Weis (NBC):
In the end, the President had no choice but to legalize the cure. Those who would criticize him for his handling of the entire situation need to step back for a moment and consider the issue this president was facing. This is a problem unlike anything any leader of any kind has ever been faced with. Did we really expect this man to handle the issue of the cure perfectly when it stands poised to tip the entire planet on its axis? His first instinct, the correct instinct, was to be cautious with it for as long as possible. Well, turns out three years was as long as possible. He bravely admitted it was a mistake on his part to stall, but he didn’t need to apologize for it. Those three years of waiting allowed him time to decide how to best regulate the cure in a sensible manner. The President spoke of a grim reality that will soon descend upon us all. Well, it seems he is one of the few people out there who has tried to envision what that reality will look like and how we will deal with it. His words were hopeful last night, but the concern in his eyes was unmistakable. He is bracing himself for what’s ahead, and he wants us to do likewise. Because the floodgates are open now.
The floodgates are wide open.
After the President’s speech last night, I took a long walk uptown. The barricades had been taken down and the protesters had dissipated. The entire city seemed to breathe again. Everyone was smiling. Happy. Possibly drunk. The honeymoon was in full swing.
I walked by the UN building: no longer besieged. I walked by the posters on First Avenue. There were no anti-cure messages there this time. Just a bunch of Pepsi ads. I walked by the doctor’s apartment and the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge. Everything felt normal. Everything felt the way it should be. The world was functional again.
But deep in my marrow, I know it won’t stay that way.
Date Modified: 8/15/2019, 10:21AM
II
Spread: June 2029
(Ten Years Later)
Photo No. 3,650
I took my picture again this morning. Still the same. The nose. The eyes. The brow. The chin. Nothing has sagged. No creases have formed. I scrolled through the “Face” folder in my library to compare it with the others. There’s no real variation, except for when I get a haircut. That’s the only time there’s any noticeable difference. My hair gets a little bit longer and a little bit longer, then I get a cut and my image resets, like one of those antique typewriters that slides back into place whenever you hit the carriage return. Though the hair gets longer, not a whisper of it gets grayer.
One day I drew a star on my cheek, just to mix things up. You can see it fade over the course of a week or so. Everyone at work looked at me like I was an unruly toddler after I did that. I’ve tried to keep the same expression throughout the photos, as a control mechanism. But there are some photos where I couldn’t hide my mood. The ones where I’m hung over are fairly easy to detect. I don’t look happy to have my picture taken, even though I’m the pushy fella who’s insisting it be done.
So there are some slight differences there, but the fundamental aspects of my face are identical from each day to the next. If you made a flipbook of it, it would be the most boring film imaginable. The only exciting part is when the star pops up. I haven’t changed. I haven’t grown. The supposed character that aging features provides has not been bestowed on me. You wouldn’t know that I’ve lived ten years between the first photo and the last. All 3,650 photos could—if not for my hair—have been taken on the same day. The time span is invisible. It’s as if I haven’t lived at all.
I have a friend who struggles with his weight from time to time. He’ll reach a certain weight and then grow completely intolerant of what he’s become. So he’ll start running and eating nothing but grilled chicken and asparagus and baked potato chips. Then he’ll get down to a fairly acceptable weight, get a girlfriend, eat her cooking, and gain all the weight back. And once he’s reached his own personal critical mass again, he’ll do it all over. If you took his picture every day for a decade, it would be far more interesting. It would be like watching someone try to inflate a balloon without bothering to pinch the end between breaths. You’d see the history. You would get at least some semblance of the life he’s led and what’s he’s been dealing with. But you can’t see that with me. There’s no story. You can’t tell a damn thing.
Happy tenth cure day to me.
Date Modified: 6/20/2029, 12:14PM
“You Said You’d Love Me Forever”
Sonia wanted to get married. The issue had come up in the past, but I had managed to stave it off for as long as I possibly could. I have found in my life, though, that once a woman introduces the idea of something to you, she’ll never let it go until you finally relent. I don’t mean this as a criticism of women. They’re all so admirably tenacious, whereas I am the exact opposite. I’ll let go of anything if holding onto it comes to require too much effort.
She broke one of the long silences that tended to overpopulate our most serious arguments. “I don’t understand what you’re so afraid of.”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” I told her.
“Yes, you are.”
“You’re not going to get me to marry you simply by challenging my manhood. I already know I don’t stack up to most men. The Cap’n Crunch boxes in the kitchen are proof alone of that.”
“This isn’t funny, John. I’ve invested four years of my life in this. There comes a point when it’s fair for a woman to ask what a man’s intentions are. Don’t you think that’s fair?”
“I do. I think it’s more than fair. And I am committed to you. I’ve never cheated. I’ve always been there to support you.”
“And you say you love me, right?”
“I do. I love the hell out of you.”
“You said you’d love me forever.”
“I did. And I meant it.”
Sonia sat down. She didn’t look upset. She looked more as if she was trying to solve a math proof whose solution eluded her. That’s what I always liked about her. She was never unreasonable. If she had an argument with anything, it was backed up by sound logic and analysis. Not everyone I know acts in similar manner. I know I don’t.
“Then I don’t understand,” she said. “You know I’m not a needy person. I can take care of myself. But the reason I’m talking to you about this is because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to build something with you. More importantly, I don’t want to have this conversation with you every four months. I want this settled.”
“I understand all that. But look out there. Do you see anyone getting married? At all?”
“What does that have to do with us? Are you telling me it’s peer pressure that’s holding you back?”
“No.”
“Because I know what’s going on these days. A man in my office got engaged three months ago and all the other men laughed at him. They laughed right in his face. Every guy is supposed to be some macho, shit-kicking eternal bachelor now.”
I sat next to her on the couch. She had a glass of wine on the coffee table, but she hadn’t bothered to touch it.
