April Interview: Nick Wiseman

The stage is dark. It’s impossible to determine who’s awaiting the audience, but there’s the scraping of a chair being moved across wooden boards.

A voice begins to speak—male, and theatrically deepened to a Morgan Freeman narration level in defiance of its natural baritone timbre.

Disembodied Voice: You've experienced the sequel.

A single spotlight turns on. It illuminates a chair where Nicholas Wiseman sits, wearing black jeans and a denim button-up that screams “effortless but expensive.” His smile is apprehensive but amused.

Disembodied Voice: Now, for his first reshowing in decades, experience the cinematic wonder of the original!

A second spotlight turns on. John Wiseman lounges on a chair opposite his son, smiling toothily at the cameras. He wears a red flannel shirt with a suit jacket thrown over it for the sake of formality. The look is lumberjack chic if one is being nice, and a hot mess if described honestly.

John, speaking in his normal voice: I’m John Wiseman, and welcomed to April’s interview!

Nick: Seriously? You’re my replacement?

John: One could argue that you’re mine.

Nick: I think you mean “upgrade.”

John chuckles. The affection between the two men is obvious, their good-natured ribbing lacking any vitriol.

John: I can’t argue with that. Should we get to the questions?

Nick: You’re the interviewer this time. Your house, your rules.

John: Says the boy that used to sneak out of the house past his curfew to go watch R-rated movies with his friends.

Nick, surprised: You knew about that?

John: Of course we knew when you snuck out. Your mother used to arrange your shoelaces just-so before we went to bed. We could tell when they’d been moved the next morning.

Nick: You never said anything.

John, shrugging: Your mom and I knew what you were doing; you used to leave ticket stubs in your pockets that fell out whenever we did laundry. As far as teenage rebellions go, yours was harmless.

Nick: My entire life . . . has been a lie.

John: Okay, we really need to get on these questions.

John reaches below his chair and pulls out a binder filled with questions. Tabs organize the binder by topic. One additional tab is labeled “baby pictures.”

Nick: Mom’s handiwork?

John: She said that I needed to be prepared.

Nick: Didn’t she use to do this for all your UCRT speeches, too?

John: She never trusted me with the press after the whole “Just John” became “Justice” thing. Now, what topic should we cover first?

He thumbs through the binder.

John: Let’s see . . . food, family, sex . . .

His eyebrows raise.

John: Fans weren’t so forward back in my day.

Nick: Not according to Mom. Remember the time when she got mailed that—

John, hastily interrupting: Music! That’s a good starting topic.

John’s smile takes on an mischievous slant.

John: Why is Rainbow Connection your favorite song? When did you first hear it?

Nick, groaning: You know.

John: I certainly do, and it’s the sweetest, cutest story ever. But I think that our audience would rather hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.

Nick, groaning even louder: I had this frog, okay?

John: A stuffed frog. That your mom gave you for your very first Christmas. Named . . .

John trails off, looking at Nick expectantly. Nick sighs, defeated.

Nick: Named Mistletoad. She played Rainbow Connection whenever you pressed her back flipper.

John: He carted that frog around everywhere. Then he gave it to Button when he was seven.

Nick: And Button lost her at the playground. Yeah. Still not over that.

John: Let’s hop onto another question. What’s your go-to karaoke song?

Nick: Depends on who’s singing with me and how many beers I’ve had. “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” never fails to get a girl’s attention.

John: How whamderful. And your favorite song to play on guitar?

Nick: I don’t have one, to be honest. I usually get bored halfway through one song and start playing a new one. I’ll do that for a few hours when I want to relax.

John: You played full songs in that band of yours in high school.

Nick: Ment Hell Ice Slum?

John, wincing: That would be the band.

Nick: The name was a riff on Mental Asylum. Isaiah wrote most the lyrics—his parents were both conflict resolution councilors, so the dude had a lot of pent-up rage. Which worked for thrash metal.

John: Thrash metal? Is that what you called the noises coming from our garage?

Nick: That band got me my first three girlfriends.

John: Speaking of girlfriends . . .

He glances down at the open binder.

John: What’s your ideal romance?

Nick: Huh?

John: That’s the question. What is my future daughter-in-law going to be like?

Nick: She’s . . . no, hold up. When did marriage get brought up?

John: You don’t want to get married? Become a father? Give me grandkids.

Nick: I mean, sure. I want a wife and kids. Someday.

He laughs self-consciously.

Nick: If I ever have the time. My perfect romance would be someone who understands my life, I guess? We would need to have similar priorities. And she’d need to like food.

John, neutrally: Sally likes food.

Nick’s expression shutters, but his eyes dart quickly to the curtain as if to check to make sure a certain stage manager hasn’t stepped out.

