The Price of Nostalgia

Aiden stood outside the old-fashioned Mickey's Diner, the only intact structure in the crumbling desolation that was once St. Paul. Leo arrived and Aiden embraced his old friend. Leo felt rail thin and shaky. He needed a fix, fast, hence their 3:00 AM meeting at the diner.

The bell over the door dinged with the long forgotten sound of commerce, social gatherings, and gluttony. The buzz of chatter, laughter, plates clinking, forks scraping, and newspaper pages turning filled the air, giving the men a burst of serotonin. Leo relaxed visibly.

A family sat in a booth, the children scooping up whipped cream on their hot chocolates with grubby hands. A mug spilled and the liquid dripped into the mother’s lap.

“Jonathan!” Came the shrill reprimand.

A waitress cleared a flannel-clad farmer’s plate and he pinched her bottom. She shrieked and slapped him across the face. The farmer rose angrily and pushed past Aiden and Leo to leave the diner.

A man in a suit and a fedora read from a newspaper, a vestige of Aiden’s childhood he could barely recall. Salk’s Polio vaccine proven SAFE!!! read the headline today. Vaccines and healthcare; other relics of the past.

“Hi there, boys. Take a seat.” Sarah-May’s midwestern drawl sang out to Aiden and Leo from behind the counter.

The men took their places on sticky vinyl stools and Sarah-May produced two steaming cups of coffee.

“What’ll it be today? Mickey's got a nice hash on special. Three eggs, red peppers, onion, sausage, and Wisconsin cheddar, fried up real nice.” Her mascara heavy eyes batted imploringly at the men.

“Just the usual, Sarah-May.”

“Same.”

“You got it, boys.” She headed to the kitchen.

Leo vigorously stirred sweetener into his coffee.

“Did you see the news on IN today?” Aiden asked him.

Leo shook his head. “You know I don’t have a device anymore. Can’t remember the last time I logged on.” Then, reluctantly, “What’s happening?”

“Easterners are preparing for an attack. Looks like the Southern Belt is making moves to hit DC. And Roland Jenkins was in Chicago just a few weeks ago.”

“Texas’ Roland Jenkins?” Leo stopped stirring. “What the hell kinda business did that son-of-a-bitch have in Chicago?”

“Looking for support,” Aiden said grimly, and took a gulp of his bitter coffee. He missed his good coffee. He had been savoring an oat milk latte that morning in ‘31 when he opened his IN feed and saw Roland Jenkins’ speech. That morning was the beginning of the end. “Wants us Northerners to stand by him when he makes his move in the East. Already went to L.A. to get the Westies behind him...they refused. So did we. Roland and his band of rebels are on their own.”

Sarah-May delivered two plates and the men stopped talking to devour their fried eggs, bacon and toast. She cleared their plates when they finished and tried to top off their coffees.

“No more for me, Sarah-May. We’d best get going,” Aiden said.

“Oh, won’t you stay?” She smiled sweetly and adjusted the polyester sleeves of her uniform.

“Not today. See you next time, Sarah-May.”

Aiden stood to leave. Leo stayed put.

“Leo, let’s go.” Aiden tugged on his friend’s arm. Reluctantly, Leo rose and they returned to their harsh reality.

The next week, Aiden met Leo outside Mickey's Diner. The bell dinged as they entered and Aiden watched Leo inhale the scent of grease, vinyl, and coffee, eyes rolling back in his head with ecstasy.

A cup clattered against a formica tabletop.

“Jonathan!”

The waitress shrieked and slapped the farmer. The bell dinged as he yanked the door open, disappearing into nothing on the other side.

Soviets sign Warsaw Pact with Eastern Bloc: Cold War turns frigid!!! The suited man's newspaper headline was apt today.

“Hi there, boys. Take a seat.” Aiden and Leo took their usual places at the counter and Sarah-May dropped two coffees in front of them. “What’ll it be today? Mickey's got a nice hash on special. Three eggs, red peppers, onion, sausage, and Wisconsin cheddar, fried up real nice.” She preened at the men.

“Just the usual, Sarah-May.”

“Same.”

“You got it, boys.” She headed to the kitchen.

Leo reached for the sweetener packets.

“We’re siding with the East,” Aiden said without preamble. “DC will share the vaccines for COVID-24 and 29 if we back them when Jenkins attacks.”

Leo cringed.

“But some of the Middlers have pledged loyalty to the Southern Belt. Kansas, Missouri...Nebraska probably will, too. Westies remain neutral. Ever since Canada offered Washington and Oregon protection, the rest over there are too afraid to jump into Dissolution politics, hoping Canada will take them, too. Goddamn weaklings, if you ask me. Then there’s Hawaii, running to Australia for pro-”

“Shut up!!” Leo exclaimed with a jolt, spilling his coffee. He wiped it up with shaky hands. “Shut up, Aiden! I don’t want to know! I just want...I want everything how it was...America...” Leo fell forward onto the countertop, head in his hands.

“Get it together!” Aiden’s stool creaked as he adjusted to face Leo. “Things are never going to go back to how they were, and we gotta make the best of what it is! There is no America. We’re Northerners now, and we’re the smallest coalition on the continent. If we join the East, we can start trading with New York and Boston again! We can benefit from DC's services! We can…”

“Let’s stay here!” Leo begged, eyes glazed over with a sugar high. “Look around us, it’s the good ol’ days! Happy, happy place...”

“It’s a goddamn Nostalgia Hub! It’s the 1950’s! Christ, Leo, you weren’t even born then. We can come here to briefly forget, but we still gotta get back out there and face reality.”

Sarah-May delivered their fried eggs, bacon, and toast. The men fell silent as they savored the taste in their mouths and the bulk in their throats before it dissipated, filling them mentally but never physically. The Nostalgia Hubs were realistic, but even they couldn’t ignore ration laws. The food heaped onto plates was 95% holographic.

