Short Fiction
Hubot
It was past midnight. Stephen checked his phone again but there was nothing from Rylee.
At least she could have said good luck! he thought. But expecting a response at this time was futile.
He’d done enough to show her his true intentions about Boston. But there was no acknowledgment from her. He started going through their old messages. Something he did almost daily since the breakup. Dwelling on those conversations gave him comfort.
Stephen lit a cigarette and opened the window of his hotel room as he continued to read. The cold and misty Boston air hit him. Something his southern-acclimated face wasn’t used to. It felt refreshing but, at the same time, he missed being in Houston.
Someplace closer, yet still far away from Rylee.
He just stood there puffing his smoke, gazing at the giant downtown buildings while reevaluating his motive for being there. Something he couldn’t fully justify.
The interview in a few hours was not the one. He had no intention of changing jobs or career for that matter. It was a last resort to get Rylee’s attention.
He closed his eyes and pictured Rylee standing beside him, holding his hand. He craved her touch, the sound of her breathing — her voice. He missed her presence beside him. But deep down he knew it was pointless.
Rylee had moved on.
It’d been six months since there’d been any sort of communication. Stephen hardly left his apartment, avoiding possible confrontations.
He finished reminiscing, dragged himself to the hotel bed, and lay there observing the empty space beside him before falling asleep.
Stephen awoke to the sounds of the city coming alive.
The idea of getting up and checking out the source of the sound was tempting, but it also seemed miles away.
He just laid there, wondering.
As time passed, the buzz sounded strangely festive, making it worthy enough.
He dragged his feet to the window. At first glance, he noticed downtown was taken over by blue and white hoardings. Something he’d missed during his reminiscing by the window last night. They were everywhere. He could see a sign that said Finish Line from his window.
It was the Friday prior to Boston Marathon.
One of the busiest weekends of the year in Boston. He’d completely forgotten about the event.
It was taxing enough watching the ocean of people flowing in both directions on the busy sidewalks. Most of them dressed professionally, headed to work. Stephen immediately felt out of place. He looked at his suit. Something he’d last worn when he’d started working in Houston many years ago.
Last night’s journey was still on him despite his efforts to brush it off with a leftover carton of cigarettes and a feeble effort at sleeping. Coercing himself every step of the way, Stephen got ready and went downstairs. As soon as he entered the breakfast area, a grandfather clock caught his attention.
9:47 AM.
With the interview starting in less than an hour, he had no other option left but to skip breakfast and call a cab. At the front desk, Stephen was notified of a thirty-five minute wait for a cab, six people already in line ahead of him.
He decided to wing it; instead of waiting for the cab he’d walk to the interview. Out of the hotel, he was greeted by orange barricades. They were everywhere, directing the marathon traffic and making it more crowded than usual.
Stephen picked up the pace as every passing minute was a sign that he was going to be late.
Then at the crosswalk sign—
Do Not Walk!
Stopped, he could do nothing but patiently wait along with others. A chance to catch his breath. Confirming he was not a runner by any means.
The sign turned to Walk! and Stephen cruised past people. He reached the halfway point when he noticed a familiar face. A face he’d known many years ago. A tall guy with blond hair, dressed neat, clean-shaven, and carrying an office bag.
It was a long-forgotten friend — Eric Smith.
It wasn’t that difficult to spot him in the herd. Eric wore a peculiar frame that only suited his round face. A familiar face right in the middle of an ocean of people.
He was seeing Eric after almost six years. There had been no trace of him — no social media, no text messages, no emails — nothing.
“Eric! What are you doing here?” Stephen shouted from a distance.
There was no response to his question as the guy continued to walk in the opposite direction.
“Eric Smith! Is that you?” Stephen tried to be as loud as possible, speculating that Eric might have headphones on. By this point he had turned and followed, curious. “Eric Smith! Hey! It’s me — ” Stephen saw the guy turn back before he could finish. Third time’s a charm. Eric’s face slowly lit up.
“Dude! What are you doing in Boston?” Eric responded in the most fluent way possible. There was no stutter, whatsoever, which had once defined his personality. It seemed to have vanished without leaving the slightest trace.
Eric’s smooth response caused Stephen to pause for a moment and process this transformation, but he quickly recovered.
“Here for an interview,” Stephen replied.
“Nice, where at?” Eric asked, again, no speech impediment.
“The Yogurt Place.”