Nick: I don’t see how that’s relevant.

John, even more neutrally: Of course.

Nick: I’m serious. Salome is family. She’s Button’s best friend. She’s like . . .

Nick swallows, appearing vaguely ill.

Nick: She’s like a little sister.

A crash echoes from behind the curtain. Nick winces; John smirks.

John: Why do you call her ‘Salome’?

Nick: Because that’s her name. Next topic.

John: What was your first impression of Sally?

Nick: She bit my ankle because I took Button’s colored pencils. I thought she was rabid.

John: And now?

Nick: She’s still rabid.

There’s another crash from behind the curtain. This crash sounds more deliberate, angrier.

John: Continuing with the theme of names: Is there a reason you go by Nick and not Nicholas? Or Nicky, for that matter. We always called you Nicky when you were little.

John smiles fondly.

John: Little Picky Nicky, who wouldn’t eat his veggies.

Nick: I guess because of Nicholas Henshaw in third grade? He went by Nicholas, and I became Nick.

John, slyly: Some people call you Nicholas.

Nick: Next. Topic.

Grinning, John looks back down at the binder.

John: There are a lot of questions here about your romantic life. Polygamy, yea or nay?

Nick: Uh, nay?

John: This question asks specifically whether you’d be open to having multiple wives, but what’s your opinion on open relationships in general?

Nick: Great for others. Not for me. If sleeping with—

He coughs awkwardly as John arches an eyebrow.

Nick: If dating someone becomes a full-on relationship, then I want to give that person my all. Any adventures that I have, in bed or out of bed, I want to have with her.

John nods seriously.

John: I feel the same way about your mother.

Nick: I know. You two showed me what I want someday.

John: I guess that brings us to the topic of family, doesn’t it?

Nick leans forward, placing a hand on his father’s knee.

Nick, quietly: We don’t have to do this, Dad.

John shakes his head resolutely. However, his eyes are bright with unshed tears as he opens up the section of the binder marked ‘Family.’ He peels a sticky note off the front page and holds it up to the camera.

It reads, in appalling penmanship: ‘Be brave.’

John: A reminder from my wife. This is the first time I’ve discussed our family in public since . . .

Nick: Since Button’s diagnosis.

John nods jerkily.

John: But I guess everyone here already knows. First question: if you had a chance to switch places with Button, taking on their mind blindness, would you consider it?

Nick: Consider it? Wouldn’t need to. I’d do it in a heartbeat.

John: What about giving them your powers?

Nick hesitates.

Nick: I would give up my powers for Button. There’s no question of that. But would I give my abilities to them?

John: That’s a more wrought question than readers know.

Nick: Exactly. Button would be taking on . . .

*STATIC* TECHNICAL ISSUES: PLEASE WAIT. TECHNICAL ISSUES: PLEASE WAIT. TECHNICAL ISSUES: PLEASE WAIT. SPOILERS BEING SCRUBBED. *STATIC*

Nick: . . . and that’s why I’d make that decision, in the end.

John: It makes perfect sense. Next question: what was it like after your mother and I left? I understand if you resent us for leaving you to deal with everything.

Nick, sighing: Look, I feel like we might need to share the whole story at this point. It’s not like Button is ever going to find out, but maybe readers should know.

John: I had a conversation with your mother about this before I came here. She gave her permission.

Nick turns to the camera. His usual smile is flat, his eyes serious.

Nick: My parents didn’t ask me to stay behind. I volunteered.

He takes a deep breath. When he speaks again, his tone is brisk, factual, and almost successful at disguising his pain.

Nick: I volunteered to stay, because, after the incident, my mother overdosed on sleeping pills.

John: Hope wanted to make sure that she never hurt Button again. She thought that suicide was the only way to ensure that.

Nick: She needed professional help. Dad made sure that she got it. He couldn’t have helped her if he stayed in Chicago, and Mom never would’ve allowed me to leave Unity to care for her. Button and Dad could’ve been the ones to move away from Chicago, but none of us wanted to further upend their life and take Button away from Sally after what happened.

He holds out his hands in a ‘what-can-you-do’ gesture.

Nick: Maybe we should’ve included Button in our decisions, but they were still a kid. We all wanted to protect them.

John: You were still a kid too, Nick.

Nick: I grew up.

John: Did you ever doubt your choice to become Button’s guardian?

Nick: Every damn day. The situation was messed up. And my biggest talent was doing keg stands to pick up chicks. How was I supposed to make things okay? Things weren’t okay. Button is the smart one in the family; they knew everything sucked.

John: What about that therapist? We paid for sessions for Button and you.

Nick: I went once. Look, therapy is great for a lot of people. It really helped Mom. But it’s not a cure-all, and it’s hard for therapy to work when most the stuff that stresses you out is classified. I guess I could’ve gone to a Unity shrink, but then everything would get back to Adsila.

