{"id":308546,"date":"2026-03-26T07:10:00","date_gmt":"2026-03-26T11:10:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/electricliterature.com\/?p=308546"},"modified":"2026-03-26T10:10:01","modified_gmt":"2026-03-26T14:10:01","slug":"instructions-for-repairing-a-robot-black-boy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/electricliterature.com\/instructions-for-repairing-a-robot-black-boy\/","title":{"rendered":"Instructions for Repairing a Robot Black Boy"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
[1. TROUBLESHOOTING]<\/em><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Recently, I\u2019ve been distracted by the fact that all the Black men in my family are gone. I\u2019m the last one. And these dead guys won\u2019t leave me alone. Every essay, poem, and cryptic Facebook update for the past five months has veered into my obsession with them. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

What a joke it is to be haunted. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tell this to Josie, and she stares at me. I suspect half of her therapy schooling was spent honing this stare. It\u2019s dreadfully effective at getting me to run my mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I cave and eventually say, \u201cIt was either commitment issues, suicide, or white women.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou need to unmute, Mar.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

New-fashioned therapy. I was so excited for a virtual platform because\u2014and Josie would love that I\u2019m admitting this\u2014it\u2019s much easier to be vulnerable with the shield of an unstable connection, non-working camera, and therapist who isn\u2019t technically<\/em> licensed in your state.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Unmuting, I say, \u201cOh, my bad. I was saying that these family members either died by killing themselves, or abandoning their family, and\u2014well, my great-grandfather was actually shot because he was having an affair with this white woman.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I leave a dollop of quiet after I say that, trying my hand at the therapy stare. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

. . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I cave again. \u201cIt must run in the family. Claire is white.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

. . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n

. . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Damn, she\u2019s good. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

. . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd maybe there\u2019s something real to that. Maybe I\u2019m afraid\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMhm?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, yeah, you can probably guess what I\u2019m thinking.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can guess<\/em>, sure. But mind-reading isn\u2019t my gig.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tell her how these Black family men keep coming up for me. First, I call them distractions, then generational curses, then, \u201cI wonder what they were like.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Josie gives me a Buddhist anecdote before telling me, \u201cBeing the lone anything in your family can be a lot. When do these distractions happen?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

. . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On a Facebook video call, Mar tells Momma he\u2019s been officially diagnosed with depression.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

My computer desk sits in front of an open window. I\u2019m cold. No, frigid\u2014that\u2019s a better word. I often gaze at this same tree. Well, he\u2019s not much of a tree now. He looks like a map of a city\u2019s roads, his branches crisscrossing each other, with shrivels of pink flowers dotted about his wooden hands like sleeping butterflies\u2014oh, I see it now. My special tree looks like one of the online interactive maps I used while researching for essays. There are spatterings of pink dots along backroads, and if your cursor hovers over those spots, a picture of a hanged Black body, or a burned Black body, or beaten Black\u2014 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMar?\u201d Josie is still with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry. I get flashes of my great-grandfather\u2019s face. I don\u2019t see him literally,\u201d I say. \u201cI\u2019m not seeing things\u2014no need to worry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not worried at this particular point,\u201d Josie says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tell her my Granny kept a portrait of her father, \u201cLefty,\u201d atop her shelf collection of porcelain cows. It\u2019s been thirteen years since I\u2019ve been in the same room with that photo of Lefty, but I can envision him perfectly. In the picture, Lefty has a leather army jacket and motorcycle cap. He has pretty eyes, and I hate that I remember them. In 1954, he snuck around on my great grandma with a white woman. The white woman\u2019s brother gathered a few buddies to shoot Lefty at the end of his workday. I still can\u2019t find his pink dot on the map.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cMaybe I\u2019m so obsessed with this dude because I\u2019m dating a white woman,\u201d I say. \u201cThink I\u2019m onto something?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere\u2019s probably a reason this idea is coming up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

More staring. Only this time, I don\u2019t cave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019d like to try something I hardly ever do,\u201d she finally says. \u201cThere\u2019s something called writing therapy.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I perk up. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe can try this out if you\u2019re willing. Here\u2019s a prompt: Keep a diary\u2014or it could be one of your stories\u2014where you write your life in third person.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMar is afraid that\u2019ll make his head bigger than it already is,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMar shouldn\u2019t feel forced to try this. But if he did feel comfortable, Josie thinks he\u2019ll enjoy it. And this might stir up some different writing, so you won\u2019t have to keep\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBeating dead horses,\u201d I interrupt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat wouldn\u2019t have been my choice of phrasing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n
[2. HAVE MOMMA SLAP-TEST THE BATTERIES]<\/em><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Dear diary that only Josie reads, I tried telling my mom<\/s><\/p>\n\n\n\n

