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Science Lover
“What I guess I’m getting at is nanotechnology.”
She pulls her legs up so her feet are underneath her whole self in a way that suggests she isn’t going anywhere and I think, ‘then it’s anybody’s guess.’ So I try, “they’ve made a robot who can mow the lawn, two years and he’ll be serving every home.” This is a piece of treasure I discovered in the paper sliced it out with my craft knife and glued it in my savings book. “Mmm…” she says and “…mmm?” and this chorus line of seagulls scream: What does some wretched robot mean to this woman who looks fucking good in jeans and anyway she hasn’t even got a lawn, I fill our glasses up with wine searching for a sultry line to shift the conversation from machines. “Smart Dust!” She finds the words with such delight she shouts and I slop a little down my front, “tiny little chips that can communicate...” “…how tiny?” “teeny-tiny – even smaller – and they’re everything! They speak to the weather and dance with the wind like a kind of techno-fied I-Ching.” It’s all very exciting and the night is long. Later, when she’s gone and I’ve washed the lipstick from our rims I look it up online and read, ‘we will have Smart Dust embedded in our skin, it will keep us temperate and thin and in control’ and I think, ‘when this is the basket and when all the eggs are jumping in, where will I run? When our whole world is coded and decoded and recodified, where will I hide?’ And the romance of the evening has now died, of course, I find myself in the mouth of every gift horse, seeking confirmation that they come in peace. She looked even better without her jeans, But what’s the world without its mysteries?
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