Now Playing: Stranger in a Room – Jamie xx

It’s the morning. A few stray rays of sunlight end up coating my eyelids, bringing me out of sleep and back into my damp mattress. There aren’t any sounds coming from outside – the howling sandstorm is long gone, as are the distant explosions of meteors crashing into the Earth. I lay perfectly still, careful not to flex any muscles in my back or shoulders, mostly out of fear of worsening the already miserable cramps. I begin to problem-solve. I shimmy my torso to the right until I can just barely turn the electric kettle on with my outstretched foot, from where I should be able to grab the mug closest to the mattre-

…

It takes about 10 minutes of various stretches before the shooting pain in my shoulder blade begins to subside. My posture is already abysmal, what with the hours of radio presenting I do while slouching, so last night’s bout of pulling a metal pod across kilometers of sand was a death sentence from the start. Even worse than that, I can’t find any loose tea bags mixed in with all the clutter on the floor, and I haven’t the faintest idea where the metal tin I used to keep them in is hiding. So, for now, I’m drinking a cup of hot water for breakfast, while my upper back muscles fight to rearrange my spine. Fantastic. The drink feels coarse as I take a sip. Standing perfectly still, I can feel my brain wandering back towards sleep, but it’s being kept in check by the stranger in my room. Ever since the sun’s come up, the frozen woman has been in my peripheral vision, just in the corner of the dilapidated room. Although, it’d be more accurate to say that the tube is – I must’ve turned the whole thing around to face the wall last night, probably to avoid the light blue light emanating off of it. I set my cup on the floor, and begin twisting the machine the right way around.

…

Something is very wrong. I was supposed to be working on a new playlist to stream live on air today. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks. I even risked my life yesterday to visit a record store just to get some new material. But instead, I’m hunched over, and actually using a broom and dustpan to clean my room. Even if I’m not looking at her directly, I have not been able to shake this feeling of shame, or maybe of responsibility? Now I’m re-organizing all of the vinyl and CDs that have been strewn around the floor for months. The electric kettle is, if you can believe it, back on the kitchen countertop. I managed to fill an entire trash bag’s worth of miscellaneous junk.

This is terrible.

I can’t focus on writing even the bullet points for tonight’s show.

I’ve never met another human being in person before. Nearly all my human interactions up until this point have been one-way, whether that’s me conversing with people through radio, or hearing celebrities tell their stories through interview recordings or music. By and large, ‘interacting’ with a frozen person should be no different. And yet, even her vacant stare feels to me like I’m being watched. The sensation is alien to me, like a comfort that my body instinctually rejects. I suppose it’s less being afraid of interacting with humans, and more being afraid of… humans. Even if she’s entirely catatonic, there is a living, pulsating, human body in the corner of my room. I get up from writing in my notebook, and throw a blanket over the pod.

I’m going to be adlibbing a lot today.

***

“As some of you might remember, I have featured some songs by Gareth Liddiard on the show before, but most had come from The Drones, and his other solo ventures. However, just last night I managed to fish out the debut vinyl of what is perhaps the most famous band he’d been a part of, all for your enjoyment. With a name like Tropical Fuck Storm, it feels almost insulting to exposit what kind of music they were known for… so I won’t! Straight out of the country formerly known as Australia, here’s ‘You Let My Tyres Down’.”

The grating, distorted guitars begin to reverberate as the noisy track begins playing on air. I’ve just barely managed to scrape together a playlist in time for tonight’s show, and I practically have no notes in preparation. Even with the blanket covering her face, I can’t stop thinking about the woman in my room. I’ve considered dragging the pod back outdoors, or even downstairs for that matter, but I haven’t been able to follow through. I’ve only been able to gather the courage to continue tolerating it, but for how long?

A few years ago, I had a phase where I got engrossed with the idea of an apocalypse brought by a robot invasion. There are plenty of songs, and even concept albums on the topic, but I also ended up reading some books I swiped from an abandoned kiosk, before it too got vaporized by a meteorite. I bring this up now, as a common idea in those stories is the feeling of uncanny valley – a sensation of unease humans report when something material greatly resembles a living person, but isn’t quite right. At first, I got the impression that maybe this frozen woman is giving me that unique agitation, but… I think my life has been too dissimilar from the norm for the uncanny valley to apply. For years, the only interaction I’ve had with people was through a glass monitor, or a speaker.

I think she’s too human for my mind to accept.

The song is already long finished. I snap back into my role as a radio presenter, but before I can start introducing the next song in today’s setlist, I stop.

“Apologies everyone, I’m having some technical issues over here! The playlist is still queued, so even if I don’t make it back in time, you’ll still be able to enjoy my curated selection. Goodbye for now!”

I turn down the volume on my amplifier, and move towards her. I can’t operate with this feeling gnawing away at me. And besides, what kind of entertainer would blindfold their own live audience?

I take the blanket off of the pod.

“Let’s talk.”