Karen

         We met in college, sitting next to each other in an English course. Immediately hitting it off we became study buddies and she would come over once a week. When we graduated and pursued our careers our friendship remained strong, even blossomed. She was in my wedding, hosted my baby showers, and was even in the delivery room when all three of my children were born. My kids call her Auntie Karen, and she bakes the best cookies I've ever tasted. She's always there when I need her, a shoulder to cry on when my dad passed away, and moral support when my husband left.

         But I've never seen her use the bathroom. She doesn't even go in to the bathroom. The late nights up drinking, playing endless rounds of Uno and smoking enough pot to throw an elephant into shock. Never once would she get up to use the bathroom.

         I remember most vividly when I had the bathroom gutted. All the old stuff ripped out, fresh paint, new fixtures, copper pipes, the whole nine yards. When I took her in to see she stared at all the fresh and gleaming silver, porcelain and tile with a slightly bemused look on her face. Fingering the towels absently, she simply said, "Nice."

         My kids were in college themselves, the youngest having moved into the dorm just a week before. Sitting in my empty house, staring at the television and sipping a glass of wine, reveling in my newfound freedom while simultaneously lamenting the loss of my children, I began to wonder. I called Karen and asked if she'd like to get together, relive the old days with a few beers and a few hands of Uno. Laughing she agreed and I called my oldest son, asking him where I could score some weed.

         Karen arrived shortly after the dealer, a shifty-eyed young man who seemed nervous about dealing to me but nonetheless happy for the business. We dusted off the old bong and settled around the coffee table, sitting Indian Style, cracking open beers and reintroducing our lungs to an old friend.

         Within hours we were in that blissful land of intoxication, caution thrown to the wind. Memory lane was a happy place that evening, and we were glad to be walking it together. I packed another bowl and passed the bong to Karen, grabbing one of her famous chocolate chip cookies off the plate sharing our space on the table.

         As she exhaled slowly and handed the still smoldering bong to me I took a chance.

         "Karen?"

         "Hmm?"

         She looked up from her cards, her pupils dilated and a hazy smile on her face.

         "How come you never go to the bathroom?"

         She looked puzzled and slowly set down her cards.

         "What do you mean?"

         "The bathroom Karen, the bathroom. I've never, in all the years we've known each other, seen you even go into a bathroom. Not here, not at parties, nowhere, never. Why not?"

         "Why would I?"

         I choked on the smoke I had just inhaled, coughing and gasping for breath. Taking a deep swig of my beer I stared at her.

         "What do you mean why would you? You don't piss?"

         "Piss?"

         "Urinate Karen, relieve yourself? Pee, piss, tinkle, wee-wee. Do you even shit?"

         She began to look uncomfortable.

         "You changed my children's diapers, you helped me to potty train them. You know what the fuck I'm talking about."

         I was beginning to get annoyed.

         "Oh." She smiled sheepishly at me and pulled the bong across the table, tamping down the charred weed with the end of the lighter.

         "I don't have the necessary equipment. I guess it's a design flaw."

         She took a large hit and held it for a moment, then tilted her head back and blew the smoke above our heads in half a dozen perfectly formed rings.

         "A design flaw?"

         "Yeah. When they made me they forgot to include elimination. I never thought to go into the bathroom since I don't need it, I suppose I should have. I could have hung out for a couple of minutes, flushed the toilet, washed my hands. But it just seemed like a waste of time." She pushed the bong back across the table and handed me the lighter. I clutched them, bong in one hand, lighter in the other and just stared at her, mouth agape.

         "Made you?"

         "Yeah."

         "Who made you?"

         "I don't really know to tell you the truth. The government I suppose. I'm just a preliminary model. From what I understand the newer models are much more advanced and include the elimination function."

         She took a drink from her beer, draining the bottle and adding it to the cluster of empties at one end of the table. Standing she asked, "You want another beer?"

         Glancing at my nearly empty bottle I nodded, then hit the bong, holding in the smoke for nearly a minute before slowly exhaling. She came back in and handed me a fresh, open bottle.

         "So what are you, Karen?"

         I finished my beer and began on the new one. Somehow I knew that I would need more alcohol if I was going to be able to handle what she was about to tell me.

         "I'm a robot."

         I nodded slowly and set down the beer. "A robot."

         "Yes. I'm a CX-2, I believe there are four of us still in operation. Originally there were twelve but the other eight have either been destroyed or have broken down due to self neglect."

         She took another hit off the bong, clearing the bowl, and calmly packed another. Handing me the bong she smiled.

         "I thought you knew."

         I shook my head, staring at her in disbelief.

         "Every month I go in for upgrades. They fiddle with my programming, download new information and alter my physical appearance. They've made me taller, given me wrinkles and even made my boobs sag!" She laughed and set down a card, "Uno!"

         I set down a draw four, "Blue."

         "This isn't going to change things between us is it?"

         She put down a blue four and looked at me, concern painting her features.

         I took a hit and stared at my cards while I exhaled, thinking things through. She'd been my best friend for a quarter of a century, and she was a robot. Taking a deep breath I lay down a blue skip, "Uno."

         I looked at Karen for a moment and all our time together flashed through my mind. Change things? I set down my last card, a yellow skip.

         "As long as I continue to age better than you, I don't see anything changing between us. Besides, you make the best damn cookies in the universe."

         With that, I picked up another cookie and took a huge bite.