As a species, we have an intimate understanding of when something feels Wrong. In the context of film, cgi is inherently easy to spot. Unnatural body movements, sequences of facial expressions that shouldn’t follow each other, reactions that are too fast or slow; it’s not always easy to put a finger on it, but we can universally comprehend that what we’re seeing Is Not Human.
Taking a step back and looking at this phenomena, and it’s prevalence across every established ethnic group and culture, begs a question. Why did we as a species become so adept at noticing things that looked like us, but weren’t human?
When I noticed something off about my wife’s behavior, I assumed I had forgotten something she said. I was terrible at keeping the complicated social schedule straight when not actively staring at the calendar on our kitchen counter. Maybe I’d neglected to grab something she asked me to pick up for her, because unless she texted specifically what was needed I was bound to miss an item on the list.
Not that my forgetfulness was uncommon, but this staple of our marriage had led me to become quite adept at apologizing with the same playful charm that made her fall for me in the first place. Except this time the flowers went unnoticed on the counter, a shoulder rub after a late shift ended unceremoniously, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something more serious was wrong.
We had an excellent track record of properly talking when something seriously bothered either of us, with arguments reduced to identifying a miscommunication and how to avoid it in the future. I tried gently prodding in different avenues of conversation over dinner to get to the root of the problem, but my wife kept insisting nothing was wrong. I couldn’t shake the feeling, and after a restless night I was a bit of a mess at work the next morning.
After returning home in my sleep-deprived state, I was practically begging to get into a fight to clear the air between us. Within minutes of walking in the door I made the kind of snide remark I always immediately regret, but occasionally can’t keep from slipping out. Instead of starting a shouting match with the tension in the air, it was brushed over without a second glance as my wife asked if I’d stopped by the store to grab the rope and larger set of shears she’d requested for a new garden project.
A heavy knot settled in my stomach as my unease grew, because I knew between my childish comment and forgotten hardware run that she should have furious. I gave up and turned to head back the direction of the store, but saw her staring from the living room window as I backed out of the driveway. My feelings of unease continued to compound, and as I checked the mirrors and rubbed my bloodshot eyes something hit me:
I hadn’t seen my wife blink for two days.