“That’s amazing! It’s only a few blocks from here. But hey, are you not a little too sweltering for the occasion?” Eric asked jokingly.
Stephen chuckled, wiping the sweat from his forehead. But he found encouragement in Eric’s voice.
Rather than rushing, Stephen continued talking. There was a strange comfort in being able to express freely without any reservations. He felt like someone was lifting those heavy pounds off his shoulder. Something he’d carried since the day of his breakup with Rylee.
Eric listened rather impatiently as Stephen explained his state of mind.
“I am really sorry, but I’m running late for work. Good luck with your interview!” Eric politely interjected while looking at his fancy watch. Stephen caught sight of a bracelet sitting alongside Eric’s watch — it had an engraving that said VIPE.
“Oh yeah! I’m sorry. I lost track of time. I need to get going as well,” Stephen responded with his eyes still transfixed on the bracelet.
“Would you like to catch up in the evening or sometime tomorrow?” Stephen enquired with excitement.
“Give me your number so I can text you,” Eric responded as he took out his phone.
Stephen studied Eric as he noted down the number. Once stuttering, low in confidence Eric Smith had transformed into an extremely confident Bostonian.
They walked in opposite directions. Stephen couldn’t help but turn back and watch Eric as he continued his commute, until finally he melded into the crowd.
It was 10:31 AM when Stephen found himself panting in the lobby of The Yogurt Place. He was out of breath but there was a renewed excitement. He thought about his unexpected encounter with Eric who seemed so different but was also still the same Eric he’d known. Stephen craved a similar transformation. Maybe the Boston ambiance was the exact thing he needed.
As soon as the interview was over, Stephen checked his phone but there was nothing from Eric. Maybe the network was acting up with more people pouring into the city for the marathon.
Stephen started to walk back to the hotel. He’d not thought about Rylee all day, but those thoughts started creeping back.
He thought about Eric’s evasiveness as he stumbled upon new barricades and even more blue and white signs; the preparations for the marathon were reaching a high point.
Did I give him a wrong phone number, or did he just not save it properly?
These questions forcing him into the same hole Eric had pulled him out of that morning.
Stephen knew Eric from work in Houston. They’d both started on the same day. Eric was shy and didn’t talk much. His stutter was discovered during an introduction after a few days on the job. From then on no one took him seriously, people talked behind his back, making fun of his squinting while speaking habit.
Stephen was able to bond with him despite all of this.
He often took Eric out for lunches or to happy hour once in a while where Eric had opened up once or twice. He was an ambitious guy with dreams to become a business executive someday. He always talked about working in a building with a fancy office in some high-rise downtown.
Eric mostly remained reserved, but when he spoke genuinely, he faltered. He aspired to be normal and successful, but his anxiety over his stutter held him back.
One day Stephen came to work to find out Eric had left, leaving no trace. Not even a phone number.
The guy from today looked like the exact person Eric had aspired to become. The only question on Stephen’s mind was, how did he do it?
With a little bit of sun left in the day, Stephen took a stroll by the Charles River and the MIT campus.
Thoughts of Rylee popped up again and the fatigue from yesterday’s journey was creeping in. His desire to experience the young and brainy Boston was heading downhill.
As soon as he thought of winding down, he saw a bus with Cambridge written on it. He was getting hungry and had earlier looked up a few places to explore. So without pausing to talk himself out of it, he rushed towards the bus stop, hopping on the bus just in time.
Stephen pulled the yellow wire and got out at the square.
Walking along, a restaurant caught his notice. It looked pretty fancy with a lot of life around for this time of day. It boasted outside seating with a good view of the square.
Stephen decided to take his chances. As he approached a doorman whilst in line, he saw that same familiar face from this morning.
Eric. Again. What were the chances of that happening in a city with more than half a million people?
Eric was surrounded by some well-dressed people, engaged in a lively conversation with some good-looking ladies. Having known Eric for years, this type of situation was completely new.
Stephen pointed at Eric, letting the doorman know that he knew someone inside. The doorman went and checked but came back with the response: “Eric isn’t expecting company at this time”.
Stephen kept trying with the doorman, but his request was promptly denied.
Stephen couldn’t comprehend this rejection, he was certain it was Eric. But Eric had refused to meet him.
He suddenly felt exhausted, all the energy sucked out of him. He left for his hotel with the desire to eat diminished.
The usual downtown buzz from yesterday was replaced with cheering crowds. Stephen had the entire day freed up with a late-night flight back to Houston.
