Samantha sighed happily as she flopped into the passenger seat of my car at the end of the night. She ran her fingers through her long, blonde hair, then leaned the seat back as she settled in. She put her feet up on the dash, crossing her legs and closing her eyes. “Thank God that’s over,” she muttered. “Larry was a terror tonight. I don’t know what got into him, but he was yelling at everyone. ‘Cept you, of course.”

I shrugged, not really understanding the interactions between my fellow coworkers and our contemptible boss. They were all baffling to me, Larry no more than the rest. “Maybe he was stressed since we were so busy.”

“Busy?” she snorted. “Red, it’s Monday.”

Her sarcastic tone told me that this was yet another comment that made me sound like a Transformer. “Right,” I hazarded. “A busy Monday.”

Samantha rolled her eyes. “It’s never busy on Mondays. He was yelling like it was Saturday dinner rush.” 

Not busy on Mondays? I wonder how insane Saturday will be, I thought. I had felt unbelievably busy all night, making more trips tonight than I would have in months as a fire truck. Yet I’d never been bothered by the constant trips. People needed pizza before they died - or so I’d gathered, after so many of our customers told me they were starving. It had become a point of pride for me as the night had gone on - I may not be saving people from fires, but I was still bringing them life. 

“You gonna take me home?” Samantha asked. “Or are we going to sit here all night? If you’re going to keep spacing off, I’m going to find something to do.” She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, turning her gaze to it. Once again, she began sliding her thin fingers along the edges of the little device. When her finger reached the charging port, she paused, shuddering slightly. She reached down and grabbed the long cord sticking out of the aux power outlet, touching the end with her fingertip. After a moment, she plugged the cord into her phone and I swore I heard her gasp.

Bemused, I turned on the car, gripping the steering wheel tightly as the Camaro thrummed beneath me. “You really like phones,” I said, pulling the car into the street.

“Almost as much as you love your car.”

She had a point. The ZL-1 was the first car that I’d ever lusted after, a beauty completely unattainable for a boxy fire engine like myself. No matter how good I had been at my job, I’d never thought to share this amount of intimacy with one, even if I’d been sent to the Great Scrapheap. 

Perhaps fate was not such an asshole after all. 

Once I got on the road, I found that I knew where to go to take her home, even though I’d never been there before. It wasn’t far away, but I took my time getting her back. As we stopped in front of her apartment, I cleared my throat. “Thanks for putting up with me. I’ve not been myself today.”

Samantha giggled. “I’ve never seen you so out of sorts before. It’s kind of refreshing knowing that you have those days, too. You’re usually the most put together person I know. ” 

“I used to feel that way,” I said softly, thinking back to the real me. Mechanical precision to the sixteenth of an inch. Metal parts that fit exactly where they were needed. Machines and gears and pistons that moved only when needed and exactly how much they needed to. I had been a shining example of a well-oiled machine. A beacon of American design at the peak of American perfectionism. 

But now I was human. Things were as far from mechanical precision as they could possibly be. I leaked fluids randomly throughout the day. Air and excrement fell out from more than one place. My skin was so soft and fragile, moving and flexing in unnatural ways. My entire existence depended on so many organs working in harmony, and yet every individual part was so weak. I felt like a strong gust of wind might blow me to pieces.

Samantha caught the wistful note in my voice. “I know exactly how you feel, Red,” she said softly, reaching over and giving my leg a reassuring squeeze, just below the hem of my all-black skirt. 

I gasped at the feathery touch of her fingers. My stomach clenched and I felt a strange fluttering in my lower abdomen. Her touch was so utterly unlike anything that I, Red-1, Indestructible Machine, had ever known. Not even a good sponge wash from my firefighters had felt as good. Fresh, viscous oil hadn’t set my engine thumping anything like what she had done to my heart. Our eyes met for a moment, and I felt my mouth go dry.

What in the seven boneyards was that?

Samantha winked at me, pulling her hand from my leg as she opened the door. She swung her legs out of the car, and I found myself staring at her. She turned around and smiled at me. “Are we still on for a movie tomorrow?”

I nodded numbly, my mind still reeling at the thought of her touch. “After work?"

“Red… We’re closed on Tuesdays. Are you… you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

Whoops. “Right,” I said, trying not to look like a fire-truck in the headlights. “A joke. Ha ha.”

“You’re lucky you are so damn hot, Red, cause you’re really weird, ya know? I like it, though. Gives my boring days a bit of a spark.” She waved, then turned and headed inside. 

I reached down and touched my thigh where Samantha’s hand had been, my heart still thumping in my chest. My fingers felt just as soft as hers had, but there was something missing. It just felt like… skin. What had she done to me to jump my engine straight into the red? Maybe that’s what she meant by giving her a spark, I thought. It sure felt like I’d been shocked, but it really could have meant anything. I was beginning to suspect that being a human meant I would understand them even less than I had as a truck. 

There was one thing I understood, though. Nobody else I’d met today had done that to me. Not even a little bit.

“What do you say to a bit of a drive tonight?” I asked my car, patting the dashboard. I owed her a trip out to the freeway so she could really fly.

Besides - I had some thinking to do.