by Lawrence J. J. Leonard
You said you had a question about the way we live
explaining that there was a girl you knew long, long ago
who used to walk with you to school.
She always talked about her house.
She revealed that her bedroom had no windows.
Then one day you went to visit her there
and saw for yourself.
You noticed one picture on each of the walls.
The first was a photograph of the front yard of the house.
You then saw a poster of an entangled circular pattern.
Another was in a beautifully ornate frame with a dark canvas.
The last was a guilded square so shiny that you could just make out your own reflection.
“How could someone be happy in a room like that?” you asked me,
“without the sun to shine on your face in the morning?”
Maybe it was not a real girl, I was thinking.
“Supposed she was an artificial life form?” I suggested.
And it was then your face began to change.
I saw your memories returning as you nodded your head.
“Yes. An artificial life form. Rita is like I am, an artificial life form,” you explained.
“I wonder if she might still remember me?”
We went to sleep that evening talking about old memories, and by morning you left.
I waived goodbye from the front door as you ran to greet your human friend.
The two of you walked to school and you shared with her the story
about Rita, the android girl whose bedroom had no windows.
Copyright © 1960-2018 Lawrence J. J. Leonard All rights reserved.