When it was time for bed, Norman slipped inside his box. Apparently, the worm hadn’t chewed up his weird thing for boxes. I thought this could mean that more of that Norman, our Norman, was coming back.
“What am I?” the robot asked. “And why am I here?”
Argh! I’m twelve, too young to philosophize about the meaning of life. I haven’t even figured out girls yet! Plus, it was late and I was tired. My eyelids really wanted to meet each other.
“You’re Norman,” I said. “That’s who you are.”
“But who exactly is ‘Norman,’ and why does he, or it, exist?”
The robot was going to pester me until I came up with something smart. With this brain that sometimes takes a while.
“Norman is my brother,” I said. “As far as why he exists . . . um, let me think about that one.” I’m still trying to figure out why I exist.
“Excuse-moi,” Norman said. “While it is pleasant to think of myself as your brother, I believe it is factually incorrect. For you and me to be brothers, we must either be genetically related, or one of us must be legally adopted into the family. It is my solemn duty to report that we are not brothers and can never be, since you are a human being and I am simply an advanced, mobile computer.”
I tried to end that dumbness right there.
“You are my brother,” I told Norman, “and I can prove it.”
“Processing . . . Processing . . . I think that would be impossible,” he said. “But if it is your desire to try to do so I will not interfere.”
“Well, um, uh . . .” Uh-oh, I spoke before my thoughts were able to catch up to my voice box. How could I prove that Norman was my brother? Come on, brain, I encouraged. Thinking . . . Thinking . . . Got it!
“A few weeks before you showed up in your box I dropped my laptop, and it wouldn’t work until Dad fixed it,” I said. “I was upset that it was broken, but I wasn’t sad about it, and I wasn’t worried that the laptop might be in pain. When it was in Dad’s lab for a few days I was mad that I couldn’t use it, but I didn’t miss it, or go into the lab every ten minutes to see how it was doing.” I took in a deep breath and saw that Norman was watching me very carefully.
“But with you, when you accidentally threw yourself into a wall and hurt yourself, and when you caught the worm, I was really worried about you, and afraid you might be in pain. And I missed you when you were getting repaired and reprogrammed, and I was sad that we couldn’t hang out together. I didn’t feel any of that junk for my broken laptop. Also, when it looked like you were falling for Annie Bananas, I told you to stay away from her, like a brother would do. I’d never do something like that for a computer, advanced or not. For all those reasons, that’s how I know you are my brother.”
It got quiet, except for a tiny clicking sound from Norman.
“Because you treat me like you would treat a brother, that is how you know we are brothers?” the robot asked. “Like how you would treat Lucien if he were here?”
“Yes, that’s exactly it,” I said, suddenly feeling oddly goopy about Lucien, and Norman.
“Processing . . . Processing . . . ,” Norman said. “I think I understand. Being someone’s brother is not just about shared genetics or similar blueprints for design, but it is about treating each other like brothers, and caring for each other like brothers. Correct?”
“Yes,” I said as goopiness had more of its goopy way with me.
The robot crawled out of his box, climbed up on my bed, and kissed me on the cheek. “Good night, brother,” he said.
“Good night, brother,” I said, feeling I might do something majorly girlish like start to cry. I’m not that good of a brother.
Norman went and settled into his box. And I had another big thought.
“That’s more proof that you are my brother!” I said triumphantly. “Computers do not kiss their brothers good night. But brothers do.” For once I figured out something before Norman did. Yay!
“Oui!” said the robot. “Now the second part of my question. Why exactly am I here?”
Argh!!!