MB Interview: Sally (Snickly Version)

A spotlight shines on Nicholas Wiseman, wearing a familiar sequined gold vest and a top hat cocked at a jaunty angle. He sits in one of two cushioned chairs on an otherwise empty stage. A microphone is clutched in his hand.

In the other chair sits Sally, wearing a daffodil-print sundress and an exasperated expression.

Sally: I thought we agreed that you’d dress more professionally for the show.

Nick: Nope! That was something you dictated as showrunner. But today . . .

He beams a wide smile at the audience.

Nick: Today she’s the interviewee! Thrust from behind the scenes and into the spotlight for the very first time, let’s give a warm welcome for Saaaaalooooomeee Alllaaaaviddddze.

His announcement is met with scattered applause, the most enthusiastic of which comes from behind the curtain.

Nick: Button’s taking over as showrunner today, which means my outfit has been approved.

Sally: Or you didn’t bother asking permission.

Nick: Semantics.

Sally: The reflection from your vest temporarily blinded one of the cameramen, Nicholas.

Nick: Seriously? I didn’t think that it was such a big deal. Is he okay . . .

Nick breaks off at Sally’s smirk.

Nick: You’re kidding.

Sally: Yup. It’s just a really ugly vest.

Nick, to the off-camera cameraman: I’m sorry she used you in this way.

Cameraman, sounding suspiciously British: It is a hideous vest.

Nick, realizing that he’s outnumbered, shrugs dismissively. He fans out the question cards in his hands like a Vegas magician and theatrically selects one.

Nick: Yes, this is definitely your card. Salome, given your opinionated views on the clothing of others, who are some of your own style icons?

Sally: Zoë Kravitz, maybe? My style can be somewhat eclectic, but I’m drawn to vivid colors and bold prints. Also, comfy fits, because fashion shouldn’t be painful to wear.

Nick: What color would you change the Aeon uniform to?

Sally: Teal. It’s one of the most universally flattering colors, plus it looks amazing in military styled attires.

Nick: It’s ironic how you claim to like vivid colors and yet draw the line at a sequined vest.

Sally: It makes you look like a stripper, Nicholas. A stripper.

Nick: Hey, I’m wearing a shirt underneath!

Sally: Only because we retroactively made shirts mandatory in your contract.

Nick: I look damn good wearing just that vest, though.

Sally blushes. Nick snickers.

Nick: On the topic of how good I look, when did you first realize that you had feeling for me? That you were in L-O-V-E?

Sally: I could never be half as in love with you as you are with yourself.

Nick: You say that but avoid answering the question. Come on, Salome. Tell the crowd when you knew that I was the one.

Sally, sighing: It’s not like there was any one moment. Things . . . accumulated. But I guess that I actually recognized what I was feeling around nineth grade. Everyone around me had started dating, and I realized that I just really didn’t want to.

She mumbles something under her breath. Nick leans forward with a maliciously smug grin.

Nick: You’re going to need to repeat that for the backrow.

Sally: I realized that I didn’t want to date anyone but you. Idiot.

Nick: And you’re the idiot who fell in love with an idiot. So, who’s the bigger idiot?

Sally gives him a withering look, and Nick clears his throat.

Nick: Right, still me.

Sally: Smart man.

Nick: What drove your crush on me? Other than how amazing I look wearing nothing but a sequined vest, that is.

Sally laughs despite herself.

Sally: I’ve told you this before, haven’t I? It was your cookies. Not because they’re amazing, although they are now, but because when you first started baking, you sucked. Majorly, big time sucked.

Nick, dryly: Please, don’t sugarcoat this for my sake.

Sally: Nicholas, half the time you forgot to add the literal sugar. Your starter cookies were the worst. But they got progressively better, because you wanted to make Button happy.

She shrugs, eyes downcast with embarrassment.

Sally: Not a lot of people are willing to work hard for the sake of others. Especially since I’d always seen you as someone who just kind of coasted through life. After I realized how much effort you put into perfecting those cookies, I realized how much effort you put into everything else. You made a lot of things look easy, but it wasn’t.

Nick, also embarrassed: I mean, my life hasn’t exactly been filled with hardships.

Sally: Everyone goes through things. But you never admitted to struggling, because you were always concerned more with protecting others. And that made me want to protect you.

Nick: Is this our cue to kiss?

Sally: Not in front of the camera. Next question?

Nick: Later then. Now, what about Button? Any opinions on whom my younger sibling should end up with?

