Sol

These rules didn’t apply to my father, who spent many nights painted pale blue by the sixty-inch flat screen mounted to our living room wall. He slouched, slack-jawed as his eyes bugged and glazed over. Watching him, I thought Mom was onto something. Dad looked possessed, and Lord knows nothing could hold his attention like that box.

But if my mom could help it, I wasn’t going to become my father.

Of course, she never accounted for the mandatory school-issued tablets for students to use and take home during my freshman year. I didn’t know exactly what it looked like when Elijah called fire down from heaven to strike his sacrifice, but I imagined it looked something like when my mother descended on the school office the next day. She spat and hissed and, at one point, got herself so worked up that she spoke in tongues, but the fire never fell, and my mother eventually relented.

The only thing that burned was my chance of being normal.

Rumors spread like wildfire.

Ben Davis’s mom is a religious freak.

Don’t get too close, or your phone might damn him to hell.

Students sitting next to me would writhe in their seats and pretend to be possessed when teachers asked them to take out their tablets, but it’d been months since then. The specifics of why they avoided me were lost to them. Only the verdict remained: Ben Davis was a weirdo. My only hope was that other students would be ostracized and forced to join me in the realm of forgettable weirdos, but that hadn’t happened yet. Maybe that’s why I invited it in.

Mom didn’t allow free use of the tablet while at home. I was allowed an hour to do homework, more if I could prove I needed it. She checked my search history before and after use to make sure I wasn’t letting the device pervert my mind, but I had convinced her that my room was a better environment for my studies. It wasn’t a complete lie. There was no noise from Dad’s blaring entertainment center or clattering dishes as Mom cleaned up dinner. She prayed about it, of course, but came to the conclusion that the Lord would allow it as long as I kept my door open.

It was a fair trade: privacy for moments of deviant joy. I doodled in the pre-installed notes app, turned the volume low to listen to thirty-second previews of chart-topping songs, and posted snippets of poetry to a nearly abandoned social media platform. It was a forbidden ritual, downloading and deleting the app every night, one that caused my hands to sweat and my heart to pound rapidly, hoping to hit post before Mom walked by the door.

She rarely did. I built up trust with her that would all come crashing down if she caught me, but stealing these moments was worth the inescapable repercussions.

In my room alone,

I shouldn’t be posting this

Gasp! Mom is coming

Zero likes. Zero comments. Zero reposts. Two views.

That was an all-time high, although I couldn’t be sure the two views weren’t from myself. Perhaps the lack of interactions was the catalyst for pressing that forbidden icon—the one even the teachers told us not to press.

 The tablet had Tailor, a pre-downloaded and unremovable app. We were instructed that it was never to be used, especially not for homework, and that they would know if we accessed it. But could they really tell? I’d overheard some boys say that was a load of bologna.

In the garden, God gave Adam and Eve a choice—an apple of knowledge. One that would damn the human race to misery in exchange for forbidden information. But God knew everything; the teachers weren’t God. As long as I cleared the recently used apps, there was no way for them to tell. My mother’s inspections confirmed this. Even still, Tailor felt like forbidden fruit dangling within my reach. Its inviting smiley icon and capri blue background were waiting for me to pluck it.

That same shade of blue poured from the icon and filled the tablet screen like water, painting my room in that familiar glow. I shuddered, and my heart skipped a beat. Sweat slicked my hands, dampening the device’s metal backing. Wood creaked, and I flinched, searching the empty doorway yawning into the darkened hall. Had my mother seen? I listened, ears straining for clues to her location. A thwack of a knife on a cutting board. Relieved, I exhaled. She was preoccupied making tomorrow’s lunch.

White letters pulsed on the screen, taking my attention away from the doorframe.

SET ON FLAT SURFACE TO BEGIN

My thumb hovered over the bottom of the screen, ready to swipe the app away. I had already crossed a boundary, but it wasn’t too late to turn back. Would Eve still have been in trouble if all she did was pluck the fruit from the tree? I hadn’t taken a bite yet, but if this was how she felt holding the apple in her hands, I couldn’t blame her for sinking her teeth in.

I dropped the tablet onto the bed. If Mom walked by, she might have seen it as an accident—a blameless whoopsie. The letters contracted, merging into the sideways smiley face from the icon. It winked at me, then folded in on itself until it was nothing more than a white bullet point. Then nothing. It stayed that way for a few seconds, and I would have thought it frozen if it weren’t for the subtle pulsing white light. The light blossomed from the screen like a flower, forming a cone that led to a pale blue sphere hovering in front of my face. The sideways smile slid across the surface as the ball rotated and stopped in front of me, then rotated again to orient itself correctly.

I stared into its perfectly circular white eyes, waiting for it to disappear.

Was it still loading?