On a Facebook video call, Mar tells Momma he\u2019s been officially diagnosed with depression. Mar has battle plans depending on her reaction. He could tell her this was only cooked up by his therapist to screw over the insurance company.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

First, Momma says, \u201cBut what about all your accomplishments?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not sure that\u2019s how it works,\u201d Mar responds. \u201cIt\u2019s more like I don\u2019t like myself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, baby. But you\u2019re an amazing man. And I\u2019m so proud of you\u2014your Momma is so, so proud.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you, Momma.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

. . .     <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCan you do something that makes you happy? Are they going to get you meds for it?\u201d Momma\u2019s voice starts buffering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s really not that big a deal. I just feel cold sometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCold?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes\u2014maybe not cold, but numb, you know? Like a robot. I need to think<\/em> about feeling before acting it out. Does that make sense?\u201d Mar says (Josie, the third-person thing feels off. It\u2019s not my kind of dorky. Can I go by Robotman after the Doom Patrol <\/em>comics?).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, Momma gets that way from time to time, too.\u201d She stills. \u201cWhat about your writing? Isn\u2019t that going well?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy writing is\u2014to be honest, I\u2019m not sure anymore. Weirder,\u201d Robotman says (No, that doesn\u2019t feel right either).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAin\u2019t nothing wrong with weird, baby,\u201d Momma says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cVery true,\u201d Gizmo (now we\u2019re onto something) becomes closemouthed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gizmo sees Momma contemplating. She sighs, puffs, jitters, and grits her teeth. It\u2019s like watching an electron avalanche. Gizmo doesn\u2019t wish to say it, but her anxiousness peer pressures him. \u201cThis is probably all coming out of my situation with Claire,\u201d he beeps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre y\u2019all going through a rough patch?\u201d Momma calms. Now she has her answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, kind of. I told her I wanted to break up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAh. That\u2019s a rough patch, alright.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

. . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Momma says, \u201cDo you think you\u2019re dating the right sex\u2014are you gay, honey?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When Gizmo searches ‘How to cry as a Black man’ on TikTok, he finds a video with 1.3 million views.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, I don\u2019t think that\u2019s it.\u201d Gizmo proceeds to giggle. He wonders how long she has suspected her little machine was gay. He wonders why she didn\u2019t ask a more helpful question\u2014or maybe that question was helpful. What had he done to be so unknown to his own mother? Gizmo\u2019s last book was about Momma: learning grace from her and all other Black mothers across the country. It wasn\u2019t the best researched, it seems.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As he stops his giggle fit, he realizes this conversation will make its way into a future essay: She\u2019s the motherboard that keeps giving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

. . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid you hear me, Mar?\u201d Momma\u2019s question cuts through.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gizmo wasn\u2019t paying attention. Again. \u201cWhat\u2019s that, Momma?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaybe you need to get some more Black friends. Remember you\u2019re still Black.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Something crumples within Gizmo\u2019s chest. Gizmo squeezes his eyes in\u2014pain?<\/em> Maybe Gizmo can<\/em> feel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMar, I\u2019m for real; you\u2019re all the way up there. And white people make everyone feel lonely.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry,\u201d Gizmo says. \u201cYou know, there\u2019s only two other Black students in my grad program, and we\u2019re each separated by genre, so I never see them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s alright, baby. There\u2019s got to be someplace close to D.C. with some Black folk. Because you got to remember you\u2019re a Black man. And\u2014I know you love white girls\u2014but maybe look for a Black girl next time.\u201d Momma snickers, and Gizmo files the sound of it away. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Local Disk (D:) Internal Storage>>Essays>>>forFam|<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her_laugh_like_sweet_neighing.mp3| <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n
[3. RENEW ANTIVIRUS SUBSCRIPTION]<\/em><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Claire does not want to break up with Gizmo. She asks him to give their relationship a chance, to fight for it. \u201cAfter we moved here, we stopped going on dates\u2014that\u2019s the problem.\u201d Claire is sure about this. \u201cThis happens all the time to couples. Let\u2019s try dating again.            Please.              Please.             Mar, I love you. Say something,           please.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

. . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gizmo accepts the terms of the agreement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Six days later, Gizmo is on a Smithsonian date with Claire. After a selfie with C-3PO and R2, Gizmo and Claire\u2019s silhouettes hold hands under a Barnum and Bailey banner with elephants balanced on beachballs. Each elephant\u2019s eye is too honest. Gizmo can\u2019t bear looking into those dots of ink that form their irises. He imagines the elephants whispering, \u201cYes, we really were whipped until our trunks flourished convincingly for the crowd. Yes, humans, we really were true.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire disrupts Gizmo\u2019s trance to say, \u201cI can\u2019t believe we did this to those animals. Let them get away with doing this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gizmo\u2019s teeth grind with desperation. He wants to tell her so many things at once, like: This section of the museum really is hilarious; only nine paces away from here\u2014from Prince\u2019s guitar and a circus poster\u2014there is a room no one stays in for long where recordings of famous minstrel performances loop.<\/em> And also: Isn\u2019t it funny<\/em> you just said \u201cwe.\u201d<\/em> And also: What\u2019s the hard part to believe\u2014that the We had the idea or that the We were able to realize their fantasy? All so that the We could cackle and awe at what can be made possible with a master, slave, and bullwhip. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But those words would come across far more combative than Gizmo would hope, and it\u2019s so damn difficult to be articulate when he looks into her eyes. So, instead, Gizmo says, \u201cI know. Shit was wild.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/em>They skip the Jim Crow show to marvel at Captain America\u2019s shield. In person, its white stripe is gunmetal grey. The Handmaid\u2019s Tale<\/em> dress stares down at Claire like a weeping angel. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRealer every day with Roe v. Wade,\u201d she says. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gizmo likes Claire\u2019s speech. She is accidentally musical when she\u2019s bleak. They make their way to a shrine of PBS heroes. Claire maraca-bounces her head and sings along to the \u201cwon\u2019t you be my neighbor\u201d <\/em>coming from the speakers. In a photograph above a red, hand-knit cardigan, they see Mr. Rogers dipping his toes in a kiddie pool with Officer Clemmons. Claire catches Gizmo lingering on this photo longer than he should. \u201cThere are so many Black cops on TV,\u201d he says. Gizmo is not sure why he says this out loud, but kudos to Claire for the respectful nod in response. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

As they *click click<\/em>* past Dorothy\u2019s slippers, Gizmo is startled that he can\u2019t wipe Officer Clemmons\u2019s face from his vision. There was something about his face\u2014 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

(There I go again, Josie. My distractions.) <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Officer Clemmons bears a resemblance to Gizmo\u2019s great-grandfather: the bountiful glean on his cheeks, the sepia pupils. Though Lefty was lynched before he could grow grey hairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou hungry?\u201d Claire speaks. \u201cNot sure if we should eat here. It\u2019s probably the most expensive cafeteria food you\u2019ll ever see in your life.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

And Gizmo is glad Claire said something, because, \u201cYou\u2019re so right, and there\u2019s this awesome place called Busboys and Poets on 5th<\/sup>.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

[disk management(C:) software.exe| popup_block_fail. Didn\u2019t Uncle Pete write poetry? The one who shot himself in his bedroom. His momma\u2019s shotgun. Never realized the Hemingway connection.]<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBusboys and Poets?\u201d Claire asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah\u2014they have books. And food.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

Leaving the museum, Gizmo and Claire pass a street performer bludgeoning a steaming-hot tempo against the winter air. He\u2019s a paint pail riot thudding from the sidewalk. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFuck me\u2014he\u2019s amazing.\u201d Oddly erotic phrasing, but Gizmo couldn\u2019t have gathered more truthful words. \u201cI have a ten. I feel bad he\u2019s beating his hands that hard in the cold.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gizmo gives Claire the bill, and she bows after placing it in the performer\u2019s hat. She bows like this is her performance. The drummer starts howling a thank you song\u2014fiddling the spellbound chords within his throat. He\u2019s so young and yet he sounds like a medieval war siren. His voice is so graveled and textured that you could touch the rivulets it leaves in the air\u2014run your fingers over the sound as one flips through albums in a record store. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gizmo says, \u201cOtis Redding. That\u2019s who he sounds like.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire says, \u201cAh, I love Otis Redding\u2014grew up listening to him with Dad.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The drummer\u2019s song bellows behind the two as they walk up the sidewalk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cReally?\u201d Gizmo can\u2019t hide his shock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes!\u201d Claire\u2019s voice heightens over the drummer. \u201cDidn\u2019t expect a white girl to have grown up on Otis, did you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m starting to expect the unexpected with you.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

