Jukebox was built to care for Emily. He woke from low-power mode and gazed down at the yellow dandelions growing around his wheels. He rolled back, bent down, and picked one. Dandelions were Emily’s favorite; he should bring it to her. He picked through the overgrown room and wandered outside.
According to Jukebox’s internal clock, he had been asleep for forty-seven days. Emily turned fifteen today, and Jukebox worried he would miss it. All her other parties had been at the park, but today, she wasn’t there. Bushes and weeds obscured the stone walkways, and the few picnic tables that remained were split by vines. Where was everyone?
Not in town. Jukebox examined every kudzu-covered wall, every buried pothole. No one. Days passed, and Jukebox entered Briarwood Cemetery. He scraped lichen from the headstones and plaques until he stopped at one in the center of the lot.
He set the dandelion on the soil and went to work pulling the overgrowth out of Emily’s little plot of land. He left at dusk and returned at dawn with a few dirty rags. He had hoped to find water for her, but he couldn’t find any that wasn’t infested and dirty. She’d have to be thirsty.
After cleaning Emily’s headstone, Jukebox rolled back and waited for her to wake. Days passed, and Jukebox excitedly rolled back and forth. When weeds started to grow, Jukebox pulled them from the grass. When winter came, he swept the snow off her bed, and when spring came, he gathered dandelions for her. He tended to her until his servos wore out, then he waited for her until his solar chargers malfunctioned.
His mossy, rusted shell still sits in that cemetery, and he waits for the day he can awaken and care for Emily again.
Also published in The Pink Hydra on August 2, 2024.