* * *
The week after Thanksgiving we were trapped in Julian’s house during the year’s first real snowstorm; the lab was closed and the roads were rivers of powdery white. Jules lit a fire and we played Old Before My Time, a game I’d made up with Mira where we confessed things that made us sound old.
“Okay,” I started. “Describing people as ‘chill’ as if it’s a compliment. Like ‘Yeah, I’m so into that guy, he’s so chill.’ How? How is being super-relaxed a quality one seeks in a partner? The only people I really need to be super–chilled out are pilots.”
“Or air traffic controllers.”
“Yeah, but in a focused and uptight way.”
“I don’t understand TikTok,” Cyrus said.
“I don’t understand Reels,” Jules said. “What is the point if everything keeps disappearing?”
“Reels don’t disappear. Stories do. Keep up.” I said.
“So I got a letter today from some people in Missouri,” Cyrus said.
I gathered the game was over. Cyrus started reading the letter aloud: “？‘My wife and I grew up watching Little House on the Prairie and we both have this yearning to kneel beside our bed at night and say some kind of prayer. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could do that without questioning the viability of a higher power? What if we could put our palms together, look up at the sky, and do some real talking about the day, about the things that had gone wrong, the things that we were okay with, the things we hoped might happen tomorrow? Could we do that, could we just do that and enjoy it? We don’t want to cheat on our atheism.’？”
“Jeez, Cy, if only you could give every skeptic what they wanted, some kind of believable replacement for God,” Jules said.
“Well,” I said, “I did propose that to Cyrus, but he wasn’t sure.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t sure, I said I didn’t want to be a priest.”
Jules looked back and forth between me and Cyrus. “You want to give this man his own religion?”
“I just said I could code an algorithm that would allow people to get a kind of Cyrus ritual, you know, a combination of all their things, wrapped up in a little modern package, without the sexism, homophobia, and burning in the fires of hell of actual religion.”
“You know,” Jules agreed, “that’s not a bad idea. People might actually go for that.”
I shrugged. “It’s up to Cyrus.”
“What’s wrong, Cy, you don’t want to be the new messiah?”
Outside, the snow continued to fall. Everything was blurry and quiet.
“We need marshmallows,” Cyrus said.
“Why don’t we do a little experiment,” I suggested. “I can code a mini version of the algorithm, and Cyrus, you can decide if you like it.”
“You know what I don’t like about s’mores?” Cyrus said. “The chocolate should be melted. Otherwise it’s just the marshmallow that’s warm, and they’re never hot enough to take the chocolate down.”
“Fine,” Jules said, sighing dramatically. He leaped up, darted into the kitchen, slammed a few cabinet doors, and came back with marshmallows, chocolate, graham crackers, and metal skewers.
“Why are you so well prepared?” I asked.
“It’s the white man’s dessert. Every household comes fully equipped.”
We made the s’mores. Cyrus repeated his opinion about the chocolate. Jules suggested Cyrus squeeze a little Hershey’s syrup over his. “That’s another staple of the Caucasian larder.” He winked.
“I’ll do it,” Cyrus said.
I was surprised. “Really?”
“Anything for you.” He smiled.
“Hallelujah!” Jules said, slamming his hand on his armrest. “I always knew we were meant for great things.”
We toasted with our skewers. I promised to get to work immediately. Jules asked how long it would take to do a small release. He said we should try to get it out to a few people as soon as possible. You know, just to see what happened.
* * *
What happened was this: I started coding the platform, and Jules became maniacally attached to it. Not half an hour would go by before he’d barge into the dining room and ask how far I’d gotten, what would the features be, and should we think about beta-launching soon, and did I need a coffee? “This is genius,” he kept saying, pacing back and forth along the room, running his hands over the patterned wallpaper. “It could be huge.”