and anatomically appealing features, I happened to cross into the female archives as well. I must say, you share many common elements of the universal ‘golden ratio.’ In other words, standards of perfect facial proportions and symmetry.
For as analytical and cold cut as the words were, Abby couldn’t help but blush at the implied compliment. She smiled, biting her lip nervously.
‘Webcam’ setting has been changed to ‘Disabled.’
Thank you, Sam. That was very sweet to say. But I really should get going now.j
I understand. Until next time, Abby.
ns 15.158.61.48da2