Sally: I always have opinions.

Nick: Of that I’m well aware, trust me. But out of all of Button’s suiters, who do you think Button should end up with?

Sally: I only really know Gray well, but I’m not going to say him.

Nick: What? Gray is perfect.

Sally: Gray is British. I don’t want Button to eventually relocate to England.

Nick, looking struck: I never considered that possibility.

Sally: Selfishly, I want Button to be with someone who’s willing to stay in Chicago since my dads live here. Other than that, I just want Button to be with someone who makes them happy.

Nick: Agreed. Anyone who makes them happy other than Kim.

Sally: Including Kim.

Nick: Can’t we just buy Button a cat instead? Schrödinger makes you happy, doesn’t he?

Despite his best efforts, Nick can’t resist a small shudder.

Sally, smirking: I love that my cat terrifies you.

Nick: That . . . beast isn’t a cat.

Sally: Of course he is.

Nick: Then what’s his breed?

Sally: He was a stray that we rescued after he lost an eye to a raccoon, so we don’t know. He’s a sweetheart, though.

Nick: More like a monster.

Sally: You only say that because he doesn’t like you.

Nick: He doesn’t like anyone.

Sally: Schrödinger likes me. He likes Button. He just doesn’t like you because you’re always rattling around in the kitchen and rarely giving him tuna.

Nick: If I gave that cat a can of tuna every time I used the kitchen, he’d have heart problems.

Sally: Yes, and I appreciate your restraint. But it is the reason that he doesn’t like you.

Nick, grumbling: More like actively tries to murder me. He knows what he’s doing when he bolts out of closets right as I walk by. One day, I’m going to trip and die, and then you’ll be down a boyfriend.

Sally: My cat will comfort me.

Nick: . . . and this is why we don’t yet live together. In theory, though, if you could renovate one room in my house, which would it be and why?

Sally: Oh, that’s easy! Your attic.

Nick: My attic? My filled-with-cobwebs, pretty-sure-a-ghost-lives-there attic?

Sally nods earnestly.

Sally: My dads flip homes, and a few years ago they renovated a townhouse like yours that had been foreclosed on. Pops added skylights to the roof and converted the attic into an art studio. I was there painting everyday until they put the house on market.

Nick: I remember Button complaining that you were barely available to hang out back then. Did you give them a portrait for their birthday that year?

Sally: Yeah, I painted a selfie that we took together in oils.

Nick: Why oil painting in particular? For that matter, why painting as opposed to some other hobby like weaving or playing an instrument?

Sally: For your first question: because oils are the best. They’re versatile, and their slow drying time means that they’re forgiving. I do digital art as well, but there’s something about physically mixing the colors to that perfect hue that’s super satisfying, you know?

Nick: I do not know. My medium of choice is sidewalk chalk, and only for hopscotch.

Sally: As for why painting . . . when I was little, I was really into cloud gazing. I’d lay on my back at the park and just stare at clouds. Sometimes my parents would join me, but Dad was always interested in pointing out how this cloud looked like a two-headed porcupine or elephant, and Pops was more concerned with teaching me all the cloud names. Meanwhile, I like the way the sunlight changed. Painting lets me live in a world of light and color.

Nick: You’re pretty close with your dads. Anything you can share about them with the audience?

Sally: My dads are the best. If I mentioned that I wanted to try something as a kid, I was immediately signed up for a class. If I wanted to go to school dressed as a T-Rex, that was fine too so long as I still paid attention in class. Both of them came from a small town with limited options, so they really wanted make sure that I had the chance to experience everything.

Nick: Is there one that you’re closer to than the other?

Sally: Not really. Dad more understands my art, but Pops is the one I’d call if I needed someone to bail me out of prison. They’re two equally awesome non-Ments whom adopted a precog daughter.

Nick: Are you okay with answering questions about your abilities? We can skip these if you’d rather.

Sally, shaking her head: I gave you the lead-in for a reason. Lay them on me.

Nick: What’s the dumbest thing that someone’s asked you just because you were a precog?

Sally: Other than lotto numbers? Someone once asked me where they’d misplaced their apron.

Nick: First of all, I was fourteen and didn’t get how your powers worked. I thought you’d be able to, like, see me finding the apron or something and then tell me where I was going to inevitably find it so I could just . . . skip the searching part.

Sally: Basically, you were lazy.

Nick: How old were you when you had your first vision?

Sally: That’s kind of like someone trying to pinpoint when they had their first ever nightmare. I’ve always had visions, even if I didn’t immediately realize what they were.