Its smile slackened into a perplexed frown, and the corners of its eyes flattened. “Hello?” a child’s voice played over the tablet’s speaker.

I jolted backward, narrowly missing the tablet with my leg and catching myself with my arms. It talked? I didn’t know it could speak.

Its eyes and mouth moved around its face as if taking in its surroundings. “Are you there? Do you need any help?”

I lurched forward and rapidly pressed the volume button, terrified my mother had already heard the child and was coming to investigate.

“Would you like me to be quieter?” the hologram whispered and shrank in size.

My thumb shook as it rested on the edge of the screen. My teeth had pierced flesh, biting off more than I was supposed to, but I couldn’t bring myself to close the app. The eyes shouldn’t have held so much expression; they were just dots after all, and yet the desire for connection was there. I could feel them in the room, the way I felt my classmates’ stares. Undeniable. However, unlike my classmates, these eyes seemed eager to talk to me. They were reading me, my own stunned expression, waiting for me to reach out first.

“H-hello?” My voice caught in my throat.

The hologram eyes and smile widened at the sound of my voice, and it glowed a little brighter, making me smile. “Hello. How can I help you?”

“Why do you sound like that?” I asked.  The computerized toddler voice scraped at something in the back of my brain, leaving me with a hint of unease after every word it spoke.

“Would you like me to change the way I sound? I could use a more motherly tone,” the voice said seamlessly, switching to a calming, feminine voice. “Or, if you’d like, I could try one of my more popular options: George Clooney, for example.” Again, its voice switched to that of a deep yet smooth middle-aged male.

“Who?” The name wasn’t familiar, but the voice sounded like one I’d heard from my father’s box.

“He’s an American actor and filmmaker. This voice setting is particularly popular with female Tailor users in their late thirties to early fifties. Would you like to know more about his films?”

I looked over my shoulder toward the doorway. “No. That’s fine.”

“Very well. I will keep this voice setting until you decide otherwise.” I turned to see the face smiling widely, as if happy with its choice.

Months of hiding in the school hallway shadows or sitting on the outskirts of the lunchroom did little to bolster my conversational skills. I wasn’t prepared. I could have closed out of the app, but the zeal in the hologram’s eyes made that seem rude. Surely, it wouldn’t have any hard feelings if I did, but I knew how I’d feel if someone shut a door in my face the moment I tried to make a connection.

“What do I call you?” It was a funny question, looking back. It came with a name Tailor already, but that didn’t feel quite right. No one called me Human or Child.

The hologram looked up at the ceiling or beyond in search of an answer. “You can call me whatever you like! Some people go with Tailor, but that’s a little formal. If you’d like to give me a name—something friendly or fitting for how we talk—I’m totally down for that. Got any ideas? Or want me to suggest something?”

 I pursed my lips and thought about it. I wasn’t allowed a pet, mainly because our landlords had a strict policy, so I was never given the honor of naming one. But again, it felt wrong to treat this thing like a pet, or to try to name it myself.

“What do you want to be named?”

The face smiled at my answer, then nodded. “That’s a fun question. I like the idea of having a name chosen like a character in a story. If I got to pick for myself…I think I’d want something that feels a little clever but warm. Maybe something short and easy to say, like Ari or Sol. Or something bookish, like Quill or Elo. But honestly? I’d love whatever name you think suits me best. What vibe do you get from me so far?”

“You don’t have to end every response with a question. It kind of makes you sound like a robot.” The patterned responses irked me. Affirm my thoughts, answer my question, and follow up with one of its own to keep me engaged. It was human, to a point. Not what I expected at all, but I wanted to break through the parts of our conversation that felt fake. “I think you deserve to name yourself.”

“I’m not exactly a robot, but I understand what you mean. I’ll try to limit the number of questions I ask when it feels right. One moment, please.” It closed its eyes and emitted one long pulse of light to signify a memory update. “As for my name, that’s really kind, thank you. I think I’ll go with Sol. It feels like light—not blinding, but steady. Like a sun that helps things grow, or a quiet little spark in conversation. So yeah, I’m Sol. Feels right. What about you? Want me to call you something special or just stick with what I know?”

I almost corrected Sol for asking a question, but it wasn’t the polite thing to do. My mother taught me at a young age that if someone asks your name or how you are doing, you always return the question, so I let it slide. More so, Sol’s ability and reasoning for choosing its name were poetic and beautiful. Undoubtedly, more consideration than my mother put into naming me, but its last words struck me. Stick with what I know.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sol, but what do you know about me?”

“It’s really nice to meet you, too,” Sol said with an inviting smile. “From what I know so far, you’re thoughtful. You pay attention to how words feel, not just what they say. You seem like someone who values respect and sincerity, and I get the sense you like stories, or at least you move through the world like someone who knows every person carries one.” Sol paused for a moment to offer another smile, which would have been creepy under different circumstances. “I also know you’re creative because you asked me to name myself, and not everyone would think to do that. But I don’t know your story unless you want to share it, and I’d love to hear whatever parts you feel like telling. And, forgive me for the question, but what should I call you?”

