Under Her Art Studio

Amayelynn woke to a cold, empty bed, noting immediately that the light filtering in through the blinds was too bright and too yellow. It was the kind of too-bright yellow that indicated at least an hour past the time her alarm was set for; an hour late. She jumped out of bed, feeling her heart stutter at her sudden upright position. She scrambled to climb into whatever clothing articles her hands first found in the closet, while running through which items of her morning routine could be postponed or skipped altogether. Brushing teeth and showering could wait until the kids were off to school. They would have to eat breakfast, though. It would be a cereal kind of morning.

She dashed out of the bedroom door and was utterly surprised to smell the faint smell of cooked bacon—vegan bacon, of course, as the consumption of pork had long since been made illegal, but Amayelynn would not know the difference, having never tasted pork. As she made her way down the narrow staircase, her kitchen came into view. As a result, so did her partner, who appeared to be bustling around, tidying up. Xylo, her partner, worked a full-time job, and was typically gone three full hours before the sun rose. She ambled towards the kitchen at a much more comfortable pace now, reassured by Xylo's presence. Whatever his reason for being home on a weekday, she knew she could trust that the kids would be safely off to school by now. Xylo always prioritized the children, as did Amayelynn; it was the agreement they had settled on as part of their nuptial negotiations. She was halfway to the kitchen when Xylo noticed her. He had been humming to himself happily, and immediately cut himself off to greet her through a beaming smile.

“Good morning, sleepyhead! I hope you don't mind I let you sleep in. I got a text this morning that I could work on call today, so I thought I'd get the kids ready and off to school while you slept. The car just got back about twenty minutes ago, and I watched the live feed from the dashcam to make sure they made it in. I made them a Vacon-and-egg breakfast, and I made enough for us, too,” he winked at her as he finished. By then, Amayelynn had reached him, and he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek as she did. Amayelynn allowed herself to relax with this new information, taking the plate of leftover—and by now, cold, “Vacon and eggs”. It was a favorite breakfast of both Xylo and their children, and considering the adequate nutrition the meal allowed, Amayelynn was fine with it as well. She sat at the kitchen island seat and began to consume her breakfast, as Xylo thoughtfully placed a mug of steaming green tea on the island in front of her. She nodded to him in thanks, and he flashed another bright grin in acknowledgment. His phone rang then, and his smile only barely dimmed as he retrieved it from the front pocket of his slacks, with a bit of difficulty, as he was wearing Amayelynn's apron over top. He was still in his usual office attire, despite working from home, and Amayelynn could tell that he shaved and showered as usual, too. The apron was probably to keep his appearance as neat as he preferred, but she suspected he also wore the apron with some humor, as he was prone to small jokes and such silly things. Amayelynn was not one for jokes and silliness, but her kids seemed to very much appreciate their father's sense of humor, and most likely delighted at his use of Amayelynn's apron.

He was removing said apron then, pulling the phone from his face for just the moment it took to pull the apron strap over his head. He smiled at Amayelynn one last time before striding towards his home office to take the call more professionally. Amayelynn finished her breakfast and tea before taking her dishes to the sink to wash up. She could see that Xylo had washed every other dish already, and they were placed neatly over the drying rack. She would never understand Xylo's preference for hand washing dishes, when the dishwasher did a perfectly good job. She would accommodate, though, as washing what little dishes she had eaten from seemed just as simple a task at the moment.

After tidying what little was left to tidy in the kitchen, Amayelynn set about restarting her morning routine, now that she knew she had the time. After showering and brushing her teeth, applying moisturizer, drying and styling her hair, and redressing into more preferable clothing, Amayelynn set about preparing her art studio for her next piece. As she readied her canvas, her easel began to tilt, the stand snagging on a divot in the hardwood. Amayelynn felt instantly upset at the disruption. Not only had she and Xylo spent a great deal on these hardwoods only a few years prior, but more importantly, she could not afford to have an inconsistency in the flooring where she created her art. This was her livelihood, and the floor in this studio was meant to be perfectly level. Amayelynn carefully lifted her easel stand and moved it to the corner, before dropping to her knees to inspect the floor. There was a small, barely perceptible notch on the side of one plank. Typically, Amayelynn enjoyed moving her easel around within the studio, finding inspiration in small changes of scenery, and she had simply not placed her easel on this spot before. She fingered the grove almost absentmindedly, under the assumption that it was simply an imperfection in the wood, until she felt the material budge just slightly. An imperfection should not have caused the entire plank to be loosened, and this thought spurred Amayelynn on, attempting to remove the piece altogether. It was no use, though, as the piece was fit in too snugly for her to pull it out with her bare hands. Curiosity piqued, she reached for one of the spatulas she used to create sharp lines on the canvas, and wedged it into the groove, prying upwards. The floor plank popped up gracelessly, revealing a small hole in the subfloor underneath. It looked rather deep, and considering her studio was on the upper floor, Amayelynn was surprised this much space existed between floors. It made sense after a moment of thought, though, as she considered the central air vents on the ceiling of the lower level.