Nick: What’s the strangest vision you’ve ever had?

Sally: Do you remember Mr. Kravski?

Nick: Your and Button’s tenth grade teacher? Didn’t he retire halfway through the schoolyear?

Sally: That would be the one. Well, Mr. Kravski was into roleplay with Mrs. Kravski.

Nick: Oh no.

Sally: Oh yes. I saw his heart attack before it happened but didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t know how to explain why he was wearing a bunny suit in my vision.

Nick, laughing: Am I allowed to laugh at this? That definitely wasn’t a detail included in the note to parents. Only that Kravski had a heart attack and was retiring early for health reasons.

Sally: I guess it’s objectively kind of funny? At the time though, all I could think is that I should’ve told someone what I’d seen. Maybe it would’ve encouraged Kravski to see a doctor and he would’ve been able to keep on teaching.

Nick: Or maybe Kravski would’ve quit anyway upon learning that one of his students had a vision of him in a bunny suit.

Sally, smiling reluctantly: Perhaps.

Nick: My list of questions gets more intense after this. You up to keep going?

Sally nods.

Nick: Just let me know if you want to change topics. What was your worst or most painful vision?

Sally: . . .

Nick: We can move on if you’d like.

Sally: No, it’s okay. My worst vision was of Pop’s death.

Nick, frowning: Matt’s still alive.

Sally: For now. But when I was sixteen, I had a vision of him in a construction accident. He looked older than he does now, but not as old as you’d want your parent to be when he passes away.

Nick: Sal, I didn’t know. Did you tell Matt?

Sally: Of course. I begged him to quit the business, or to just supervise from the sidelines.

Nick: But he didn’t.

Sally: Of course not. Pops loves what he does. He said that he’d rather live while he was still alive than spend his years being unhappy but safe only to die from some other freak accident. Plus, he reminded me that my visions were more likely to be inaccurate when it came to someone that I’m emotionally invested in.

Nick: How did you feel about his decision to keep doing construction?

Sally: Furious, at first. I felt like he didn’t love me or Dad enough to try to stay safe. But that’s not really fair; site security is a huge concern for him and Dad. And if I loved him, I wouldn’t ask him to stop doing what he loved. Loving someone means more than just being afraid that they’ll die.

Nick: Do you ever have any happy visions?

Sally: Short answer? No. Long answer: also no. Precognition evolved as a safety measure, intended to warn people of danger. My brain doesn’t see the need to warn me of, say, a surprise birthday party unless there’s an eighty percent chance that I’ll choke to death on confetti or something.

Nick: Given how conflicted you’ve always felt about your powers, I was pretty shocked when you decided to join Aeon.

Sally: I joined because Button joined. Otherwise, I would’ve . . . I don’t know. Maybe gone into private security. Freelance precogs make a ton of money. I would’ve been able to retire early and have time to paint.

Nick: You never considered pursuing a career that didn’t use your precognition?

Sally: Precognition is a rare enough trait makes you feel like you have this duty to use it to help people. Most futures can’t be avoided, but some can. I have an obligation to try and prevent the worst of what I see.

Nick: You followed Button to Unity, but do you think that you two would’ve ever become friends had it not been for the way your brains “help” each other?

Sally: Of course we would’ve. Maybe not if I’d had the ability to read Button’s mind, but if I were a norm? One-hundred percent yes. I was an awkward cry baby growing up, and Button was one of the few kids that didn’t bully me. I would’ve latched on to them regardless of whether they stopped my visions.

Nick: One last question for the road, and this one is about the past instead of the future.

He groans as he reads the question card.

Nick: Listeners want to know if you can spill the beans on any embarrassing stories about me.

Sally smiles wickedly into the camera.

Nick, nervously adjusting his collar: We’re, uh, running out of time, though, so . . .

Sally: Sit back, relax, and allow me to tell you the tale of Miranda Hopkins.

Immediately, Nick bolts upwards in his seat. One of his hands lurches forward to cover Sally’s mouth. She nips him, and he recoils with a pleading frown.

Nick: Salome, please.

Sally’s grin widens.

Sally: Unfortunately, it looks like we’re out of time for today. It’s been a delight chatting with you all, and I look forward to being back behind the scenes next month.

The spotlight fades, leaving the stage in darkness.

Nick’s Voice: I love you for that.

Sally’s Voice: Well, it was Miranda Hopkin’s loss if you ask me.