John: Being a member of UCRT isn’t easy.

John looks relieved by the chance to shift subject.

John: A lot of people were wondering: did you always want to take over from me as Justice?

Nick, laughing: I didn’t even know what your job was until I was eight! And you didn’t take me inside the Aeon building until I was, what, thirteen?

John: I wanted you to find your own childhood dream. UCRT is your mother’s and my legacy, yes, but there’s plenty of people that could carry it onward. We never wanted you to feel like your future was decided.

Nick: I never felt that way. I wanted to be—

John: —a fireman.

Nick: Technically, I wanted to be a firetruck,until l I learned transformers weren’t real. Then I moved on to fireman.

John: But you always wanted to save people.

Nick: Yeah. Realizing how strong my powers were, and then learning what you and Mom did for a living . . . UCRT was a natural fit. I wouldn’t switch jobs.

John: What did you find to be the hardest part of UCRT training? Do they still make recruits do survival weeks in the Sahara?

Nick, groaning: Unfortunately. I had sand wedged up my ass for months after. Gray got so sunburned that he couldn’t shave for a week after returning home. He went full caveman.

John: Grayson’s a great kid.

Nick: Dad, he’s twenty-six.

John: Like I said, a kid. He’s different from those hooligans you used to hang out with. How’d you two become friends?

Nick: We met right after everything went down with Mom and Button. My old friends didn’t really understand why I suddenly had all these new responsibilities and could no longer go on unplanned road trips to New York. Life was . . . different.

John nods quietly. Apologies are redundant between him and Nick at this point.

Nick: Then I get introduced to Gray, and he’s the same age as me but like decades more mature. He was the kind of guy I wanted to be—grounded, patient, responsible. I think that when I first invited him over to the house, I wasn’t looking so much for a best friend as much as role model.

John: That’s a wonderful compliment.

Nick: Yeah, well, then I realized that the dude’s also a freaking nerd who listens to ABBA and cries at Disney movies.

John, defensively: Some Disney movies are—

Nick: “Masterful narratives filled with emotional depth.” I’ve heard, from both you and Gray. But the deer is a cartoon.

John: That deer represents the universal need for family and belonging.

Nick: Uh-huh.

John: Bambi is a cry to arms, compelling viewers to care about the hurt we unthinkingly inflict upon each other.

Nick: Sure.

John: You’re a lost cause.

Nick: And you’re not a vegetarian, so those tears stop at lunch.

John shakes his head, unable to keep from grinning. He and Nick have had this ‘argument’ more than once.

John: Lunch is a good next topic.

Nick: Oh, that was a smooth transition.

John: I’m smooth. It’s why your mother married me.

Nick: Gross.

John: Food question #1: Sweet potato or strawberry rhubarb pie?

Nick: Neither. The correct answer is Mom’s chocolate pecan.

John: I have a piece of that saved for you backstage, by the way. Question #2: Waffle, steak, shoestring, or crinkle cut fries?

Nick: Cottage fries.

John: Has anyone ever told you that you’re terrible at multiple choice questions? Question #3: Shortening, lard, or butter for your pie crusts?

Nick: Good quality lard is hard to find, so I’m going to go with butter. So long as you’re careful with the temperature, I think it gives the best results.

John: Follow-up to the pie crust question: do you use ice water or vodka for the crust?

Nick: Ice water. I know a lot of professional bakers prefer vodka since it can make the crust softer, but I started baking before I could legally drink.

John, sarcastically: And we both know that you never drank as a minor.

Nick, holding up four fingers: Scout’s honor.

John: If you were in a baking show like Great British Bake Off, what would be your signature bake?

Nick: Choux pastry donuts with a mango-chili jam filling. I know choux pastry is a risk in a hot tent, but my “Chill Man”s are amazing.

John: I’m going to nod and pretend that I understand any of this. Is there anything you struggle to bake?

Nick scowls. When he speaks, his voice is heavy with hatred.

Nick: Baumkuchen.

John stares at Nick blankly.

Nick: You need to pour even layers around a rotating spit and wait for each to brown all while keeping the open flame at . . .

He breaks off, registering John’s glazed eyes.

Nick: It’s a cake. And now I’m hungry.

John: Same, to be honest. Want to grab dinner?

Nick: You need to end the show first. Amateur.

John: Oh, shucks. One sec!

John smiles dazzlingly at the camera.

John: I hope that we’ve satisfied your appetite for information, because now we’re off to appease our own for food! This has been Justice, both past and current version. One could even say that it’s been . . .

Nick groans preemptively.

John: Just-us.*

*Thank you to Fish for the end pun!