Sarah-May cleared their plates when they finished and tried to top off their coffees.

“No more for me, Sarah-May. We’d best get going,” Aiden said.

“Oh, won’t you stay?” She smiled sweetly and adjusted the polyester sleeves of her uniform.

“Not today, sorry. See you next time, Sarah-May.”

Aiden stood to leave. Leo stayed put.

“Leo, come on.” He tugged on his friend’s arm. More reluctantly than ever, Leo rose. They left the diner.

A week later, Aiden waited outside Mickey's Diner. Leo arrived, visibly shaking; his addiction was getting out of control.

The door chimed as expected and Leo immediately collapsed with relief. Aiden caught his thin frame and held him up. Leo’s gaunt face looked up at his friend and he broke into crazed laughter.

The hot chocolate spilled. The waitress slapped the farmer. The suited man’s newspaper read Space Race! Russians plan to get there first! It was a grim irony: Aiden's IN feed told him that yesterday, Russians completed the first Mars colony. Thousands of Earth’s bravest were headed to the Red Planet now, but no former Americans. The Dissolution of ‘34 had left the population impoverished, and the funds to keep up with the rest of the world's development were gone.

“Hi there, boys. Take a seat. What’ll it be today? Mickey's got a nice hash on special. Three eggs, red peppers, onion, sausage, and Wisconsin cheddar, fried up real nice.”

“Just the usual, Sarah-May.”

“Same.”

“You got it, boys.” She headed to the kitchen.

Leo frantically tore apart sweetener packets and poured their contents into his mouth, bypassing the coffee. White powder landed in his beard, making him look like Santa Claus. Children today didn't believe in Santa. They had no reason to.

“Leo, I gotta tell you something.” Aidan began. “Five thousand Northerners are headed East in a week. An announcement went out on the IN feeds yesterday. I’m going with ‘em.”

Leo dropped the packets and turned to his friend.

“You’re crazy,” he said, smiling faintly.

Sarah-May delivered their fried eggs, bacon, and toast. The men ate in silence, and Aiden relished each bite. It would be a long time before he could visit another Nostalgia Hub.

Sarah-May cleared their plates when they finished and tried to top off their coffees.

“No more for me, Sarah-May. We’d best get going,” Aiden said.

“Oh, won’t you stay?” She smiled sweetly and adjusted the polyester sleeves of her uniform.

“Not today, sorry. See you next time, Sarah-May.”

“I’m staying,” Leo announced.

The diner fell silent and the patrons watched Leo, eager to see if another would join their ranks.

“What the hell, Leo?” Aiden hissed, grabbing his friend’s arm. “You can’t stay.”

“I can,” Leo said loudly. “And I am. I can’t cut it out there, man.” Leo’s voice cracked. “I tried, didn’t I? Fourteen years, I tried...I can’t adapt...” He trailed off.

Memories washed over Aiden. Leo quarantining with Aiden when COVID took his parents. Continuing to study together after the schools closed. Building their Influencer Network channel to millions of followers who tuned in to watch them discuss current events. Mourning the loss of that identity when the government began mass censoring. Joining the riots against the government’s increasingly oppressive actions. Supporting Roland Jenkins’ call for secessions in '31, then watching in horror as he declared his autocratic, de-facto leadership over the broken states after the Dissolution of '34... Scrounging for food, bartering for healthcare, and sleeping with strangers in abandoned apartments as the structure of society broke down. Pledging their loyalty to the Northern Fringe when Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois, and Iowa banded together in Midwestern solidarity.

Or at least, that’s how Aiden remembered it. Evidently, Leo never accepted this new reality.

Aiden left the diner alone.

__________

Twenty-one years later, Aiden stood outside Mickey's Diner. He entered and the bell dinged overhead. Jonathan spilled his hot chocolate. The farmer stormed out, still shocked at the waitress' rebuke two decades later. The suited man’s newspaper declared: Federal-Aid Highway Act becomes law: Construction of Interstate Highways begin. Aiden vaguely recalled the concrete roads that used to unite the states. Today, they were slowly being rebuilt.

“Hi there, darling. Take a seat.”

Aiden hobbled to the counter; he was slower these days, still not used to the prosthetic leg after 15 years. Roland Jenkins himself had thrown the grenade, but Aiden knew his leg was a small price to pay for the eventual victory of the Northeastern Coalition.

A steaming cup of coffee waited for him at the counter.

“What’ll it be today? Mickey's got a nice hash on special. Three eggs, red peppers, onion, sausage, and Wisconsin cheddar, fried up real nice.”

“Just the usual, Sarah-May.”

“You got it, darling.” She headed to the kitchen.

“You take sugar with your coffee?” A man two stools down held out a packet of sweetener. “Sugar here’s real good.”

Leo hadn’t aged a day, but existence as a facet of the Nostalgia Hub had changed him. His face was robust and healthy now, his beard trimmed neatly, yet his eyes were soulless and dead, the price of trading reality for blissful eternity in nostalgia.

Aiden reached for the packet of sugar in Leo’s outstretched hand and his fingers grazed his palm. It was cold and hard as the formica tabletops.

“Real good,” Leo repeated, smiling serenely. Aiden felt a stab of grief.

Sarah-May delivered a plate of fried eggs, bacon, and toast. Aiden ate in silence as Leo watched.

Sarah-May cleared his plate when he finished and tried to top off his coffee.

“No more for me, Sarah-May. I’d best get going.”

“Oh, won’t you stay?” She smiled sweetly and adjusted the polyester sleeves of her uniform.

Leo's blank eyes stared at his friend, his face frozen in an eerie smile.

“Yeah, won’t you stay?”