The cozy atmosphere of the coffee shop makes me feel at home, as does Harry's easy smile. I sip my tea, a nice departure from all the caffeine. I try to gain enough confidence for this conversation that, frankly, we shouldn't be having.
"So. Tell me, just tell me what you're thinking." He says, between bites of a croissant.
"Okay, I guess I'll just... cut to the chase. Do you think all this is wrong? Do you think this is going to be, well, just disastrous? I mean, is there a limit? Should there be a limit? What will Tia do once we release her? What does that mean, to release her? To what, roll her out on a red carpet? Are we doing this just to keep up, just because it's happening- is this--"
He stops my racing thoughts. "Listen, Sara. I understand those questions. Your... many questions. I think, however, at this point, we have to look at the facts. This, this is happening. Regardless of what we may think or feel, or what the average citizen may think, she is there." He uses a hushed voice. "We must accept that, if only for our own sanity. It is like a steam engine racing ahead at full speed. This will not be stopped, I don't think." He sips his coffee, and, somewhat egregiously, in my opinion, takes another large bite of croissant.
"Hmm. I must say, that makes a lot of sense. Too much sense, maybe. Maybe I just don't want that to make sense. I can't say I'm sure why." The herbal tea soothes my throat as I struggle to get my words out, voice trembling.
"I understand. As much potential as there is for bad, there is potential for good. I believe you know that, otherwise, I don't believe you'd be working there. At least, not in that department."
"True."
Snow falls outside, melting against the asphalt and concrete. People bustle by in coats and scarves.
"I guess," I say, "I have to start to try and compartmentalize all this. I'm here to do my work. I want to do my work."
"Good." He says. "Then I think you have your answer."
"Thank you, Harry. Thank you for meeting with me. I appreciate it, more than you know."
"Of course, Sara." He says, suddenly interested in his latte. Is he... blushing? I look away, half-smiling.
"Would you like to get some dinner tonight? We can discuss this further. I know it is such a complicated thing, to talk about, to experience." He looks up at me expectedly.
Part of me wants to say yes, to drink, to laugh, to go home with him even, to feel his hands under my shirt and his lips against mine. I want that part to win out.
"I really can't tonight." I say instead. "Let's do it another time, when I'm less, I guess, rattled." I laugh light-heartedly.
"Okay." He smiles and nods.
We finish our beverages and take in the warmth of the little shop, with the topic of discussion changing from our professional lives to our more personal ones. I tell him about my cat, about my small window garden, and about my overbearing mother who is always annoyed that I can't discuss my job more.
He tells me about his love of woodworking in his garage, and his dog Arnold. I laugh at the overly formal name and in that moment, I feel less stressed.
--
I am stunned. I am watching her, watching her-- watch. Her eyes are open, and they are such a soft blue, almost periwinkle, a touch of violet. Her eyes, like the rest of her, are also semi-translucent. She has a noticeable pupil but everything blends together in a way that fascinates. It is so unfamiliar, but it feels right. She looks... like she should, human enough, but not close enough to be wrong. She is unique, she is alive in her own individuality as something completely unique, more unique even than one person to another. I correct myself. She is not alive.
Yet, as I watch her eyes scan the images flashing on the projector before her, I feel that she is absorbing everything. She is absorbing not just the light and color, not just the content-- No, I am making this up in my head. That is precisely what she is doing.
The projector shows on the board flashes of images, of famous paintings, then videos, some banal and seemingly innocuous, and then darker images, images with contrast, images meant to evoke fear, or danger. Then there is an image of two people laughing, an image of a skeleton, a video of a jellyfish silently making its way, then the roar of a lion. I can only watch for so long. It's painful in a way that is hard to describe, and it is making me uncomfortable.
I do, however, watch her face. I don't know what I expected. I guess when I think deeply about it, I expected her features to remain fairly neutral and emotionless. I just... thought that's where we were.
Instead, she moves what is meant to be her brow musculature, smiles softly, frowns, looks down even. She does not appear overly emotional, but does not by any stretch appear emotionless. It frightens me, but it also fascinates me. It is quite beautiful actually. Those frosted glass lips, turning at the corners. Violet eyes, widening. I suppress any impure thoughts. There are others here and I am putting that to rest, for good. This is Tia. Tia is an experiment.
The projector stops. I breathe a silent sigh of relief that it has ended, that those sounds have stopped.