[disk management(C:) software.exe| popup_block_fail. When I was a boy, I imagined all the disappeared Black men in my family would have voices like Otis Redding, Sam Cooke, and Marvin Gaye.]<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHa. What a writer thing to say. You\u2019re also unexpected.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

[disk management(C:) software.exe| popup_block_fail. Grandma told me her brother, my Uncle Rat, was killed by a log truck. He was driving too fast behind the truck when the trucker hit the brakes. The log sawed through his Impala, and parts of him. Granny said Rat was funny, so I gave him the voice of James Brown in the stories she\u2019d share.]<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cBeing a writer is definitely<\/em> unexpected,\u201d Claire says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

[disk management(C:) software.exe| popup_block_fail. Such a dramatic way to die. Why couldn\u2019t he have been like Mr. Perkins and simply left his family in the middle of the afternoon? Our family loves its flair for dramatics. Then, there\u2019s what happened with Uncle Rat\u2019s son: my cousin Derek. He overdosed on\u2014what was it again?]<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The paint pails are still thrumming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid you find something in there to write about?\u201d Claire\u2019s eyes hook into Gizmo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMm. Yes, yes, I think so. I might try my hand at non-fiction,\u201d Gizmo says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paint pails thrumming. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, really? How will you manage not to lie?\u201d Claire pokes his arm in a delightful way. [disk management(C:) software.exe| popup_block_fail. I remember thumbing through the box of Lefty\u2019s vinyl stored in Granny\u2019s closet to recover a trove of the unsung and unscratched.]<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been writing about my family, but I know so little that it might as well be fiction, you know? I basically only know how they died.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paint pails thrumming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCould I read some?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Do you think they cried? All the disappeared Black men who share my round cheeks and songful eyes.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

[disk management(C:) software.exe| popup_block_fail. My great-grandfather was shot nine times for dating a white woman. He\u2019s still thrumming. My uncles wanted to die and did something about it. Thrumming. Thrumming. Lonely little Black boy, Truth is the executioner\u2019s blade kissing your nape.]<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOnly if you want to share, of course,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

Gizmo never shared his essays with Claire, because he thought they\u2019d be a healthier couple without those hard conversations about race dominating their time together (which is why I\u2019m not sure this essay will help me, Josie. Writing has always been my hiding place).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This would be a fair time for Gizmo to dig into why he broke up with Claire, why he\u2014out of the blue\u2014saw her more as a friend than a future wife. But if Gizmo wants this to be non-fiction, the truer question\u2014the non-rhetorical question\u2014would be about the drumming. Gizmo has honest questions about the drumming. So let\u2019s go back to that afternoon, with the paint pail man and that sound. What if it wasn\u2019t really paint buckets? What if it were hooves? What if Gizmo turned around to see the street drummer on a horse? What if he would see a lynching rope in one hand of the drummer? Then, Gizmo might have seen the eyes he hadn\u2019t noticed before. His eyes were sepia and glossy-burned. What if it was a daymare, and the drummer started galloping toward Gizmo, howling a strange laughter. Would this have been too obvious?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n
[4. SCAN FOR MALWARE]<\/em><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Auntie called young Gizmo \u201clittle nigga\u201d and \u201cwhite boy\u201d depending on the situation. Mixed inputs scrabbled his mind. Before his mother came back into Gizmo\u2019s life, Auntie raised him. Momma, then Granny, then Auntie, then Momma\u2019s second go\u2014three Black women he\u2019d trot between. All the hurt these women endured, and they\u2019d never tried therapy. Gizmo wants to recommend it to them, but he\u2019s fearful about Auntie\u2019s reaction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gizmo admits he was hesitant, too. He never considered therapy an option until Claire proposed it. Claire convinced Gizmo therapy could overwrite his decision to leave 28 days after they moved in together, 28 days after they U-Hauled from Texas to start grad school together. Normal people don\u2019t change their minds that quickly. Gizmo was malfunctioning. After all, he only applied to George Mason\u2014was only here\u2014because it was near Claire\u2019s dream university. They had been together for nearly two years. What switched inside Gizmo? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire pulled up \u201cZocdoc: Find a Doctor\u201d on Gizmo\u2019s desktop one evening after his writing center training. On the intake form, it asked something to the effect of, \u201cDo you have any idea what\u2019s wrong with you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy yes, I think I do, Doctor Zoc,\u201d Gizmo typed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gizmo remembers (and you already know this, Josie) putting that he felt like a robot. For his whole life, people have seemed too . . . fleshy<\/em>. Gizmo doesn\u2019t understand how people can feel so deeply. After he told Claire about \u201chis feelings\u201d that they\u2019d be better as friends, she cried in such a red-faced way. She was crying for them both. He couldn\u2019t even well up one dry eye. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire asked Gizmo when he last cried. He said, \u201cElementary school. I fell playing kickball.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not normal, Mar. That\u2019s not normal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

