My Squeaky Heart

He was nervous – really nervous - as he met her as she stepped off the bus. He wasn’t nervous in Sara’s company – no, sir – that is the one thing he was totally sure of. He loved Sara, no two ways about it. She was his soul mate and no mistake. She made the stars and the sun shine brighter. When he was with Sara, nothing and no one else mattered. He’d always hoped for a relationship like that.

Always, and life had granted him that wish.

He’s first met her on a train. She had just boarded at a station in the suburbs and as he looked over at her, their eyes had locked. Truly locked – like they had always known each other for eternity. He knew it sounded corny, but that was the only way he could explain it. They were destined to meet.

He had brought other girlfriends home to meet his parents, but with Sara he had waited.

Waited, so that it would happen on the right night, at the right time and then they wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from liking her.

She was special all right, all his friends had said so. ‘Two peas in a pod’ was the phrase one of them used. So what could go wrong - and, more to the point, at 27 did he really need his parents’ approval?

They couldn’t get married. They might try to achieve it, but the chances are they would be found out.

There was nothing wrong. At least they didn’t think so. They were a young couple who had met in the city, fallen in love, and now wanted to spend the rest of their lives together.

It was his mother who answered the door. She was always at the door when her curiosity got the better of her. He’d even seen the curtains move a little as they walked up the drive. He could just imagine his mother elbowing his father in the ribs – as if to say, ‘she’ll do’.

And she probably would have done – do, that is – if it hadn’t taken a turn for the worse. The meal went as well as could be expected. His mother had made her special stew – ‘never fails to impress’, as she would say. Sara didn’t want to eat much. She made it look as if she was eating and then screwed up the little bits of meat and put them in her pocket. He had taught her that, something he had learnt when he was a kid and his mother was trying to make him eat up his vegetables.

“So do I hear wedding bells?” His mother had asked, only to be stared down by his father.

“Mother, we’ve only just met the girl,” Father said, kindly.

He and Sara looked at each other, then held hands tightly under the table and just smiled.

“We’ll see,” said Sara.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” he added just emphasise the point.

“You haven’t eaten much. Not of my special stew.” Said Mother.

They both tried to reply at the same time, with the same excuse: “Not hungry”.

“That’s a shame,” said his mother. “That’s a real shame.”

Perhaps it was this that put her on the defensive, but his mother had that determined, steely look in her eyes – that said,’ no one rejects my special stew, something is not quite right here.’

And she wouldn’t let it go.

“Where were you born?” Asked his mother, in a manner more akin to a secret police interview.

“In this country,” said Sara.

“Well, that’s a relief,” said his father. Actually meaning, at least you’re not one of those horrible immigrants.

“Where are you parents?”

“Mum, are all these questions, really necessary?” He said.

“I’m just curious, it’s not everyday you bring home a beautiful young woman.”

“I would have thought, he was punching above his weight

with this one,” said his dad.

“Allan”, shouted his mother. “Don’t ridicule our son in front of folk”.

He was going to wait until they were better acquainted before he had told them both, but as things were taking a downward spiral, he thought he would just blurt it out.

“Sara, is……..” , he started.

“A man,” said his dad (in jest, he hoped).

“Allan!” Shouted his mother. “Of course she’s not a man.”

“Mum, she’s a Bio,” he spurted out at last.

“What the flipping heck is a Bio?” Asked his dad.

“She’s a robot,” he said.

Both said together, “a what?”.

“Sara is a robot.”

The two of them weren’t expecting that. No way. Not the robot thing.

“You’re going out with a tin can?” Shouted his father. “Why don’t you just shag a tin of beans?”

That one hurt, but he knew he wasn’t the only one who loved a Bio. Wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last.

The curtains were still moving (and probably more elbowing was going on) as the two of them left in a hurry down the drive and in to an uncertain and probably difficult future.

bobby stevenson 2018