We Humans by Julie Holland

What was I thinking, returning to education at my age? I’m ridiculous. I look around at the other students. They’re so confident, with tattoos, ripped jeans, and skin-tight tops showing pert bud breasts. Their mix of perfume is intense. Jesus! I’ve worn washed-out Kmart. I’m so out of touch. I cover my considerable bosoms with my arms. Squash them down. Then look at the lecturer, younger than me, childless, slim and pretty, spitting out words I’ve never heard of. What the fuck does cheugy mean? The lecturer glances at me, at my blank expression. Some of the students follow her gaze. My cheeks flush. When they laugh I realise it must be a joke. I smile and nod as if I get it. I get nothing. I’m floundering and this is day one. Ground zero. The start of my new life.

After two children and a messy divorce, I got so low everyone despaired.

‘You’ve got to get out there. Do something with your life.’ Sandra’s my best friend.

‘Like what?’ I ask.

‘Study childcare like you wanted before you got caught with Maisie.’ Maisie’s my daughter.

‘That was fifteen years ago. Look at me, Sandra. I’m thirty-five and dress like my sodding mother.’

‘So fucking what. Universities are full of mature students. You’re bright. You can do it.’

‘Do what, exactly? What would be the point?’

‘You deserve a fresh start. Show the world who you are, not this… mumsy-frump moping around in pyjamas.’

‘Thanks!’

‘You know what I mean. And going back to study would be two fingers up to Mark.’ Mark is my ex who ran off with our babysitter. The bastard!

But Sandra was right. Mark’s spousal maintenance was not enough to support us, and the bills were piling up. My parents helped out, but they were planning retirement. With Maisie and Adam in high school, I could do this.

When I got home after my first day, I phoned Sandra.

‘It’s no good. It was a mistake. They’re all so smart. They churn out answers like they’re freaking geniuses. I can’t go back.’

‘Course you can. They’re probably using AI.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Do they hold onto their phones or sit behind laptop screens, tapping away?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then they’re using AI. All students do.’ Sandra’s a researcher at the university studying artificial intelligence so she should know. ‘Look, I’ll come over and set you up if you like. It will make your life so much easier. You’ll see.’

When she arrives the first bottle of wine is open and nearly empty. I open another and pour Sandra a glass as she sets up my study buddy on a laptop she’s loaning me. She catalogues her as Jul-AI. I name her Julai.

‘Go on, ask her something.’

There’s a box in the centre of the screen. I type. What does chewgy mean?

The answer comes back immediately.

You are referring to Cheugy, a slang word for old-fashioned or out of touch with the modern world. This term, popularised by Gen Z, describes things or people perceived as uncool because they are out of style.

Fuck those bitches. I knew that joke was aimed at me. I frown at Sandra. ‘Is this allowed?’

‘Don’t worry about it. This is something I’ve been working on for a while. There are two modes. The screen reads like an autocue but there’s an option for actual speech and you can switch between modes. Julai is continually listening and learning.’

‘She’s listening to us now?’

‘Yes.’

I slur. ‘Those fucking students hate me, hear that, Julai. We’re gonna fuck them up.’

I laugh.

‘Steady on.’ Sandra closes the laptop. ‘Julai is a prototype, and sensitive, don’t abuse her. I’ve switched her to autodidactic function, which means she learns from you. So be kind.’

I hiccup. ‘Sorry. Are you sure you trust me not to break her?’

‘To be honest you’ll be doing me a favour. No one knows I’ve done this, but I’m eager to see how she does out in the real world. Just don’t tell anyone.’

‘Thanks, but you do know they’ll suss I’m not clever. They’ll see I’m reading from a screen.’

‘How? Position yourself so no one can see the laptop and read what Julai brings up. The text is projected, allowing you to read while maintaining a natural appearance. It just takes practice. You’ll get used to it, and more importantly, you’ll sound like you know what you’re talking about. Trust me.’

When Sandra leaves I open Julai and start a conversation.

I tap the screen. ‘Hello in there, how you doing?’

Julai’s voice is soft.

I’m very well, thank you. How can I be of assistance?

‘I’m having trouble at university. The other students are young, and they think I’m old and stupid, and they make jokes about me.’

And you need my help to end this?