A list of Black men Gizmo has seen cry: Barack Obama, Idris Elba on Hot Ones<\/em>, Michael Jordan in that meme, Chadwick Boseman\u2019s Black Panther after his father was bombed, Will Smith in situations involving Jada Pinkett Smith.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When Gizmo searches \u201cHow to cry as a Black man\u201d on TikTok, he finds a video with 1.3 million views of a groom seeing his bride for the first time. The title: \u201cBlack Man Trying Not to Cry.\u201d The groom\u2019s tuxedo is made of pearls, and his lineup is devastatingly gorgeous\u2014it\u2019s one of those hall-of-fame cuts the barber would put on their wall. There is a warning that this video is \u201cvery emotional.\u201d The groom cries so profusely at the sight of his wife that his neck glistens. Gizmo recalls that he and Claire would watch Burn Notice <\/em>back when the love was mutual, and she\u2019d mimic a tactic from the dangerous woman dating the stoic man on screen: She\u2019d threaten with a smile. \u201cYou better cry at our wedding,\u201d she\u2019d say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\u2019d play his part. \u201cOf course I will. Even if it\u2019s only one tear. It\u2019ll be one big tear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

[disk management(C:) software.exe| popup_block_fail. Do you think they cried? All the disappeared Black men who share my round cheeks and songful eyes. Or do you think they swigged their lives down like Irish car bombs with stoney faces? According to my family\u2019s women, they\u2019d often leave in autumn when even the trees were indecisive about what direction to die in. I have this fantasy where our family\u2019s men are free-range horses: one of two expressions, engineered for running, heartbeats so strong they\u2019d strip skin off the palm of anyone who put a hand to their chest. In the fantasy, there\u2019s only the simplicity of what we are, not what we\u2019ve been trained for.]                                                        <\/p>\n\n\n\n

[SYSTEM ERROR] <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Josie, Gizmo is getting uncomfortable. Gizmo is getting uncomfortable with sleeping. He takes caffeine pills to stay up all night to write this essay or doom scroll for instructions. [SYSTEM COLLAPSE] He can feel his heart now. He wants to [Esc] with humor; how will he [Fn] with a disease his body has no willingness to fight? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nina Simone\u2019s voice stands like a gargoyle in each corner of this dark living room. Gizmo has lied to Claire that he needs to sleep on the couch. It\u2019s 2am. He is writing this with music in his earbuds at his desk. Claire opens their bedroom door. He is whispering binary and dictating pop-ups when Claire catches him. She will soon give up the repair effort. She lingers through the chill melody of the room to reach him, asks for his promise to stay in therapy\u2014to stay even after he leaves. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

[6. REBOOT]     <\/em><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Two years after the breakup, they will both be much happier. Gizmo will still feel guilty. Though it will be nice to know he\u2019s feeling<\/em>. Gizmo will move in with fellow grad students: poets, who\u2014he will come to understand\u2014are big fans of crying. And he\u2019ll love that. On a fall day, they will invite Gizmo to a nearby park to write. Katey will point to a tree splotched with color, and say something blissfully macabre: \u201cIn autumn, things are either dead or dying beautifully.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that will lead Gizmo back to his desk, to his window, to his tree, still dotted with pink. He\u2019ll scribble verses where kids climb it, play pirate ship.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Youth is such a scarcity for a Black child.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Under this circus tent, performing Blackness is worth more on the market than the lives of its performers.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

