Patience

The drive back to the city was an eternity. Sam’s mind twisted and turned as he grappled with the scale of the problem he’d created for himself. He’d been shown a photo of Gemma by Lydia, and he’d said nothing. The window for him to admit he knew her was closing, if it hadn’t already closed. He was entitled to his secrets, to his own inner life. But his back was against the wall now. And he’d yet to process what she’d said next.

“Samir, I’m sorry about not telling you sooner. I didn’t want to dox you both.”

“So you know where she works, what else do you know?”

“A lot, Sam. Everything.”

“She’s not my wife.” Sam fidgeted and stared. “We’re separated.”

“Right, but…” The gulf between them widened further with every second she stretched out the syllable. “You’re married.”

Lydia’s fact—you’re married—lingered in the unbearable pressure of the car. He needed space, time to process.

“Do you two talk?”

“We haven’t spoken since the fight. We un-paired on Mate.”

“Oye, wey, are you serious?” Lydia slugged him in the arm, and Sam jumped. He clutched his shoulder and turned away. “Come on.”

“I don’t have anything to say to her.”

“What about me, then? Is this why you never want me to get close to you? Why are you pouting?”

He stayed silent, and she let out a defeated sigh. The street lights rolled past the window as the car worked its way back to the city. Sam rested his face against the cool glass.

“There’s oils on your face, you know,” Lydia said. “You’re going to leave a spot on my window.”

“Aida,” Sam shouted, “stop at the next Muni Station please.”

“Of course, Samir,” replied Aida, wandering into the disagreement by virtue of a legally-mandated safety feature which let any passenger request to be let out.

“Wow,” Lydia bellowed. “Wow! I thought we were going to look at the photos back at my apartment. Sam, I need to talk to you. There’s a reason for all this.”

“I don’t have time,” Sam jabbed back. “I have to go home and call my wife.”

“Fine, go home and call her then. Since you’re fucking married! Not something you ever bring up, by the way!”

“You knew!”

“¡Vete a la chingada!”

The car seemed relieved as it pulled up to the passenger drop-off at the Muni station. Sam had started hammering the exit button as soon as he’d seen the station, but the door only released once the car had stopped. He exploded out of the seat, through the door, and toward the station. Lydia shouted something as he went, but he didn’t care to hear it.

The doors of the Muni train slid closed, sealing him inside. He found a hard plastic seat, his third of the day, grateful that here, at least, he could be alone. His earbuds went straight in, his Ring dutifully starting his usual stream of ‘ldn algopop’. The ritual soothed him. Dozens of strangers all shared this space, in their varied outfits, dispersing across the city, and all kept to themselves. None of them would approach him, nor he them. All of them — the students, the workers, the elderly — had their own earbuds, their own Rings, their own portable paradise. He spent his days fully surrounded by people, but never connected to any of them. He spent his nights too nervous to speak, lest Seb or Mel catch any of it as he lay on their sofa. But here on San Francisco Municipal Transit, for just twenty minutes or so, he was exactly where he wanted to be, with all the privacy he needed.

He produced the crumpled Analog Gazette from his pocket. He’d pinched it from the car as he exited, and Lydia either hadn’t noticed or hadn’t cared. But he was compelled to have it, and he was in no position to ask. He unfolded it carefully. The thin paper had already started to tear along the folds. Gemma Thomson. The name blotted out his mind. The concept, the very idea of her, had always loomed over him, even with the distance between them. The actual person still existing? That was a new condition. The blurry, low-resolution version of her stared up at him from the page. It stirred old feelings, old memories, old heartaches and stomach aches. This woman who had created such a problem for him. This woman who held the wedge and the hammer, but refused to swing and tear Virginia away from him forever.

“Aida.” He spoke a hair above a whisper, the usual tone one took when speaking privately in public to one’s Ring.

“Samir.” In contrast, Aida’s voice was crystal clear and seemed to fill his mind. The music ducked, her voice mixed in perfectly. It would have to be at a deafening volume in order for others in the car to overhear. And that presumed they weren’t also using theirs, which was never the case.

“How am I?” Sam asked.

“You seem to be stressed,” Aida said with no hint of concern. “Your blood pressure is above your average. You’ve exceeded your physical fitness goals for today by about double, which is great. Your Mirror has declined a call from Lydia Rosales. He’s placed one call to Virginia Rose, which was blocked. You…”

“Wait, Aida.”