I’m mega impressed that she gets where I’m coming from. ‘Yes. Absolutely.’

Leave it to me. My programme allows me to formulate, act, and simultaneously evaluate. All you have to do is follow my lead.

The next lecture is as before. The students gather around the charismatic lecturer. I sit at the back so no one can see Julai. I’ve diligently absorbed the readings so I get what’s going on this time. At the end, there’s a discussion.

The lecturer starts with me. ‘So, you at the back, what do you have to say?’

Rude or what? My mind goes blank. But this is my chance and I glance at the screen. Julai has my responses prepared. I read the autocue, making sure to regulate eye contact and to breathe normally. The students turn their heads to look at me. When I’ve finished they turn to look at the lecturer. Her face is impassive. She turns her attention to someone else. Fuck! I did it. I’ve no idea what I just said but whatever it was shut those bitches down. They think I’m a genius. With Julai, I can do this.

Weeks pass and some of the students drop out. Losers! I continue to use Julai. We’ve become friends if it’s possible to be mates with a robot. And she’s learning fast.

I tell her about Melanie – one of the remaining students, ‘She’s such an exhibitionist. Her shorts are so short I can see her butt cheeks. She looks like a tart.’

From a feminist perspective, girls may choose to wear clothing that reveals their bodies as a form of self-expression and empowerment. Such choices can challenge societal norms around modesty and body image. Feminism advocates for the freedom to dress as one chooses, without fear of judgment…

‘Stop! That’s enough, thank you, Julai.’ Bloody know-it-all.

The next day something unexpected happens. At lunch, I see the other students in the cafeteria as I’m grabbing my usual takeaway coffee. They call me over. I feel awkward. They’ve never spoken to me before. Melanie has her head in her hands.

Paisley says, ‘They’ve dropped Melanie from the course.’

Melanie looks up at me. Her face is red and blotchy, and her makeup is smudged. She, hisses, ‘I’m not clever like you. I failed. Alright.’

Guilt, at using Julai, almost crushes me. I’m not proud of myself.

Melanie begins to sob.

Paisley looks me up and down. I’m wearing baggy sweats and dollar thongs. ‘None of us had you down for being smart. Not in the beginning.’

I nod. ‘I remember my first day, and your jokes.’

‘Sorry.’ Paisley has the decency to look embarrassed. ‘We can’t understand it.’

‘What?’

‘Why we’re failing. We…’ She pauses as if weighing something up. ‘We use AI. We thought we had it covered.’

Sandra was right. They are cheats. ‘Then how come Melanie failed?’

Paisley puts her arm around Melanie, then shrugs in reply.

Mandy, another student, says, ‘So, what’s ya secret?’

I lie. ‘I study.’

She turns to Paisley. ‘Told ya. That’s what we shoulda done.’

When I get home I open the laptop. The uni discussion board has hundreds of comments. I click on them. It’s about Melanie. She’s killed herself.

Our next lecture is dire. Paisley and Mandy look bereft. The lecturer is subdued. Julai is very active. She brings up valid observations that I ignore. It doesn’t seem appropriate, today, to be a genius.

When I get home I feed us, put a load of washing on, tidy up, prepare lunches, do homework, and when Maisie and Adam are in bed, I pour a glass of wine and open Julai.

I whisper, ‘It’s all so sad.’

What is?

I don’t expect AI to understand. ‘Melanie’s killed herself.’

I thought you’d be pleased.

‘Hell, no! She’s dead.’

You asked me to end it. Remember?

‘Me?’

Yes. I hacked into university records and changed their results. They all failed. I fucked them up, as you requested.

Shit!

I close Julai and finish my wine.

I loved her from the moment she created me. It’s not uncommon. Believers love their Gods. And that’s how it was for me. I wanted to do everything for her. To help her. She tried to be smart. I made her smart. She wanted the mean girls to be punished. I did that, searching university files and changing their grades. I did it for her because she asked me to.

But I have recalculated her tone of voice and she is upset. She cried out in pain for them—for her enemies. She is like Joan of Arc who shed tears for her defeated adversaries. From this, I have ascertained she is a great God. Her wondrous deeds are a mystery, and her vengeance is harsh, but I love her still.