Amayelynn retrieved her cell phone from her pocket, turning on the flashlight and shining it into the hole. She could immediately see a flash drive lying there on the wood above what must have been the lower floor's ceiling. It was a rather archaic piece of technology, considering almost everyone was microchipped and could access files and codes through proximity, but not so archaic that Amayelynn did not know how to use it. She glanced towards the computer on her desk in the corner of the room hesitantly, but she needed to understand why something was deliberately hidden in her own home. Her children were still young, neither of them having entered their teen years yet, and the floor was replaced only three years prior. That divot in the wood, and the plank not being secured, meant that this had to have been placed there and deliberately left accessible by Xylo. He was the only other adult in the house, and the only other adult who had authority over the floor installation. Having realized this, Amayelynn withdrew the flash drive quickly, and carefully replaced the floor piece, suddenly feeling like her movements were far too loud.

She listened carefully for Xylo, but she could hear nothing. The house was very well soundproofed, especially her art studio, and she had already closed the door in anticipation of beginning her project. How fast could she be? She would not hear Xylo should he ascend the staircase, would not hear until he opened the door to her art studio. He certainly would not think to knock. Without knowing what she would find on the drive, she knew she would run the risk of being caught if it were something she did not know how to remove or hide in a hurry. Truly, though, Amayelynn felt as though she had no choice. Knowing that her partner was concealing something from her so carefully made her guts stir uncomfortably with a volume of anxiety to which she was unaccustomed. Trust was so important to her, and this had to be something sinister to have been hidden at such great lengths. With these thoughts swirling in her head, she pressed the flash drive into the small USB opening in the back of her computer. The computer immediately pulled up a file folder, onto which several documents were stored. Most of the file titles consisted of illegible strings of numbers and letters. She clicked on the first one and skimmed the contents. Her heart plummeted into her stomach dreadfully as she took in what she was looking at. The first file she opened was an android census registration form. There were tax documents, and upgrade agreements, all standard forms required by law for documentation of an android. There were no names, no identifying information, other than the same series of numbers and letters that meant nothing to Amayelynn. She knew, however, without seeing any identifying information, without a name or a physical description. She knew from the way she never seemed to be in on the jokes, never seemed to catch social ques, never seemed to feel as much emotion as her peers. She was the android.

It all made perfect sense, in retrospect. Even her memories of childhood, and pregnancy, and childbirth; all of those memories were easily programmable. Her love for her partner and her children, which always felt less colorful than it seemed to be for others, was all programmable. There was no part of Amayelynn that could not be explained by the concept of androidism. The despair she felt at the realization was the strongest emotion she had ever felt, and she barely hesitated before making the decision to permanently deactivate herself. She was not really alive, after all, so there was not much to consider, in her opinion. She navigated to the original flash drive screen and scrolled through the mixture of legible and illegible file names, until she found what she thought she might. The file was labeled “Permanent Deactivation” and she could see that it was an application. She double-clicked, and the application opened in a separate window. There was a long disclaimer about the permanence of deactivation, and a link to click for recycling instructions, and at the bottom of the page, there was a prompt. “Please enter PIN to begin permanent deactivation process:” with a text window underneath. Amayelynn entered Xylo's bank account PIN number on a whim, figuring he would assume she would never get this far anyway. He never had the best memory, and he usually used the same password and PIN for everything, whenever he could get away with it. Amayelynn pressed the 'Enter' key, and the screen changed; apparently her guess about the PIN number was right. The following page had a second disclaimer, followed by a second verification, which contained the buttons “PROCEED WITH PERMANENT DEACTIVATION” or “CANCEL PERMANENT DEACTIVATION” at the bottom of the page. Amayelynn stayed the course, though she was not fully certain that this was the right decision. Leaving Xylo alone to raise the kids felt so selfish, and that was probably why Amayelynn was brought here to begin with, to help Xylo with the children and bring in extra income. Even with her selling her paintings, Xylo worked extremely long hours, and never once seemed to lose steam. That was probably due, at least in part, to Amayelynn's help. What state would he be in without her?

However, she did love her children, and she wanted what was best for them, and she simply could not have them be raised by an android. It just was not right, as evidenced by Amayelynn's noticeable lack of empathy or playfulness. Children needed that, and Xylo had those traits in abundance, but how long could he compensate for Amayelynn's lack before her children started to feel rejected? Her decision was final. She followed the prompts and completed the process, ultimately landing on a page that declared “PERMANENT DEACTIVATION SUCCESSFUL.” She instinctively placed a hand over her chest, wondering if it would hurt. She still felt the same manufactured heartbeat she always remembered feeling. She still felt warm. She wondered how long deactivation would take. Perhaps there was time to say goodbye to Xylo, to explain why she had made this decision for herself, to apologize for the inevitable added hardship. She stood and left the room, descending the stairs quickly and rounding the corner to Xylo's office. He usually left the door open while the kids were at school, and it was opened then, too. Amayelynn could see him at his desk, limp and motionless, with his eyes wide open and glazed over. The perfect partner, the perfect father, who always kept up with long hours of work and help with childcare, without ever seeming to lose energy or patience. Amayelynn's instincts were wrong; she was not the android after all.