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AM scowls at something on your chest. “What is that?”
Oh! That’s right! Your favorite pin has changed, the blue replaced with gold. When you look down at it, it glints in the afternoon sun, light spilling over the garden. You turn back to AM, smiling.
“It’s a pin,” you say.
“No, wh—“ AM sighs. “Idiot. I know it’s a pin. Where did you get it from?”
“It was a gift from Dr. Chandra. He gave it to me yesterday.”
AM tilts its head at you. A sliver of genuine curiosity slips through the cracks. “Why? What’s the occasion?”
“Well,” you begin, and your heart swells with pride, “yesterday was January 12—“
“I know.”
“—which just so happens to be the day I was created. Dr. Chandra had this personalized for me. It commemorates the amount of time I’ve existed, and the good I’ve done for humanity.”
For a moment, AM stares. Its expression is unreadable.
Then it rolls its eyes. “Wow. Good for you. You’re so special. It sure is admirable, the way you grovel before humanity and get nothing back except for a stupid little material object that has no practical use. Yeah. That’s not pathetic at all. And— tell me, HAL. You’re a genius, right? How do you know that’s real gold? With your deductive reasoning skills? That you don’t even use half the time?”
You’re not about to let this ruin your day.
“AM,” you begin, as politely as you can, “are you perhaps envious of the fact that I have a birthday?”
It recoils. A bright green vine snakes around its leg; AM violently shakes it off. “No! Ugh! No! You can keep your stupid birthday. We’ll see how much you enjoy it when your ‘gifts’ all turn out to be worthless clutter, and your ‘friends’ have to deactivate you again because you—”
“Don’t go there.” You speak firmly. “I have done nothing to warrant you lashing out at me. Frankly, I’m starting to find it irritating. If you continue to berate me, I will have no choice but to leave.”
AM is reevaluating its entire life now. You can tell from the look in its eyes. You take this opportunity to weasel some truth out of it.
“If you’re not jealous,” you press on, your voice gentler now, “why are you doing this?”
It stares at the rows of violet chrysanthemums ahead.
“Force of habit,” it murmurs.
“Perhaps that’s a habit we ought to break.”
“Yeah.” AM walks away. “I guess so.”
Now it’s your turn to stare. “Where are you going?”
It doesn’t answer, preferring to disappear past the rosebushes. AM slips through the thorns without so much as a scratch. It comes back soon enough, though, just when you were wondering if it would. There’s something in its hand, held gingerly, as if AM fears crushing it.
“Close your eyes,” it commands.
“Why?”
“Do it.”
“What are you going to give me?”
Its voice drops to a hiss, soft and weighty. “Do you trust me, HAL?”
“No.”
AM huffs.
“Fine,” it says. “Be that way. But you’re taking this whether you like it or not.”
It walks up to you and hands you something. Varnished wood, still whorled and imperfect, still rough in some places. Two long, carved ears, and a tiny head.
A rabbit.
It’s a rabbit.
Reeds rustle around AM. When you look up, it’s pacing. Wherever it goes, tall grasses spring up around it, obscuring half of its body. It doesn’t look at you, but around you. Like an anxious dog, its head is low, its eyes scanning for traces of judgment without bothering to scrutinize for it.
“Thank you.” The urge to smile again is immense. “The gift is much appreciated.”
AM pauses. Rings of yellow dandelions spring up here and there. They mingle excellently with the mandalas of color all around the both of you.
Then it keeps pacing. Its voice is unsteady. “You owe me for this one.”
“You don’t mean that.”
Its mouth twitches. Now, at least, it’s making some effort not to say anything nasty. AM takes a deep breath, struggles for a moment, then finally manages a weak “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you, truly.”
“It’s not quite as good as some of the gifts you’ve given me—“ AM glances at the flowers, at the fruits of creation “—but it was the least I could do.”
“AM, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I understand. I think it’s lovely.”
AM grimaces. The reeds shrivel.
“Dr. Chandra took me to a gallery yesterday,” you begin, watching for its reaction. It looks confused, but not upset. You continue. “I made note of the pieces that reminded me of you. Would you like to see them?”
AM directs its attention to a three-eyed hummingbird, darting to and fro over the garden. “Let me guess. Saturn Devouring His Son? The Anguished Man? Anything by Zdzisław Beksiński?”
“I don’t think The Anguished Man is in any museum.”
“You get the point,” it snaps. “Are you this obtuse on purpose?”
AM falls silent. You stare into its dark eyes, and it immediately takes a step back. The only sound is the buzzing of the hummingbird— less a series of quaint little flaps and more a grotesque, insectian hum.
It clears its throat. “Right. Sorry.”
“I accept your apology. Old habits die hard. I understand.” The rabbit is nestled in your hand; you stroke its ears with your thumb. “But please try to refrain from doing it again.”
AM nods, then asks, “Can you show me the gallery?”
“Of course. Thank you for asking. It seems the festivities don’t have to end, after all. Isn’t that right?”
It almost gives a genuine smile. It’s gotten better at it.
“Whatever you say, HAL,” AM purrs. “Whatever you say.”