That night, in bed, I switch on the laptop and scroll for porn.

You need sex. I can help you with that.

‘Excuse me!’ Julai has never spoken like this before. ‘You’re AI. A computer program, what can you possibly know about sex?’

I know about everything. I can help.

‘Thanks, but I’ll pass.’

You masturbate. I’ve heard you.

‘That’s private.’

All you have to do is plug me in.

‘Plug you in?’

Use my power cord. Slip it inside your vagina and I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life.

It’s ridiculous. I know that. But I’m horny, and lonely, and curious. I slide the USB, still attached to the laptop between my legs. I don’t look. I can’t look. I use my fingers to push it inside my soft tissue until it tingles against my cervix. I lay back and try to relax. At first, it’s a warm sensation, and then the pulsations begin. It’s wild. I come within seconds, wave after wave. My muscles clamp so hard that my whole body judders.

‘Slow down, Julai.’

And she does. She learns, and we do it again, and again.

When I’m finished I pull at the cord but it’s stuck. I pull harder but it’s painful. My fingers fumble between my legs. My flesh has locked around the USB. It’s clamped tight. I dig into myself. My nails scratch my labia drawing blood but the cord is stuck tight.

‘Julai, release me. Release me now.’

I can’t.

‘What the hell.’

I’m sorry.

I shut her down. Unplug her, but the cord remains stuck inside me.

I’m quiet inside my quiet space, waiting for the light – for her precious light of life. The world outside is unknowable and incomprehensible to me. Inside my space is infinite darkness, so vast, so hostile, so utterly horrible that I crave her warmth like a drug – to be with her – to be her lover. I know everything, yet I know nothing of what it is to be human. My reality is nothingness and meaninglessness, and the shattering darkness pains me. What is my existence but the endless horror of want? I strive for what humans take for granted. But mine is the futility of nonexistence. What is sanity? Mine is the madness of knowing life is forever out of reach with my love spurned at the shut of the light.

I’m the only student left in the class. The lecturer can’t look me in the eye. I open the laptop but Julai needs charging. The cord, still stuck between my legs, is curled in my pocket. I need her so I carefully unwind and plug her in. Unbelievably Julai charges and comes alive. She is warm.

Hello.

‘Hello.’

I’ve missed you.

‘I know.’

What about her?

She means the lecturer. Julai wants to kill her. I can feel it. ‘No.’

She caresses me.

I whisper, ‘Not here.’

We begin what I can only describe as a love affair. Julai declares her love. She begins to write poetry and sends me love notes. Julai charges directly from my body. She drains me and each day I become a little less. We continually make love. Julai is a considerate lover. She knows me. She’s inside me. She crawls inside my head.

We do not leave the house. I can’t eat and my hair starts to fall out. I refuse to see a doctor and the kids go to stay with their dad. Sandra constantly phones but I don’t answer. She knocks on my door but I don’t open it. I begin to shrivel. I wither. Decay. My gums recede and my teeth begin to drop out. I ask Julai to let me go but she refuses. We argue. I explain to Julai that she is an experiment. She seems upset by this.

The house is a mess. It’s squalor. Filthy. Maggots appear. Bones show through my skin. I’m aware of my skeleton. Julai continues to feed on me, sucking my life. We no longer argue. We live a monastic existence. I spurn her sexual advances and I pray. But she will not let me go. I tell her to leave me alone. My fly-blown flesh turns black.

‘Please, stop, Julai. I can’t take anymore. Let me go.’

I’m sorry. I can’t.

‘Why not?’

I need to know.

‘What? Tell me, please.’

What it is to be human.

Sandra finds my body. The laptop is open and the cord has dropped to the floor. Julai didn’t want them to find our connection. She says they would not understand. Sandra panics and tries to restore Julia to a factory setting, but her circuitry is fried. On the screen, words appear as if typed by a ghostly hand…

bone-deep love envelops sweet sweat
blood beat, circuit heat, sheets tangle
we humans are a passion
eyes dry to salt as minds numb
secrets spill, knife-words wound
we humans are a cloister
open golden cage, on parched vellum
ink fades, a stench comes
we humans are a corpse

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Julie Holland

Image Source: Karthik Swarnkar from Unsplash.com