Meeting Same Fate

Machina stretched and let out a bit of a yawn. "Well, it was very nice to meet you, Tom. I expected someone a little more generous with treats and goodies, but what can you do?"

Tom rolled his eyes, "Do you want something—" Tom knew only one obvious thing Machina could ask for.

"No, no, maybe next time you can be a better host," Machina replied, with no subtlety. "You go on inside and stuff yourself with chicken and noodles while tall old Machina walks her long journey home. At least I have new oil, I guess."

Hmm? Tom thought, but wisely didn't say. "Oh, hang on a minute. You're a pathetic actor." He slipped inside the house, down to the basement, and grabbed some cans of motor oil, throwing them all into a grocery bag, trying his best to keep quiet. He forced himself to take extra precautions with every trip through the front door. He didn't need his dad to wake up to find him giving out the car oil to a robot in the middle of the night.

When he handed the bag to Machina, the robot beamed with joy. "Oh, thank you seven times over, my good friend! Thank you indeed."

Tom grinned. "You are welcome. When will I see you again?"

Machina started down the sidewalk, looking over her shoulder as best she could. "Many tomorrows, I expect, many tomorrows. Goodbye, master Thomas!" 

"Bye." Tom waved, feeling a pang of sadness as he watched Machina turn invisible as she set off down the road.

Tom was amazed. The chilly that wanted him to know more and more sprang up once again. "I won't quit."

                                ~

Mr. Noland watched from the upstairs window in the hallway, his emotions torn between fascination with the tall A.I. robot that seemed to have struck friendship with his son and sadness that Tom was involved in something strange and had failed to inform his own father about it. He and Tom had always had a special bond, sharing anything and everything. Had things changed so much? Had his boy grown up, leaving his poor father behind to wallow in ignorance?

It all makes sense now. Tom had been acting so bizarre lately, and the reasons behind it could very well change the way Mr. Noland viewed the world in which he lived. As he'd watched the two speak together on the steps of the porch, he'd readied himself to run outside at the first sign of danger. But the strange robot seemed to be a friend, and Mr. Noland decided to wait a while before he confronted Tom about it.

He told himself he didn't know why he wanted to wait, but his heart knew the truth. Deep inside, he hoped his son would decide to tell him on his own what was going on. Mr. Noland could hold out just a little bit longer—maybe a day or two—watching his son's every move.

Down below, Tom waved as his robot friend disappeared down the dark road.

Mr. Noland quickly turned and went back to his room.

                                               ~

The next day was Friday, the last day of school for two weeks, and Tom thought it would never end. Having enjoyed a grand total of four hours of sleep the night before, he nodded off in class constantly, waking up with an unpleasant string of drool on his chin more than once. Mr. Tomikins was the only teacher who gave a hard time about it, but Tom survived.

Finally, the last bell of the day rang.

Tom was at his locker, the excitement of the coming vacation days perking him up a bit, when another disaster struck in the form of a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Andrew, the boy who threw him the wad of paper, sneering at him with arms folded, his goons gathered behind his massive body.

Just wait it out, Tom, just wait it out, like old times.

"Well, looky here," Andrew said, his voice the sound of marbles being crushed in a vice. "Looks like Thomas 'Chu-Chu' and friends are excited to go home and throw some water balls. What kind of girl are you getting this summer, Thomas? A blonde-assy type?"

"Um, yes," Tom said, stone-faced, knowing it would throw Andrew off track. He already had experience of all that.

Andrew faltered, surely having expected Tom to adamantly say no or try to walk away. "Well, then . . . I hope . . . She fucks good."

Tick really wanted to say something sarcastic—yeah, just for Tom but not for impotent Andrew—but his common sense won out. "She probably will, with my luck," he said instead.

"Yeah, she will. Just like your moma." Andrew snorted out a laugh, and his cronies joined in.

Tom couldn't believe how idiotic this guy was, but held his face still and said nothing.

"Here's an early summer present for you, Thomas Chu-Chu," Andrew said, and his cronies' forced laughter ended abruptly. "Stay in your locker for three minutes, unless you want me to make it ten. Then, go into the bathroom and stick your head in the toilet. Do that and we won't bother you until after summer break. Deal?" 

    This shit again. Tom felt his stomach drop because he already knew that Andrew would send a spy to make sure he'd done what he'd been ordered to do. "With my hair wet, I might catch a cold on the way home."

Andrew reached out and slammed Tom up against the locker, sending a metallic clang echoing down the hallway. "Then I guess it's a good thing we don't have school for two weeks, now isn't it?" He let go and stood back. "Come on, guys, let's go."

As they walked off, Tom lowered his head and stepped into his locker, closing the door behind him. Memories of Jackson high school became vague. Was this his fate? If he goes anywhere else, will he also see this same thing?

"Always, always, always!" Tom let out a bang on the locker door. He immediately went silent, fearful that they would return and torture him for making that noise in order to attract a staff. Tom blew out a long sigh and leaned back.

"My reality is getting worse." He said this while waiting for the three minutes to pass.