The pirate children will find stick swords, launch into their \u201cen gardes,\u201d and he will watch them from a distance. He will build an imaginary castle wall around joy to sit outside and stare through its cracks, pushing his eyeballs in like quarters slotted through a gumball machine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eyes again. Always the eyes.<\/em> That obsession came after Gizmo\u2019s mother swore you\u2019d always be able to spot a lying man by their eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

[disk management(C:) software.exe| popup_block_fail. Except Claire. She couldn\u2019t spot it in my eyes. And when I nightdream my younger self playing in a tree with other kids, they can\u2019t either.]<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n
[7. CALL SUPPORT]<\/em><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Gizmo never<\/s><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Josie, I never finished the essay. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stopped coming to therapy because I was afraid you would tell me I shouldn\u2019t feel guilty. I was afraid of confronting defense mechanisms, and masking, and core beliefs, and pre-screenings for ASD, and moralizing, and hearing you say that there\u2019s no instruction manual on repairing a robot Black boy. I was afraid you\u2019d be warm when you asked me to do an imaginative exercise in which I speak to my younger self and realize it\u2019s much easier to be kind to him because I don\u2019t feel guilty about him\u2014I feel sorry for him. I feel sorry for him because he\u2019s just a lonely kid trying to survive. Because he didn\u2019t choose any of that for himself. Then you would ask me how I\u2019m feeling, and I would say, \u201cI don\u2019t know. I can\u2019t decide if I\u2019m better because I feel<\/em> better or because I can rationally prove why I should<\/em> feel better. And maybe I would finally let you read this, and let you ask, \u201cWould a robot feel all this\u2014\u201d    feel all this                feel             feel    <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

I thought I needed to be something steel and indelicate. I\u2019m only 22, and I\u2019m running out of family examples of living through this. Cousin Derek and Uncle Rat didn\u2019t make it to 24 because, under this circus tent, performing Blackness is worth more on the market than the lives of its performers. <\/strong>To ringmasters, even dead elephants are worth their weight in ivory. That\u2019s why I made the decision to come back to therapy; maybe I can be an example for those not yet here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Working on myself, I won\u2019t want to repeat the same mistakes and lies with Rachel (my deus ex machina). Tomorrow evening, she and I will attend a \u201cDining with Baldwin: Culinary Homage with Jessica Harris\u201d event at the National Museum of African American History. It will be hard chowing down in front of folk I don\u2019t know, but Dr. Harris will remind me of Granny. Rachel has turned me on to Ethiopian jazz, which we will listen to on our drive. She will tell me these songs remind her of Sundays in her home country. I\u2019ll let her look into my eyes, and hope she trusts me when I say the songs remind me of a family I have not met. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

Josie, you told me that writing what I\u2019d like to witness in my dreams before going to bed may help avoid nightmares. So here goes:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Outside cookout. Not too hot. The grill whistles like a steamboat, and the kids blow bubbles in each other\u2019s faces. Granny is showing Uncle Rat (ever the impatient one) how to sop his injera in doro wat without it falling apart. Momma is raising hell with Lefty because he\u2019s a horrible domino partner. Derek is trying to convince Auntie and Uncle Pete that the tere siga is fine to eat raw. I\u2019m\u2014as always\u2014overdoing it on the berbere, so Rachel offers to feed it to me. There is the sway of old pine. She and I go back-and-forth: She feeds me, I feed her. I look into her eyes, and she looks into mine.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[1. TROUBLESHOOTING] Recently, I\u2019ve been distracted by the fact that all the Black men in my family are gone. I\u2019m the last one. And these dead guys won\u2019t leave me alone. Every essay, poem, and cryptic Facebook update for the past five months has veered into my obsession with them.  What a joke it is […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1807,"featured_media":308557,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[85,6181],"tags":[6248,6211,178,148,94],"class_list":["post-308546","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-essay","category-personalnarrative","tag-bipoc","tag-black-author-2","tag-family","tag-masculinity","tag-relationships"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nInstructions for Repairing a Robot Black Boy - Electric Literature<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"For my whole life, people have seemed too fleshy. 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