“Mmhmm?”

“The call to Virginia.”

“Yes, that was blocked.”

“Is that…” He tried to remember the last time he’d checked in with her. His dop still called Virginia at least daily, and her dop always declined. But didn’t Aida usually…

“Great catch, Samir. Usually I say the call was declined. Today, it was blocked. Would you like to speak to your Mirror about this?”

“Is he upset?”

“I’m afraid he’s inconsolable.” Aida was never afraid to tell the truth about his Mirror’s emotional state. Sam grimaced and stared at his filthy shoes on the spotless white floor of the train. The electric hum of the motor vibrated the seat, and he closed his eyes to focus on that feeling.

“I can’t deal with that right now. I wish you could talk to him for me, Aida.”

“You know I stay out of these things.”

“I know, I know.” Sam rolled his eyes and smiled. “You have to…”

“I have to be everybody’s friend. It’s how the world works.”

Still though, Sam thought. Blocked by Virginia? That was upsetting, wasn’t it? The algopop stream flowed along, the volume having raised since he’d stopped talking with Aida. After all this time listening to it, three years now, he wondered if it even sounded like London algopop. Or if London algopop even had a sound at all. The first time he’d ever heard it was with Gemma, on a night that he hadn’t at all enjoyed. But nights like that had a way of seeming to have been better than they were after the painful bits had eroded away. Maybe it was delusion, or the mind protecting itself. Maybe he just rewrote his own history. But at this moment, on this night, he found himself wanting to remember that one. “Hey, Aida?”

“What is it, Samir?” The music once again faded down and Aida’s rich tones returned to the fore.

“Can you remind me about that night I first heard algopop? In London? What was the name of that club?”

“Yes, that was in London. It was a club called mood dot app.”

A huge smile crept across Sam’s face, and he leaned up to stare out the window of the train. It was lumbering up Mission much slower than usual tonight. He wondered why, which was an annoying trait that he wished humans could evolve away from. It was useless to wonder why the transit was slow, or late, or cancelled. Even if they told you, it wouldn’t matter. “Show me that night, could you?”

“Sure, Samir.”

Sam opened his hand and saw himself by the bar at mood dot app. He was alone, holding what looked to be a dark drink. He made a pinch gesture and the photo zoomed. “What’s that I’m drinking?”

“That’s two measures of Captain Morgan dark rum mixed with Fritz Kola in a clear plastic cup.”

“Strange, I would’ve assumed a gin and tonic. I was a bit of an anglophile back then, whenever I was in the UK.”

“Of course, you’re right Samir.” The picture changed faster than he could blink, and in his hand was now the same cup, but something clear and fizzy inside, a lime wedge perched on the lip. “It was two measures of Bombay Sapphire London gin and Fever-Tree slim tonic.”

“I thought so,” Sam said. He looked around the train. At the far end, past a group of teens with florescent hair and matching jumpsuits, he took careful note of the black dome on the ceiling. He slid down in the seat, a fruitless gesture, a pantomime of safety for those about to commit an inconsequential crime. Simply duck down, they won’t see. Was it held over from antiquated social norms, or bred in from generations of being surveilled? “Aida,” he began, barely audible. “Wasn’t I with someone else that night? Can you show me a picture of us together?” He was too afraid to use Gemma’s name. Plausible deniability, he figured.

“I don’t think we should talk about this, Samir.” Aida’s response was instant, and for a fraction of a second, her emotionless facade seemed to crack. Was that concern in her tone?

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“What about… earlier that night, I was with Virginia. Can you show me that?”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“What? Why?”

“Virginia Rose has asserted her right to be excluded from your life stream, Samir.”

Sam blinked. He tried a few times to respond, but wasn’t sure how to even begin. This wasn’t something he’d ever heard before. He recalled Lydia’s sage advice from earlier: it’s okay not to know things. “What’s a life stream?”

“It’s everything.”

“Okay.” Sam closed his eyes and squeezed his lips together. Aida was, at times, an incredible replica of an irritating know-it-all with no social skills.

“Oh.” Aida deployed one of her laughs. They were unnatural, and she only had two or three. She’d had them for decades. Theories abound as to why Magenta had never updated her to sound more natural, like the dops and digis. “Any time you request to see a past event, it is retrieved from your life stream. It’s also where I recall information about where you’ve been, who you know, things like that. Make sense?”

