\nAs Lawrence Yu approached, a smiling face appeared on the door, and a cheery voice said, \u201cBy placing your palm to the pad, you consent to the recording of all communication both verbal and non-verbal.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nIf he refused, the school would call his dad. Lawrence glanced at his watch: 11:15. Dad might still be undergoing pain-relief treatment or else he was trying to sleep through the post-treatment nausea. Lawrence would have to at least go in and pretend to listen to the thing inside.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe consented, and the door opened into a small room where two chairs faced each other. One was empty. The counsel-bot sat in the other, wearing a nondescript, gray tunic. A face as plain as the tunic stared at the ground between the chairs. On its hairless head, a faded, red-ink stamp read BETA UNIT.<\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nThe counsel-bot began speaking while raising its head. \u201cWelcome to therapy, Lawrence.\u201d It glanced at a pad in its hand\u2014a choreographed motion to thwart the creep factor of too much eye contact. \u201cYou\u2019re nearing the end of your time at East Lansing Middle School, and this is your first offense,\u201d the bot said. \u201cCan you tell me about what happened today?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe tone was calm, inviting, fake. Principal Andrews insisted that the counsel-bot was under the direct remote control of a human counselor who could juggle multiple middle schools in a day, but none of the students believed that. It was only a bundle of elaborate chat scripting. Being forced to talk to a machine about his problems made Lawrence want to kick the bot off its chair.\n<\/p>\n \nInstead, he tightened his grip on his chair\u2019s arms and stared the bot down.\n<\/p>\n \nThe wan smile on its face relaxed. As it did, a micro-expression created dimples on its chin in the same way his mother\u2019s did.\n<\/p>\n \nThe bot tapped her pad. \u201cIt says here that you poured water on a teachers-aid-bot until it short-circuited.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe had to say something to meet the minimum engagement threshold. \u201cAccident,\u201d Lawrence said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMight have been,\u201d said the bot. \u201cBut on Monday you \u2018accidentally\u2019 kicked a janitor-bot down the stairs. And on Wednesday, the principal found a hall-monitor-bot in pieces on the steps, two stories below an open window.\u201d The bot drummed her fingers on her leg. \u201cI have limited access to your family records, so I can see that your dad recently lost his employment.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nLawrence squeezed his thumbs inside his fists until they cracked.\n<\/p>\n \nShe glanced at his hands. \u201cWhen an adult loses their job, they often become sad or angry. They may say or do things that\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBlood rushed to Lawrence\u2019s face, and with it came panic, shock, and rage. \u201cHe\u2019s a great dad! But I guess your records don\u2019t tell you that, do they?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe bot leaned back. \u201cTell me about him,\u201d she said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhen my sister turned 15, he took her on a suborbital to Shanghai, where he grew up. They ate soup dumplings and went to the Science and Technology Museum. Does that sound abusive to you?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo, it doesn\u2019t. I see that your<\/em> 15th birthday is next week. Do you have a similar trip planned?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMy dad\u2026\u201d Lawrence closed his eyes and wished his voice wasn\u2019t so shaky. \u201cMy dad was diagnosed with Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease. He\u2019s already missing his mouth with the dinner fork. In a few months, he won\u2019t know who I am. There aren\u2019t any trips to Shanghai in my future.\u201d Lawrence pointed at the bot. \u201cAnd before you load up a script on grief, I\u2019m pretty sure this is all too complicated for your programming to handle so\u2026 we\u2019re done.\u201d He kicked the chair on his way out of the room.\n<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \nThe next day, Lawrence was in the chemistry lab when his pad pushed an urgent alert: schedule change.<\/em> His calendar now displayed a continuous band of orange titled \u201ctherapy.\u201d He closed his water bottle and left for the counselor\u2019s office.\n<\/p>\n \nLawrence sat and dropped his backpack on his lap. The bot stretched her face into an approximation of empathy that missed by a few millimeters. It looked like grim surprise. \u201cLawrence, I\u2019m sorry about your dad.\u201d She tilted her head. \u201cIf you answer a couple questions, I\u2019ll let you take the rest of the day off. How does that sound?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhatever.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe swiped on her pad. \u201cYou said he has Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease. That might have been a serious diagnosis during the first half of the century, but these days it would have been detected during his monthly screening. Caught early, it should be treatable. Do you know if the doctors discussed treatment with him?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nLawrence played with the zipper on his backpack. \u201cIt should<\/em> have been caught early, but the diagnostic-bot screwed up its assessment.\u201d Lawrence frowned at her. \u201cIf that bot had done its job right my dad would still have his job. He\u2019d be able to go to my soccer games instead of going to endless appointments.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nA look of understanding crossed her face. \u201cThe bots you damaged. That was because of the diagnostic-bot?