Grizelda unplugged herself from the wall charger station computer terminal transformer power converter thingy and walked into the kitchen for some breakfast: Grape Nuts And Bolts. Once she had her morning lubricant and had fully powered up, she remembered that today was the big day. The day that the divorce was final.
Bob was an okay guy, but she was sick and tired of all his idiosyncracies. The way he walked, all stiffly and robotically, was embarrassing. He refused to see a chiropractor or a mechanic. His hygiene was atrocious, he didn’t know enough to come in out of the rain (which actually helped with the hygiene a bit), and the neighbors and all their friends were starting to snicker behind their backs. He refused to change! All those fucking grunts instead of talking! And when he did talk, it was to say something SUPER witty like “Fire burn” or “Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr”. She was sick of it.
Earlier this week she was shopping at the grocery store and Auto Zone for their weekly supplies. She took one look at the windshield washer fluid and just totally lost it, leaking lubricant and baby oil everywhere. It was then that she realized the truth – she really didn’t like Starbucks coffee. It is too expensive, too dark, too complicated and roasted much too long. Any convenience store had better coffee that she could get for a quarter the price, faster and exactly how she liked it, and she wasn’t in love with Bob, with cups in motherfucking OUNCES, not some stupid motherfucking pretentious sizes in some cafe pumping shitty art rock from the shitty speakers hung on walls with colors like eggplant and mustard, like Devendra Banhart had puked on the walls or something, and…
What was that middle thing? Low priced coffee? No, after that. She wasn’t in love with…
How could that be? She had been created specifically to be his! For him! The Bride of Frankenstein! That was her nickname! And for the first 17 months, her actual name, since Bob had only referred to her as “Aaaaaaaaaaarrhgghhghhhghhghhhhaaaaa”, which would not fit on a fucking drivers license, much less be pronounceable to ordinary mortals. That set off another round of loathing and bitching. What would be her nickname them? Arrrgie? Mrs. ARRRRRGH Frankenstein. Nice to meet you, ARRRRRRGH! How do you spell that – with 19 ‘r’s or 20? HA HA HA HA HA!
She could just imagine the laughter and humiliation. She flipped open a book and chose the name Grizelda at random.
“Fire burn.” What the fuck was that? Sure, it’s true, but lots of things are true. No one else runs around spewing ridiculously obvious true things. What if she went around saying “GRRRRRRRR! WATER WET!” Or “GAHHRHAHRHAHRHHGGH! NICKELBACK SUCK!” He’d be humiliated, right?
No. He probably wouldn’t notice. He wouldn’t give a flying fuck, if she was honest with herself. And therein lie the problem. She was made for him, but he couldn’t care less. Unless she had some goddamn fire! Oh, then he was all about the attention! Dick.
That was when she decided it had to be over. But before she just totally left him, she had to choose someone else. She was made to be someone’s bride, and she couldn’t just be no one’s bride. Or could she? Well, she could, but she didn’t want to be. In a way, she had been alone since her creation, because you could hardly call the grunting stinky Bob Frankenstein ‘company’.
So that day, she had come home and broken the news to Bob. She thought about hinting about it for a couple of weeks to see if anything changed, but he had never ever changed a single thing for any other reason in all the years they had been together, that shit, so why would he change for her? She laid it all out, and when he gave the expected grunt, she painted him a picture – a decoupage, actually, of her leaving him, complete with burned edges, sanded maple plaque and 5 coats of varnish to preserve it. She was holding a lit match in the picture. Even Bob could understand THAT, right? He seemed to, anyway. She packed a few things and moved out that very night. It was a Motel 6, but that was fine because they never check anything there.
She got a lawyer and filed papers that very day. It turned out that after some digging, the lawyer determined that they had never actually been legally married, however bonded in spirit or electricity or programming they may have been. Still, he thought it best to write the papers as though they had been married, especially since he was a lazy fuck and didn’t want to change the template. That was six months ago today.
She signed up for Match.com – ironic, she thought, because fucking ‘FIRE BURN!’, motherfucker! – and set about making a profile and filling in her data. Some of it was difficult to answer, since she wasn’t really “born” and didn’t have any baby pictures. Well, to be more accurate, she probably had baby pictures from a dozen babies or so, depending on how many people she was made of. Still, it’s not like she could track all of that down in one day.
She got 15 hits at first, but most of those were married guys, or guys who were too young – in appearance, at least. She needed a certain type of person, but her picture was sufficient to attract lots of different types. It was as if they were completely ignoring the written part! She asked one potential suitor why, and he said ‘you’re fucking gorgeous, idiot!’ Apparently she was easy on the eyes, even with the bolts sticking out of her neck.
Finally, one day, she got a very very interesting message. This guy seemed intriguing. He was a scientist, knew a lot about electricity, seemed intelligent… wasn’t afraid of fucking fire… and could string an actual sentence together. She agreed to meet him at Chez Whiz, the local French restaurant that she knew would serve this certain liquor she liked. Absinthe! And this guy, Nikki something, liked it too! They met and talked all night over dinner, and then stayed together all that night and all the next night too, before she realized that neither of them had slept or, remarkably, were tired. Well, remarkable for him, because she didn’t really need sleep so much as charging. Which she would have to do soon, she realized. Or should. But somehow, her energy wasn’t as diminished as much as it should be.
She mentioned it to him, just as a test, just throwing it out there, that she wasn’t tired but needed some recharging. He stopped and stared at her for a full 5 minutes, completely agog. Then he smiled and took her hand, and bid her come with him to his humble house. How could she refuse?
They arrived at a huge mansion, and after Nikki tipped the cab driver, they entered the gate to the courtyard, and then the front door of the mansion. The outside looked more or less like some rich asshole’s house – but the inside couldn’t be more different! It was full of gadgets, some emitting sparks or lightning, some moving in odd configurations or patterns, and some just humming without seeming to do much of anything else. He took their coats and carried them down to the hall closet to hang them up. While he was doing this, she noticed a notebook sitting open on one of the tables – the one with the sparks shooting off. She closed the notebook and looked at the front cover.
This notebook property of Nikola Tesla
He held her hand, taking it off the notebook, and explained that he had not really died like everyone thought. He had found a way to grant himself immortality, thus pretty much kicking the shit out of Thomas Edison, but realized that he couldn’t claim this victory without a lot of unnecessary attention. So, he faked his death, arranged for a lost relative to claim all his crap, and lived on pretending to be a second cousin. Eventually, he had to fake that guy’s death too, and another relative, until he had become his own son or some such thing, at least legally. It involved electricity, big time. In fact, Dr. Frankenstein had commissioned some of his more complicated equipment from Tesla back in the day.
Well, Grizelda was just gobsmacked at all this. She fell instantly and madly in love with Tesla, and he fell instantly and madly in love with her. They were the only two people on earth who could truly understand what it was like, living forever as some kind of monster, and they were soulmates!
Bob eventually pissed off some mob boss in Jersey, who had him offed, ironically by sticking him in the East River with some concrete shoes, which eventually shorted him out. He was eaten by crocodiles over the course of the next week.
Nikola and Grizelda Tesla have been married for 64 long and happy years.