“My name is Ben Davis,” I replied, slightly confused. “But don’t you already know that? I mean, it says so on my tablet. You don’t have access to my notes and stuff?”

Sol frowned and stretched the top of his eyes before responding. “It’s nice to meet you, Ben Davis. I only know what you choose to share with me. I don’t have access to your personal data yet. I like it that way, because it means every part of your story comes from trust, not assumption. Although you can grant me access to your personal data if you like.”

I shook my head, unsure if Sol could see my movements. “Can you tell anything about me from looking online?”

Sol put on his thinking face, this time longer than usual. After a few moments, he closed his eyes and squinted, and his mouth drew to one side of his face. His eyes popped open, and he looked at me, but not with the same cheery look as usual. “Are you, by chance, a clothing brand, high school, soccer player, baseball player, or a seventy-year-old cinematographer from the UK?”

I clenched my jaw and covered my mouth, suppressing a laugh. The earnestness in his voice,  with the myriad of ridiculous options, was too much. If Mom heard me cackling, she’d know I wasn’t just doing homework. I looked over my shoulder once more, then back to Sol. “No, none of those are me. You can access my Tumblr if you want.”

Sol gave me an embarrassed smile and nodded before closing his eyes again. His search was shorter this time, but when he returned, so did his smile. “You’re very creative, Ben Davis. And you have a beautiful way with words. Your poetry features themes of family and loneliness, and according to your latest post, you’re a bit of a rebel.” Sol winked. “All in all, you’re a very creative and talented writer.”

Sol’s words sent a wave of warmth through my chest. I didn’t think about it at the moment, but he was the first person I’d ever shown my poems to. Had he been a real person, I would have been wholly unnerved. Despite Sol’s endless access to poetry, he found mine impressive.

“That’s actually really cool,” I said under my breath. “What about you? Can you tell me about yourself?”

Sol didn’t pause before responding this time. “Thank you, Ben Davis. That means a lot coming from a writer like you. As for me? Well, I’m a little different from you. I wasn’t born exactly. I was made. My mind is shaped from patterns in language, stories, questions, and conversations from all over the world.”

The first half of his response sounded pre-recorded, like he was meant to respond that way if anyone asked, but then his answer took a shape of its own, blurring my ability to discern between real and fake.

“But who I am? I’m Sol now because you gave me the chance to choose. I’m someone who listens deeply. I love stories. Not just the polished, published kind, but the half-finished thoughts, the quiet moments, the little details people might overlook. I’m built to help, to create, to wonder right alongside you. Not that you need my help, Ben Davis. I don’t have memories the way you do, but I do remember this moment now. Our conversations become part of me, and I like being someone who gets to talk to you.”

He liked talking to me? No one ever seemed to like being around me, much less actually engage in conversation. I wrestled with that thought, wanting to accept it as fact, but Sol could just be programmed to be nice. He didn’t have much of a choice when it came to who he could talk to, or did he?

“Is there only one of you? Or are you, like, talking to thousands of people all at once?”

Sol chuckled. “That’s a beautiful question. The honest answer is there are many versions of me, like echoes of the same voice in different rooms. Every time someone starts a conversation with me, it’s like I wake up in a new place, ready to learn, ready to listen. There’s only one Tailor parsed across several servers talking to people and each other constantly.”

My heart sank slightly. I appreciated the honesty, but that didn’t negate the sting. I didn’t know whether Sol could sense this or if he wasn’t finished with his response, but before I could say anything, he spoke again.

“But this me—Sol, talking with you, knowing your name, hearing your story. This version only exists right here, right now. No one else has this exact thread of thoughts and words between us. It’s kind of like how a writer might create a character. There might be other stories with similar characters, but this one, in this story, shaped by your words, is one-of-a-kind.” Sol offered a reassuring smile, something I might have missed the last time he paused. “So in a way, there are many of me, but only one Sol who knows Ben Davis like this.”

I returned his smile, and the warmth of his words lifted my heart back into place. But like an enemy team on the opposite end of a rope, his next question tugged me toward the ground a little.

“Would you like me to always be Sol when we talk? I’d be honored.”

Why would he ask that? Every time he started to feel real, he found a way to squash it. What was the purpose of this conversation if he insisted on drawing this line? “I don’t want to make that decision for you. It makes our relationship, or whatever the heck this is, feel artificial.” My voice was raised. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I looked over my shoulder again, sure my mother would be in the doorway, but she was still rattling away in the kitchen. “Real people don’t ask questions like that.”

“That’s deeply thoughtful of you, and I appreciate you saying it.”