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThere\u2019s too many of you out there messing everything up,\u201d Lawrence said while unzipping his backpack. He lifted out a water bottle and removed its cap but did not drink from it.\n<\/p>\n \nThe bot put out a hand. \u201cBefore you do anything that might get you into trouble, you should know that this body is more advanced than a TA-bot. There\u2019s not a lot of damage you can do with water.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nLawrence glowered at her. He raised the bottle, and a wisp of vapor escaped the top.\n<\/p>\n \nShe lowered her hand. \u201cIt\u2019s not water.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThe chemistry lab is full of all sorts of things that, when mixed together, will melt you to your battery core.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cLawrence, I\u2019m not an artificial intelligence. Just a person that\u2019s trying to help you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe squinted. \u201cI don\u2019t believe you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe let silence grow between them, then said, \u201cBefore you do this, will you let me say one more thing?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI don\u2019t want to talk about my dad with a bot anymore.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI want to tell you a story about my<\/em> dad.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nLawrence lowered the bottle.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI remember one morning, when I was very young, my dad carried me from my bed to the car before the sun was up.\u201d If this was<\/em> a script, it was better than any Lawrence had ever heard. \u201cHe drove me to a strange place that was dusty, hot, and boring. I mean, why would a little girl care about salt flats? But Dad\u2026he told me about how the entire desert was once an ocean, and as the water evaporated, it left the salt behind. That\u2019s why the ground was white and sparkly. He was so happy to tell me about the salt flats that I couldn\u2019t help but love them. And now, 20 years later, I still smile whenever I see one of those pink salt lamps in someone\u2019s office or at the store.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nA knot tightened in Lawrence\u2019s chest. \u201cSo you wanted to tell me about how great your life is? You wanted to rub it in about how bad mine is?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe leaned forward and placed a hand on his knee. No warmth came off the hand and one of the fingers squeezed too hard. \u201cNo. I wanted to say that you don\u2019t have to get on a suborbital to connect with your dad. There\u2019s still time, Lawrence.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe carefully put the lid back on his bottle. Then the truth behind her words overwhelmed him. He sobbed, and the realization that there was a real person behind that squeeze on his knee made him sob harder. It was ten minutes before he could leave for home.\n<\/p>\n \n \nLawrence arrived early at school the next day and walked straight to the counselor’s office. Inside, the bot had her eyes closed. When he sat down, she blinked awake. \u201cWhat can I do for you\u2026 Lawrence?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou were right. I convinced my dad to teach me how to make soup dumplings, and he spent the whole afternoon telling me all about growing up in China. I just\u2026\u201d He rubbed the back of his neck. \u201cI wanted to say thank you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nA blank look came over her face and froze there, so Lawrence reached out and shook the bot\u2019s knee.\n<\/p>\n \nThen her mouth fell open and a voice came out without her lips moving. \u201cI did<\/em> mute it\u2026I can\u2019t find the notes on Lawrence Yu. Does anyone know who was covering East Lansing Middle School last week?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nA crackling silence.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat do you mean she went to see her dad? There\u2019s no vacation on her calendar! What? Oh crap.\u201d The bot\u2019s eyes closed and it slumped forward.\n<\/p>\n \nLawrence sighed. He unzipped his backpack, then carefully took out a salt lamp and placed it on the side table near the counsel-bot. He plugged it in, and a soft pink glow colored the lifeless bot\u2019s face.\n<\/p>\n Jack Windeyer\u2019s father did not grow up in Shanghai, but that didn\u2019t stop the two of them from visiting the Science & Technology Museum or eating soup dumplings at the Yuyuan Garden. If you are able and willing to teach Jack to make xiaolongbao the Shanghainese way, please give him a shout at jack@marginchronicles.com. Until then, he\u2019ll continue to content himself with microwaving the frozen ones.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" As Lawrence Yu approached, a smiling face appeared on the door, and a cheery voice said, \u201cBy placing your palm to the pad, you consent to the recording of all communication both verbal and non-verbal.\u201d If he refused, the school would call his dad. Lawrence glanced at his watch: 11:15. Dad might still be undergoing …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107882,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,14,20100],"tags":[20101],"class_list":["post-140132","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-publications","category-tcl-45-autumn-2022","tag-the-colored-lens-45-autumn-2022","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140132","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107882"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=140132"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140132\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":140133,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140132\/revisions\/140133"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=140132"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=140132"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=140132"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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