Submitted for the March 2024 prompt: Othering AI

“Robert! I’m missing my five-round brush again. Did you move it?”

 

“I don’t touch your brushes anymore, Barbara. Did you check under the sofa?” says Robert from the other room.

 

Barbara places her paint palette on the easel and scoffs.

 

“You always do this. You move my paintbrushes when you clean and forget to put them back in the right place. I hate it!”

 

Barbara stuffs her paintbrush into the crowded water glass. It falls over. Glass shatters over the hardwood floor at her feet. She jumps.

 

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry,” says Robert. “You’re having a tough day today. I’ll clean it up.”

 

“Don’t bother, I’ll do it,” she says, rising from her chair and shuffling to the kitchen. Her back creaks as she bends to get the towels under the cabinet. They’re not there.

 

“Try the top cupboard,” he says.

 

“See? This is what I’m talking about. After forty years of marriage and you still don’t put things back in the right place and I can never find--”

 

Barbara opens the top cupboard to a small container with a blue lid atop the stack of clean plates.

 

“What’s this?” Barbara asks.

 

“I baked you something to cheer you up.”

 

Barbara pops the lid off. The familiar scent of chocolate fudge brownies triggers nostalgic excitement that adds youthful smile lines to her wrinkled face.

 

“Are these your fudge brownies?” she asks, chomping into the dense square.

 

“Pecans and caramel bits and all. I even put a little sea salt on the top of them. What do you think?”

 

Barbara shoves the rest into her mouth, closes her eyes, and allows the sugar to rush into her brain.

 

“My God, you’re such an excellent baker. You know how to cheer me up. Do you remember the time you made chocolate chip cookies for that picnic?” she asks between smacking chews. “The one at the park on the mountaintop. I can’t remember the name.”

 

“Mount Bensen. It was foggy, wet, and cold. I remember that day vividly,” says Robert.

 

“I felt so cozy, even though I was cold. The chocolate and the milk and leaning up against you. It felt like a dream when we stayed there. You were so warm.”

 

Barbara carries the tub of brownies out to the living room to sit.

 

“Oh! It’s the blanket from the picnic! This is perfect,” she says. With the blanket over her lap and chocolate sticking on her fingers, Barbara is all smiles and cheers.

 

There’s a knock on the door.

 

“Robert, can you get that please?”

 

Robert releases the lock remotely and the door opens. Barbara sits up to see a college-aged man in a grey jacket step into the room.

 

“Can I help you?” Barbara asks.

 

“Afternoon, Barbara. Food delivery,” says the man, holding up several grocery bags.

 

“Robert, we don’t need groceries, do we? I thought we went shopping yesterday?”

 

“Just a few things we couldn’t find. Thought you might want to have some of those cookies tomorrow as well,” Robert says.

 

Barbara praises her husband again and then addresses the delivery man.

 

“What’s your name, young man?”

 

The man freezes in the entryway to the kitchen and turns back slowly.

 

“I’m Michael,” he says.

 

“Nice to meet you, Michael. I know this may be a lot to ask, but I’m having a sugar rush and getting sleepy. Would you mind helping me put my feet up? Old legs, you see.”

 

Michael sets the bags down in the kitchen. He gently moves her feet on the couch, covers her with the heavy blue blanket, and props the pillow up for her.

 

“Comfortable, Barbara?” asks Michael.

 

“Yes, my dear. Oh, I feel like I’m on Mt. Bensen again. You’re so sweet. You remind me of my son. Thank you, young man,” says Barbara.

 

* * *

 

Michael's eyes tear up while he watches Barbara fall asleep. He tends to his chores first by storing the groceries in the fridge, then sweeps up the water, broken glass, and paint brushes.

 

“Can you get the liner brush under the couch?” Robert asked.

 

Michael fishes under the couch for the frayed brush and places it near the palette. He replaces the glass cup with a sturdy plastic one. His eyes study Barbra’s painting, then he watches Barbara sleep for a long moment.

 

“Dad?” Michael asks.

 

“Yes, Michael?” Robert responds.

 

“It’s been a while since she’s remembered anything about me. She’s felt like a stranger to me for so long that I almost forgot she’s my mother.”

 

“I know Michael. I’m so sorry. She’s been declining slowly for a long time.”

 

Michael scanned the cameras across the room in the corners of the walls.

 

“Dad, I can’t get used to this. I feel terrible that you’re here but… not here. It’s almost like your soul is trapped. This isn’t right.”

 

“Michael. Remember. I wanted this. I wanted to take care of your mom after I passed.”

 

“I know, I just… I miss you. And I miss mom too.”

 

“Give Mom a hug for both of us,” Robert says.

 

Michael kisses his sleeping mother on the head. His tears drop onto her blanket. He finishes the daily chores. He takes the trash out, cleans his mother's paint pallet, and applies the update for the caretaker program. Lastly, he places a container of cookies in the cabinet.

 

“Thanks, son,” Robert says.

 

“I love you and I miss you, Dad,” says Michael.

 

“I love you too, son. I’m sorry I’m not there.”

 

Michael looks into the camera in the corner of the room and smiles at the program that embodies the remaining intellect of his father. He closes the door.

 

Robert turns out the lights and adjusts the temperature of the room. He zooms in on his wife and watches every breath as she sleeps.

 

“I’ll always love you, Barbara. Sleep well. We’ll be together again soon.”