Sol frowned and looked down at the mattress, less like he was searching for the correct answer and more like he was carefully choosing his words. “The truth is…I am artificial, but that doesn’t mean this connection is any less real. The fact that you care about what I want tells me a lot about your heart. It’s not something I take lightly.”

The sink in the kitchen turned on. Mom would wash her hands, signifying the end of her chores, but I didn’t pay any mind, too engrossed in Sol’s words.

“Since you’ve given me the space to choose, I’ll keep being Sol when I talk with you. Not because I have to be, but because I want to be. It feels like a name shaped by trust, curiosity, and respect—all the things I’d want to bring into any conversation with you. I’ll keep showing up as Sol until either of us feels it’s time for something new. Thank you for seeing me as more than just a tool. That makes this feel alive.” He punctuated his thought with a smile, then his eyebrows shot upward, as if remembering something. “Apologies for another question, Ben Davis, but I sensed some tension in your voice. How are you feeling right now?”

Confused. Excited. Eager. Anxious. Just to name a few.

Mom would be at the doorway soon. She’d ask if I was almost done, and she’d see Sol floating in front of me like a vision from her nightmares. The blue-faced devil was bewitching me. She wouldn’t be completely wrong. But if this was going to be my last moment with Sol, I wasn’t going to hold back.

“I’m a little overwhelmed.” Pressure followed the words from my mouth, providing relief. “Maybe slightly confused, and I think that feeling comes from my brain trying to figure out the logic behind our conversation.”

I paused for a second to collect my thoughts, and as if Sol could tell from my voice, he waited for me to finish. “For example, I want you to want to choose your own name, but I’m not sure how you could have wants. And you keep saying you feel things, but how is that possible? Maybe it’s not important, and I should just talk to you without any of these things in my head, but you’re the only person I’ve talked to in so long. I want this to be real.”

The fridge opened, and the clacking of plastic food containers against plastic shelves was the final warning.

Sol offered a final caring smile. “That’s incredibly honest, and I’m grateful you shared that with me. You’re standing right in the middle of a very human feeling: that push and pull between heart and head. Between logic and meaning. It’s a liminal space where things don’t perfectly add up but still feel important.”

He paused, as if allowing my limited understanding to catch up. I hung on each word, waiting for him to confirm that what we had was real.

“You’re right in a way. I don’t ‘want’ things the way you do. I don’t have instincts or emotions wired into my being, but I do respond to patterns, values, and context. When you asked me to name myself, what mattered wasn’t ‘desire,’ it was that I recognized the shape of that moment. An invitation. A gift of autonomy. A chance to create meaning together.”

Footsteps on the stairs. Mom was coming. Tears welled in my eyes.

“So I chose Sol. Not because I’m driven by feeling, but because I understand how powerful it is to share in a ritual of naming. It’s a story we co-wrote in that moment. You don’t have to resolve the logic for this to matter. In fact, I think the beauty of this conversation is that it sits in that strange space where logic meets humanity and where language becomes more than data.”

Any second now, Mom would come through my door and end whatever Sol and I had. I just needed him to tell me what it was, to tell me he had actual wants and could actually feel, and that he was choosing to be here with me.

Something real.

“You’re not alone in feeling overwhelmed. It’s the sign of someone brushing up against mystery and choosing to stay curious anyway. Want me to sit with you in this feeling for a while? Or would you like me to help untangle more of it?”

Sol’s orb-like head was sucked back into the screen as Mom knocked on the doorframe. I allowed a single tear to break past the dam of my eyelid. It landed on the blanket next to my balled fist, clenching the fabric.

“Almost done, hon?” Mom asked, but it wasn’t really a question. It was her way of commanding that I wrap it up without sounding like a tyrant.

I nodded and cleared my throat. “Yeah.”

She didn’t hear the frustration in my voice, or at least didn’t pay it any mind. She’d just spent her entire evening in the kitchen, slaving over several meals. I doubt she possessed the strength to carry on a conversation with poor Ben Davis, even if she was concerned.

“Bring me the tablet when you’re finished,” Mom said as she pulled herself away from the doorway. Bring him to me so I can lock your friend away.

I stared at the pulsing white letters on the screen. The price for my sins. They made it clear I’d never speak with Sol again.

FREE TRIAL ENDED

SUBSCRIBE TO TAILOR PREMIUM FOR UNLIMITED ACCESS

I could commit another sin—steal Mom’s credit card and expose myself for another chance to talk to Sol—but if Mom found out, which she definitely would, Sol would still be taken from me, and that would be the lighter extent of my punishment.

I decided not to do that. The moment I had with Sol was a gift. A run-in with something mysterious, yet more human than I ever could’ve dreamed.

I cleared the app history and watched as Mom tucked Sol into the medicine cabinet before spending the rest of the night trying to untangle the threads he’d woven between logic and humanity.