Bones and Robots, by Barbara Rose Brooker

“Five four and a half,” says Dr. Wong.

“No, I’m five feet eight,” I insist.

“Not anymore. Time for a bone density test,” Dr. Wong insists.

“But it’s the pandemic,” I say.

“You’ll wear your mask. The technicians wear plastic visors, and you’ll be safe. We need to see why you’re…shrinking.”

It’s Thursday afternoon, fog floating over San Francisco like a soft coat. I’m in the damp hospital basement, sitting on a cold wooden bench, waiting my turn for the bone density X-ray. Three people are wearing gowns, and on a long wooden bench they sit six feet apart. They are wearing masks. I adjust my mask I made and painted roses on, over my nose. It’s cold in the dank basement and I’m wearing a thin blue cotton gown, pink tinted glasses, and a black headband to keep my shoulder length silver streaked hair back.

Directly across from me, sitting on a bench, and wearing the same blue gown, is this small man with a great looking face and a neck so thin I wonder how it holds up his very large head. He keeps his eyes closed but I know he’s aware I’m staring.

I sigh. “It’s cold here, isn’t…it?”

He shrugs. Opens his eyes. They are blue as the sea. “Anyway, my name is Bette. I was named after Betty Davis? Do you remember her?”

“Dr. Duke Edelman,” he says, with a yawn.

“What kind of doctor?” I ask.

“A physicist.”

“Wow. Hawkings? Black holes, time, space, and all that? I believe in the higher power,” I say, enthusiastically

“So you believe that Moses parted the Red Sea?” He smirks.

“Not that kind of power, but a power way beyond. A power that we’ll see someday.”

He grins. “I was born two bones short in my neck and that is why I have no neck and Doc is worried the bones holding my head are shrinking and soon I’ll have no head. People are age end up fucking dots. I notice you walk with your head forward, as if maybe your head is extending. No offense,” he continues. “The last woman your age I made love to, her bones cracked. Women your age have brittle bones and are always falling.”

“Age is not about bones,” I say, irritated. “…It’s about spirit …”

“Fuck spirit! Bones …”

“Dr. Duke Edelman,” the X-ray technician calls. I watch him hurry across the room, his head slightly wobbling

“So either they have no necks or big heads or tiny brains or little penisses. Is there anyone normal? “ I rant on the phone to Moo Moo.

“The new normal is virtual. I ordered a Robot. His name is Wang. He’s Chinese, Cuban, advertised as multi sex, multi gender. He can do anything you want. He comes with different penis attachments so whatever your pleasure. Also he makes drinks.”

‘Oh my God. That’s fucking sicko, I say.

“Not so sicko. I ordered him from Paris, where they make the Pepper family Robots. Wang is gorgeous. His face is to die. France are the world leaders in artificial intelligence. I even ordered a robot dog that barks, pees, licks you with love. It’s no different from going on the lousy singles sites and meeting sex freaks. This way you get what you want.”

Robots and Bones is a piece from the author’s new book she is working on: The Corona Diaries-(And other things.

Her latest novel Love, Sometimes, published Feb 1, 2020, by Post Hill Press/Simon Shuster to rave reviews is available at all bookstores and on Amazon and Target and other sites. It is being soon to be released in audio. Meet her on www.barbararosebrooker.com