He went downstairs in his sweatpants with a coffee and stood by the orange barricades just outside the main lobby.
There was a pre-marathon event taking place for the local runners. A few hundred people cheering for their family and friends participating. It’d started to drizzle but that hadn’t changed people’s enthusiasm.
Stephen had the perfect view of the finish line. He got to witness the emotions of the runners sprinting to the finish line as they tried to shave a few seconds off their personal best.
All of a sudden he spotted Eric again. Stephen could hardly believe it. Eric was among the participants and running at a decent speed. People all around Stephen were cheering for Eric.
Eric’s support group were a jolly bunch from different age groups and ethnicities. They seemed different from those Eric had been hanging out with last night. Stephen noted that all of these people wore the same bracelet as Eric.
It seemed he’d established quite a social circle.
Stephen had the conundrum on his mind again.
Why did Eric suddenly disappear?
Why did he ignore me last night?
Why did he choose to move to Boston despite all his family being in the south?
These questions were just the beginning of his quest to rediscover Eric. Stephen tried to recall all the specifics from his encounter with him.
Why did he take so much time to respond?
Why does he not stutter or squint now?
It was as though Eric had … recalibrated himself while conversing.
Even the people who supported him acted differently compared to others in the crowd. Like drops of oil in water.
Stephen ran upstairs to his hotel room and began searching for Eric online. He looked up all social websites — Facebook, Instagram, Twitter — everything. There was absolutely no trace. Stephen called a few colleagues and asked them if they’d had any contact with Eric since he left. Some mentioned he was let go from a few other places after he quit from the same company he and Eric had worked for.
Stephen gathered Eric had a rough professional life. But then looking at Eric from yesterday, the way he was dressed and the mingling with some ship-shape individuals, was not adding up.
How did once struggling Eric change so much?
Stephen gripped his hand tighter around his phone in frustration. He needed a clue, something to cling to, to wrap his head around, to grip onto the way he gripped his phone —
The bracelet! The engraving VIPE.
All the people in the group downstairs cheering for Eric had the bracelets secured to their wrists too.
He started searching for VIPE online and was taken to what looked like a company website. Hubot Inc. The website seemed inactive, with no further way to trace it.
He searched Hubot, and stumbled upon an article in the Boston Chronicles from a few years back.
The company was doing tests on humans.
The article called their tests strictly non-medical and went on to say:
The first study of its kind where they captured people’s neural data over months. They set up a mechanism in the brain, which automatically altered a subject’s emotions and modified their actions in the event of stress.
Not just that, it kept them away from potential emotional hazards.
They called it a program to keep humans happy forever. That was their mission statement. And this article mentioned something disturbing … they needed volunteers.
Stephen traced the article and it had an update a few months after about a guy who successfully illustrated the characteristics of a happy person.
They called him Hubot.
With some more scavenging he found that the Boston City Council’s website had a mention of VIPE in some buried census excerpts. It stood for “Vulnerable Individuals Protected Entities”. The excerpts were hundreds of pages long with a few VIPE references that looked deliberately misplaced and incomplete.
There were many others like Eric. Likely the people cheering for him this morning.
After a few weeks back from Boston, Stephen got a call from the The Yogurt Place, and they offered him the job. He couldn’t decide and asked the hirers for more time.
He bumped into Rylee a couple of times, seeing right through her on each occasion.
That was it, he decided to accept the offer and move.
Stephen soon became one slick Bostonian. There were times when Stephen ran into Eric. He just smiled at him and Eric smiled back. Keeping their exchanges at that, brief.
Stephen made new friends and established his social circle. There was no Rylee in it — but he was content. He often hung out with people at fancy places downtown and in Cambridge.
He worked out regularly — running on the Memorial Drive during evenings and weekends.
A year went by in a flash. It was the Boston Marathon weekend. Something Stephen had witnessed, but this time he participated in the pre-marathon run. Knowing Eric was there somewhere. Maybe others like him too.
This time Stephen had a group of people cheering for him. They kept screaming his name as he reached the finish line.
As the race concluded, Stephen started to walk back to his apartment with plans to freshen up and celebrate the run. As he crossed Massachusetts Avenue, he heard someone call his name. It was a familiar voice. A voice he’d once adored.
Rylee kept calling for him, but he didn’t turn back.
Instead, he picked up the pace as the voice behind faded, and his bracelet beeped.
