The Medium Setting

Content Warning: The story contains a slur and bigoted views in the context of a character's recollection of the past.

“Nancy!” He pushed the working button on the kettle; the other was worn through and busted. The red electric light glowed to life. Medium setting was fine enough. There was a low; didn’t do anything except think about heating water. That untouched button didn’t count. Be better if the hot button worked. Maybe a new kettle, but this–

The beep startled him.

Damn fast, worked like new. Ha! The carafe tipped, gurgled hot water into a stained ceramic mug. Leonard grabbed the other, cleaner mug and filled it, too. The soft rip of paper and two bags plopped into the steaming cups. Forgot the sugar. The box, the cubes - why did they have cubes? Nancy knew he liked his sugar loose – by the spoonful. Took too long, the cubes. He mashed two down on the counter with his thumb.

“Shoulda used a spoon,” he grumbled, rubbing his thumb. He swept the sugar off the counter into his cup and stirred.

“Nancy! Tea!”

He left Nancy’s tea on the counter, cubes unstirred, and futzed over to his recliner. The large red numbers of the digital clock gave him five minutes before the news. He stared at the inky black glass rectangle on the wall. Always liked Cronkite. A classic kind of man; dignified. What station was it again, CBS? Leonard itched his nose and set his tea down, looking for the remote. Better find it before he got himself situated.

Barren end table, except a coaster and lamp – and his tea, of course. Didn’t fall into the magazines underneath. He thumbed through the yellowing issues of Time anyway, just in case. Nope. He took a breath and grabbed one plush arm of the chair, lowered himself on down to look underneath the bobbing chair. Zilch. Ah, hell. He grunted and pushed himself up, actually made it on the second try. He looked around, perplexed. It was easier when you just turned the thing on yourself. Didn’t need a remote that got lost all the time. UHF, VHF, you just put it to what you wanted.

“Nancy! Where’d you put the remote?”

He went over to the TV and looked for the power button. All black glass and a tiny bezel of black aluminum or whatever it was. No button. He slid his fingers around the edge. Bupkis. The clock was at three minutes past. He knew there was a story he wanted to watch, to hear about. The aging thing. He rubbed at his nose and bent down to look at the bottom of the thin protruding frame — smooth all the way across. He went back to the recliner and poked into the cushions but came up empty.

The ad that played in his mind talked about fighting aging; tune back in for the story. It was CNN, the Cooper guy — Anderson Cooper. Wasn’t Cronkite, but he was good, dignified. Funny sometimes, but he was a gay - not that there was anything wrong with that. Lots of people that way these days. For a second Leonard thought with shame about the way he’d yelled “Faggots!” at the men gathered in the park at night when he was a young man. Wondered if they were gay or if he’d just been yelling at random people. He wasn’t as kind, back then. It was a different time. It wasn’t that he was mean, it just was a different world. He was glad things had changed. Glad for Anderson Cooper.

He looked around the one room apartment. Looked at the television, the chair. Leonard itched his nose. Where’s the remote? It wasn’t by the bed. He looked on the counter and started going through drawers. There was a buffet table thing under the TV, but it held a couple of plates and cups and silverware and napkins and nothing that he needed now. He remembered junk drawers. The remote shouldn’t be in there, but at this point it was quarter after and — where was that drawer again? No, didn’t need it, this place didn’t have one. So where was the damn remote?

“Nancy! I can’t find the damn remote and I’m missing my program!”

He stared defiantly at the black glass, refusing to miss Anderson Cooper telling him how to fight aging. If anyone knew, it was Cooper. Ha! With a swoosh someone entered the room behind him. Damn doors always made him twitch when they opened; always a small unsettling surprise. He turned and about jumped out of his socks.

“Who the hell are you?” He backed himself up against the TV. The plasticky faced woman came close, her beige uniform neatly pressed, a warm smile on her face. Her name tag read Nancy.

“Hello, Mr. Leonard, it’s Nancy. I gathered that you were feeling distressed and I—”

“Like hell you’re Nancy!”

“I apologize.” The name tag swiftly altered its lettering to NC254. “You usually prefer to just call me Nancy. I see that you’ve moved your chair again. Is that why you are upset?” The woman moved smoothly to the recliner and end table, pulling both to face the blank wall adjacent to the glossy black television.

“I wanted to watch my news program.” Leonard’s thoughts were a February snow squall. “You aren’t my wife. Where’s Nancy?”

“Nancy isn’t here, Mr. Leonard. What would you like to watch?”

Leonard’s shoulders fell. He glanced hurriedly around the small room. The tiny counter with the tea station. The chair. The end table. The buffet. The bed. The rectangular black glass that hung on the wall. The snow squall intensified, too difficult to see the probing questions, the angry ones.

“I’m trying to turn on Anderson Cooper. He’s got a report about some aging thing — a medicine or something.” He hoped Nancy, here, could help him.

“Sure, just a moment Mr. Leonard.” For a few heartbeats Nancy just looked at him, oddly unmoving and still. He remembered that stillness. He saw Nancy, his Nancy, still like that, hands folded across her favorite blue dress. Wrinkled flesh weird and waxy with the layers of makeup. Her lips the right color, her favorite lipstick, but drawn flat and wide. She didn’t have that smile, the one when they’d play Euchre with the Wagner's and she’d go alone. A sadness washed over hi—

“Here we are, Mr. Leonard.”

The blank wall sprung to life as a large rectangle resolved into the CNN newsroom, Anderson Cooper staring calmly out through the screen and opening the program. Overhead a detached voice confirmed that the archived footage had been found and was playing a clip from November 12th 2028. Nancy went to the black glass and waved her hand. The glass lit and spoke with a disembodied coolness, relaying that breakfast would be ready in three minutes. A large green circle appeared on the glass, shrinking as it counted down. Leonard looked from the TV to the TV and back again. The black glass rose, revealing a glossy snow white recess; a pair of mechanical arms smoothly garnishing a plate of eggs and bacon.

“Here’s your breakfast, Mr. Leonard.” Nancy brought him the plate as Anderson Cooper told him about a revolutionary breakthrough in aging research that would lead to a massive slowdown in the body’s decline.

“Nancy,” Leonard was shaking. “What is happening? Where am I?” His voice was younger than the kid in the park; way back, when there were penny candies at the dime store, when running to tag Billy Gibson was the most fun anyone could have, when Spark had died and he stood over a small patch of dirt in his back yard.

“You’re okay, Mr. Leonard.” Nancy tried to give a reassuring tilt of her head. “You often ask to watch the video announcing your treatment."

Leonard looked at her, mouth trembling and silent. A mystified shake of his head as he sat in his recliner.

"Yes, Mr. Leonard, your anti-aging treatment," Nancy replied with a happy smile and handed him the plate. "Your records have it listed in 2030." A cool synthetic hand rested on his shoulder. "Unfortunately, it was only effective on an average of eighty-nine percent of the body’s systems, based on long term studies.”

Leonard's gaze grew distant as he slowly forked the eggs into his mouth.

Nancy's face drooped into a cliched sadness. "Regrettably, that data didn’t become available until 2047." She busied herself cleaning the small tea counter, stopping briefly to wave another hand. The wall opposite the black glass kitchen unfrosted. Transparent glass, blurry with melting snowflakes, showed a stretching vastness of lights and towers and unnamable clutter; what used to be Leonard’s small Michigan town.