joke while a laugh track droned on in the background. Cindy wasn’t smiling, though, her face just dully reflecting light from the display.
It was going to be another one of those kinds of evenings.
“Rick, you didn’t need to buy flowers,” she immediately complained. “What are the neighbors going to think?”
“Sorry, sweetie.” I felt like I was always being sorry these days.
Walking in, I could see it was Dr. Hal Granger’s EmoShow floating in the display space in the middle of the room.
“Could we turn off Dr. Emo, please?” I asked more edgily than I intended. “I get enough of him during the day.”
I felt stupid standing there with the flowers.
“Sure. He’s all that gets me through the days here, but no problem,” she announced as Hal’s head disappeared from the middle of the room, casting the place into sullen silence. With a great sigh she glanced at me and declared, “Well, I guess I’ll get a vase or something.”
She swung herself laboriously off the couch and got up to go into the kitchen area.
“How was your day?” I said brightly, trying to restart the conversation. She was rummaging around in some drawers in the kitchen, off to the side of the large, open main room of our apartment.
“It was fine,” she responded, lightening up a bit, “but this place is so depressing. I feel like I can’t get any space or air. This apartment is so…subterranean.”
I rolled my eyes, but carefully. By Atopian standards we lived in a palace. Our place was near the edge of the underwater shelf, not more than eighty feet down. A large curved window looked out into the kelp forests, and rays of sunlight danced through from the waves above, illuminating the brightly colored fish swimming past.
Most people didn’t even have an exterior window, never mind all this space and furnishings. That was the entire point of Atopia: with everyone here having deep and easy access to almost perfect synthetic reality, you didn’t need much in the way of space or material things in the physical world.
“Submarine,” I corrected her pointlessly, “you mean submarine.”
“Whatever. It’s dark and claustrophobic.”
She had found a vase and was filling it with water. The tap turned off after a few inches had filled its bottom, and then she walked purposely towards me with it in hand.
“Cindy,” I started, and then stopped. I searched for the right words. “Cindy, just try to use the pssi system. You can be anywhere, do anything you want.”
That was the wrong thing to say. I took the vase of water from her hands and cringed looking at her face. I was a real tough guy, all right.
“I don’t like the pssi system!” she spat out at me. Then she closed her eyes, counting to ten as she backed up a little. Her shoulders relaxed and she opened her eyes.
I said nothing.
“Okay, sorry, I just had a bad day. Sorry.” She shook her head.
“Look, pssi is great for watching stuff and surfing the net, but I don’t like all this…this…” she stuttered, searching for words and waving her hands around in the air, “all this flittering and stimswitching. It’s weird.”
“I know,” I acknowledged. I’d been subjected to enough of Dr. Hal’s EmoShow to know that acknowledging your partner’s feelings was important. “I know this isn’t working out the way we hoped, but I took on a commitment here, and I can’t very well crawl back to Washington with my tail between my legs now. I mean, just try and give it a chance, or at least go up on the beaches?”
I was holding the vase with one hand and waving the other towards the ceiling, pleading with her. She took the vase back from me and smiled as she poked at the flowers.
“I know you’re right, Rick. And these are beautiful flowers,” she said, leaning down to put them on the table. She stepped back and stood straight up to admire them.
“I’ll try harder,” she declared.
My heart filled with some small hope.
“Thank you,
It was going to be another one of those kinds of evenings.
“Rick, you didn’t need to buy flowers,” she immediately complained. “What are the neighbors going to think?”
“Sorry, sweetie.” I felt like I was always being sorry these days.
Walking in, I could see it was Dr. Hal Granger’s EmoShow floating in the display space in the middle of the room.
“Could we turn off Dr. Emo, please?” I asked more edgily than I intended. “I get enough of him during the day.”
I felt stupid standing there with the flowers.
“Sure. He’s all that gets me through the days here, but no problem,” she announced as Hal’s head disappeared from the middle of the room, casting the place into sullen silence. With a great sigh she glanced at me and declared, “Well, I guess I’ll get a vase or something.”
She swung herself laboriously off the couch and got up to go into the kitchen area.
“How was your day?” I said brightly, trying to restart the conversation. She was rummaging around in some drawers in the kitchen, off to the side of the large, open main room of our apartment.
“It was fine,” she responded, lightening up a bit, “but this place is so depressing. I feel like I can’t get any space or air. This apartment is so…subterranean.”
I rolled my eyes, but carefully. By Atopian standards we lived in a palace. Our place was near the edge of the underwater shelf, not more than eighty feet down. A large curved window looked out into the kelp forests, and rays of sunlight danced through from the waves above, illuminating the brightly colored fish swimming past.
Most people didn’t even have an exterior window, never mind all this space and furnishings. That was the entire point of Atopia: with everyone here having deep and easy access to almost perfect synthetic reality, you didn’t need much in the way of space or material things in the physical world.
“Submarine,” I corrected her pointlessly, “you mean submarine.”
“Whatever. It’s dark and claustrophobic.”
She had found a vase and was filling it with water. The tap turned off after a few inches had filled its bottom, and then she walked purposely towards me with it in hand.
“Cindy,” I started, and then stopped. I searched for the right words. “Cindy, just try to use the pssi system. You can be anywhere, do anything you want.”
That was the wrong thing to say. I took the vase of water from her hands and cringed looking at her face. I was a real tough guy, all right.
“I don’t like the pssi system!” she spat out at me. Then she closed her eyes, counting to ten as she backed up a little. Her shoulders relaxed and she opened her eyes.
I said nothing.
“Okay, sorry, I just had a bad day. Sorry.” She shook her head.
“Look, pssi is great for watching stuff and surfing the net, but I don’t like all this…this…” she stuttered, searching for words and waving her hands around in the air, “all this flittering and stimswitching. It’s weird.”
“I know,” I acknowledged. I’d been subjected to enough of Dr. Hal’s EmoShow to know that acknowledging your partner’s feelings was important. “I know this isn’t working out the way we hoped, but I took on a commitment here, and I can’t very well crawl back to Washington with my tail between my legs now. I mean, just try and give it a chance, or at least go up on the beaches?”
I was holding the vase with one hand and waving the other towards the ceiling, pleading with her. She took the vase back from me and smiled as she poked at the flowers.
“I know you’re right, Rick. And these are beautiful flowers,” she said, leaning down to put them on the table. She stepped back and stood straight up to admire them.
“I’ll try harder,” she declared.
My heart filled with some small hope.
“Thank you,
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