I lay in the grim, gray dampness of the ward, among the grumbling numbers of tortured souls. Their sleep is never more settled than the hours they spend awake here, scraping slippers along the cement floors of the institution that confines them. I find it hard to slumber in the night, much better to nod away the daylight.
Once the nurses have retired I will rise, scurry down the hall in my bare feet, and meet the warm body of my accomplice. There I will commit the mortal sin that keeps me sane in spite of all that surrounds me. She has kept our secret thus far, although there is some murmuring now that has me wondering what trouble may await. No matter, tonight I will again tempt fate.
Aside from the stray squeak of my flesh, my travel down the corridor is without incident as it always has been. Once the lights are out they prefer to ignore the silence, even if they know it conceals a misdeed. Soon the warmth of her body will be pressed against my own chilled flesh, and liberation from this place will be embraced if only for a few hours before sunrise.
She is so glad to accept me into her bed, the modestly dangerous comfort of our dalliance shared between us. I smell the lye soap on the nape of her neck, and the sweetness of her breath as she exhales. It feels as if I have arrived to rescue her from despair, a heroic figure if only in my dreams.
We are both tired, the carnal pleasure we sometimes indulge distant from our minds. Instead we seek the embrace and the sound comfort it delivers. The room, the ward, the entire asylum is quiet save the occasional whimper of troubled repose. Soon this indisputably lovely moment leads me to the precipice of sleep, beyond which my mind wanders into the colorful reaches of existence imagined.
I emerge this time in a candlelit room, not a corner of it luminescent beyond the red flickering light, bustling with the activity of devoted staff who hurry to meet the needs of distinguished clientele. I am already seated at a perfectly appointed table, waiting for someone to arrive and join me in this replete splendor.
Finally she comes, a glorious sight on the whole, each individual element of her revealing beauty on close inspection. A lovely vision, I rush to stand from my befuddled amazement, but she assertively draws the chair away from the table and joins me in only a moment.
Almost simultaneously her right hand lifts from her pocket a device that is at once curious and familiar, foreign and expected. She examines it, caresses it with appreciation, smiles upon it, and places it on the table. I am suddenly aware of the fact that in front of me rests an object of similar dimension and appearance. The two placed across from one another just as we sit at either side of the table.
Almost with regret, she lets go the item with a sigh, and I am shocked to realize the phone also sighs as she releases it. Her sadness at disengaging from this little beast is not satisfied by her eyes meeting mine. On the contrary she seems thoroughly disappointed at the exchange. In spite of this she looks to me, offers a compensatory smile, and then asks simply, "How are you doing?"
Not waiting for a response, her attention turns to the menu at her left hand. The waiter approaches. She asks for only a glass of white wine. His eyes turn to me, and I say I am satisfied with my cup of black coffee. He attempts to hide a sneer, turns to her and smiles, before rapidly departing to fetch the elegant stemware filled just so with the delicate beverage she has selected.
Again her eyes turn to me, and I am left to contemplate my predicament under the growing pressure of her gaze. Oh that I might satisfy her with something, but alas it is becoming more clear that this will end badly. I make an effort to interest her in my life, in my being, but her fingers keep reaching gently toward her phone, which in the most curious mammalian fashion seems to creep toward the touch of her long, beautiful fingers. My phone too is behaving strangely, it seems to subtly nod and quietly whinny with excitement.
No matter, our conversation is boring and predictable. I begin to sense that she has told me this anecdote on more than one occasion before now, and come to accept her disinterest in me. My appreciation for her has not wavered though, and this clearly satisfies her in some way. As much as there is not an ounce of curiosity in her for me, my unbridled admiration allows for a few more moments together.
The glass of wine now consumed, she excuses herself from the table. Making her way across the room, acknowledging the appreciative glances of men along the way, while I sit and gaze at the pink knuckles of my fingers contemplating. Quite suddenly I notice that the two mammal-like phones are heaving and writhing in a heap of technologically enhanced flesh at the center of the table.
Stunned, I am unable to immediately act to separate them. Then I am jarred from my baffled amazement by the shriek of my companion who is reaching emotionally for the phone she had so gently placed on the table a half an hour ago. Tearfully clutching her precious living, breathing device, she looks at me and utters the words, "How could you, this wasn't supposed to happen."
Staring blankly, I am not surprised when she abruptly turns and walks away. Similarly I am less than shocked when the waiter appears with our check. I pay, gather my odd, furry little phone from the table and emerge in the street of an unfamiliar city. Walking among the crowds before turning to ascend a flight of narrow stairs. I fumble for keys, open a door, fall into a chair and press the buttons of a remote to dissolve my confusion with the familiar comfort of the television.
To my amazement the suited newsman sitting before me has a picture of my funny little furry companion bordered with a box to the left of him on the screen. It seems there is a recall. This latest of high minded achievements, the hybridization of warm blooded beast and technological appliance, has begun to exhibit an unanticipated proclivity to procreate.
Strange as this seems it is not the least of it. The manufacturer and the patent holder of this modern miracle has filed an injunction to prevent any current owner from allowing the consequence of copulation to come to full term. Therefore, anyone who is in possession of an impregnated device must return it immediately so that it can undergo the procedures necessary to protect the patents.
Furthermore, all mammalphones must be delivered to the point of purchase so that the vulnerable or offending organs can be removed and or modified. All assurances are granted that the creatures will be returned in full working order and without modification beyond their capacity to produce more of themselves.
My phone rings. I place its warm and seemingly satisfied form against my face to hear the sobbing voice of my companion from the cafe. "See what you have done?" she says, "this is all your fault." The sobbing continues briefly, but soon all I hear is the faint breath of my little mammalphone.
The breathing is interrupted by the savage tone of the morning nurse, who roughly tears my companion from my arms, as she verbally chastises me for my improprieties. "See the trouble you have caused?" she says to me. "your little friend here is pregnant, but we will take care of that, in fact she will never have to worry about this sort of thing again!"
The nurse has me by the elbow now, and is marching me down the corridor from the women's ward in this asylum to the men's. I am still struggling to emerge from my sleep and the dream, and wondering how long it will be before an odd little device like that one exists, and if such an obvious flaw will be detected before an unfortunate event like the one in my dream actually occurs. Short of that, I am struggling to understand my own circumstances, and what it will be like if I am denied the warm embrace of my companion, without her touch my drab life is without meaning.