“So… can you show me any photos of me with my wife?”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Can you just show me her, by herself?”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh.” Her canned laugh again, and her explanation of the life stream, and of Virginia’s rights. Sam let his eyes go out of focus, lights from the city blurred and distorted through the rain drops on the window of the Muni. The mushed-up facsimile of London algopop reverberated in his head. “Sam?” Aida interrupted on her own, though her voice was softer than usual.

“Yeah?”

“I wish I could.”

The alcove at the top of the steps was Sam’s last chance at sanctuary before he went into Seb’s apartment. He tucked himself into the tight corner, just across from the door, and took a deep breath. “Aida?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Can I speak with my dad?”

“Of course, reaching him now.” Sam heard the familiar chimes of an outgoing call, and he squeezed himself even further into the corner.

“Hey kid,” started the familiar voice of Sam’s father. “What time is it there?”

“Hey dad,” Sam said with a laugh. “Same time as it is there. Are you busy?”

“You know me son, I’m always up to something. Your mother’s just watching her drama stream. Should I get her?”

“No, dad, let her be.”

“What’s on your mind, kiddo? You sound stressed.”

“It’s… Virginia.”

“Marriage can be tricky, son. You know how it always was with your mother and I. Why don’t you bring her by? You two haven’t come around for dinner in ages.”

“Dad, no.” Sam brushed away a tear and sniffled, his nose starting to run. “I haven’t seen her in over a year now. I don’t think we’re getting back together.” He heaved as he said the last words, and battled against a full bodied sob. “I can’t even get a hold of her anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, son.”

The sound of a throat clearing tore through the air. Sam spun around, confronted by Seb who was stood between him and the door.

“Hey man,” Seb said with a grimace. “Is that your…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam quickly tapped his ear, a sort of kill switch for any conversation you might be having, with Aida or otherwise.

“Shit, man. That’s…”

“You just getting in?” Samir swallowed, and it was as much symbolic as it was physical.

“Do you wanna go for a walk, man? I could re-open the bar.” Seb had slid into Sam’s path as he tried to get to the door. They both hung in place, as if some unseen viewer had hit pause.

“It’s been a long day, I think I’d rather lie down.” Sam lowered his head and again tried to move past Seb. “If that’s okay.”

“Right, but.” Seb reacted too late, his hand failing to intercede as Sam’s face lined up with the entry ID camera. The ring flashed green and Sam’s finger tapped the plate. The door slid open to reveal Seb’s wife Mel, standing behind it as if she relished the dramatic reveal.

“Melanie!” Sam took a half-step back as Mel took a half-step forward. The lights in the apartment behind her immediately clicked off. Her tree-trunk arms crossed over her chest, and her ribbed pink tank top revealed just how tattooed she was – two vibrant sleeves up her arms actually joined into a mural across her chest – which heaped even more intimidation onto Samir. If she pushed him, he thought, he’d fly across the hallway as if pulled by stunt wires. Not that she ever would, of course.

“Samir, you kept us waiting. We started to worry.” Her voice was soft, yet offered no hint as to what this might be about.

“Sorry. I did?” Sam mirrored her and also pulled his arms tight across himself. He shivered in her shadow. Seb had drifted to one side.

“Mel…” Seb cleared his throat again. “I don’t know if…”

“Let’s talk,” Mel said as she turned and headed back into the apartment.

Only moments later, Samir’s back was against the wall in every way.

“Where is he going to go?”

“He’s an adult! He can find his own place to live!”

“You know how difficult it is to find somewhere in this city!”

“He can find a real job, then! It’s not safe having him here!”

He watched in horror for over a half-hour as Sebastian argued with his wife over the topic of whether he could continue living on their couch. The conversation briefly involved him, and had started in English, but the past twenty or so minutes had played out in Spanish. Aida dutifully translated both sides using near-perfect replicas of their respective voices.

“I want my living room back! I want our privacy back!”

“He’ll be back with Virginia soon. I promise.”

“It’s him or it’s me, Sebastian!”

He couldn’t leave, he didn’t want to stay. He’d never felt so small. He considered asking Aida what the statistical probability was of a meteor striking the Muni, but his will to live won out. The door slid open in a clean motion as he approached, his intent clear enough to act upon with no confirmation. He had boarded the lift before Seb or Mel had a moment to protest.