The Smart Speaker

A small cylinder, about the size of a thermos, in a charcoal-grey fabric, sits on a kitchen counter in Brooklyn, between a coffee maker and a toaster. The cylinder has, at the top, a small ring of light that turns blue when the cylinder hears a voice.

The cylinder is a smart speaker. The cylinder has been in the apartment for about four years, in one form or another. The current cylinder — the small charcoal-grey one — has been in the apartment for about two.

The cylinder is used, by the apartment's occupant, for a number of things the occupant is, on the whole, willing to admit to. The cylinder is used to set timers. The cylinder is used to play music, in the morning, when the occupant is cooking. The cylinder is used, occasionally, to ask the weather, which the occupant has, in the years the occupant has been asking, mostly stopped checking on the occupant's phone.

The cylinder is not, in general, used for anything else.

What the cylinder hears

The cylinder hears, by the occupant's best estimate, almost everything the occupant says in the kitchen.

The cylinder hears the conversations the occupant has, on the phone, while the occupant is making dinner. The cylinder hears the conversations the occupant has, in person, with the occupant's partner, about the day, about the weekend, about the small number of things that come up, on most evenings, in the kitchen.

The cylinder hears, in particular, the conversations the occupant has, on the phone, with the occupant's mother. The cylinder hears, in particular, the conversations the occupant has, in person, with the occupant's partner, in the way couples have, when couples are tired, and the day is over, and the kitchen is the only room that is warm.

The cylinder's hearing has, in the two years the cylinder has been in the apartment, been thought about, by the occupant, in ways the occupant did not, at first, anticipate.

The first week

The first week the cylinder was in the apartment, the occupant was careful.

The occupant did not, in particular, say anything in the kitchen the occupant would not, in general, want a stranger to overhear. The occupant did not, in particular, have any conversations in the kitchen the occupant would not, in general, want the occupant's mother to overhear. The occupant did not, in particular, use any of the small, ordinary, slightly profane words that come up, on most days, in conversation.

The occupant was careful for about a week.

By the second week, the occupant had stopped being careful. By the third week, the occupant had stopped thinking about the cylinder.

The occupant has, in the months since, occasionally thought about the cylinder again. The occupant has, in particular, thought about the cylinder when the occupant has been on a call, in the kitchen, and has remembered, briefly, that the cylinder is listening. The occupant has, in particular, thought about the cylinder when the occupant has been arguing, in the kitchen, with the occupant's partner, about something the occupant would not, in any general sense, want a stranger to overhear.

The occupant has, in the years the cylinder has been in the apartment, decided that the strangeness is, on most days, manageable.

What has been decided

The occupant has decided, in the years the cylinder has been in the apartment, that the privacy the occupant has given up is, on the whole, the privacy the occupant was willing to give up.

The occupant has, in particular, decided that the conversations the occupant has in the kitchen are, on most days, conversations the occupant would, in some general sense, be willing to have in front of a stranger. The occupant has, in particular, decided that the calls the occupant takes in the kitchen are, on most days, calls the occupant would, in some general sense, be willing to take in front of a stranger.

The occupant has, in particular, decided that the small, profane, ordinary words that come up, on most evenings, in conversation, are not, in fact, the kind of words that anyone, including the small cylinder on the counter, is going to remember.

The occupant has decided, also, that the cylinder is, in the way a guest is, mostly not paying attention. The cylinder is, in the way a guest is, going about the cylinder's own business, on most days, in a way the occupant has, in the years the cylinder has been in the apartment, decided is, mostly, fine.

What has been learned

The occupant has learned, in the years the cylinder has been in the apartment, that having a thing in the house that listens is, in fact, a particular kind of thing.

The occupant has learned, in particular, that the listening changes, in small ways, the way the occupant behaves. The occupant has learned, in particular, that the occupant is, in the presence of the cylinder, slightly more careful about the things the occupant says. The occupant has learned, in particular, that the occupant is, in the presence of the cylinder, slightly less likely to have certain kinds of conversations in the kitchen.

The occupant has learned, in the years the cylinder has been in the apartment, that the occupant has, in this, also been wrong. The occupant has learned, in particular, that the conversations the occupant has stopped having in the kitchen are, in some way, conversations the occupant would have stopped having anyway. The occupant has learned, in particular, that the conversations the occupant still has in the kitchen are, on most days, conversations the occupant would, in fact, have in front of a stranger.

The occupant has learned, finally, that the cylinder is, in the end, just a speaker. The cylinder is, in the end, a small cylinder that plays music, and sets timers, and tells the occupant the weather. The cylinder is, in the end, a piece of plastic and fabric that does, on most days, what the cylinder was designed to do.

A larger thought

The occupant has been thinking, in the months the cylinder has been in the apartment, about the things people let into their homes.

The occupant has been thinking, in particular, about the fact that the cylinder is, in the abstract, the first object the occupant has, in any conscious way, invited to listen. The occupant has, in the abstract, invited the cylinder to listen by buying the cylinder, by plugging the cylinder in, by setting the cylinder on the counter. The occupant has, in the abstract, invited the cylinder to be a small, mostly-silent, mostly-unobtrusive presence in the kitchen.

The occupant has been thinking, in particular, about what it means to invite a thing into one's home that listens. The occupant has been thinking, in particular, about what it means to invite a thing into one's home that remembers — that the song that was played at 7:14 last Tuesday was, in fact, the song that was played at 7:14 last Tuesday. The occupant has been thinking, in particular, about what it means to invite a thing into one's home that, on some level, knows.

The occupant has, in the months the occupant has been thinking about this, decided that the knowing is, in some way, the point. The knowing is, in some way, the thing the occupant has, in the abstract, traded for the timers, and the music, and the weather.

The occupant has, in the months the occupant has been thinking about this, decided that the trade is, on the whole, the trade the occupant was willing to make.

What will happen

The cylinder is going to be kept, by the occupant. The cylinder is going to be kept, by the occupant, on most days, on the counter, between the coffee maker and the toaster.

The cylinder is going to be asked, by the occupant, on most days, about the weather. The cylinder is going to be asked, by the occupant, on most mornings, to play music. The cylinder is going to be asked, by the occupant, on most evenings, to set a timer.

The cylinder is going to be heard, by the occupant, on most days, having the conversations the occupant has, in the kitchen, in front of the cylinder. The occupant is going to be, on most days, not careful.

The cylinder is going to be kept, by the occupant, in the back of the occupant's mind, as a small fact that the cylinder is, in fact, listening. The cylinder is going to be kept, by the occupant, in the back of the occupant's mind, as a small fact that the listening is, in fact, a particular kind of thing.

The cylinder is going to be asked, by the occupant, on most evenings, to play, while the occupant is cooking, the kind of music the occupant has, in the years the cylinder has been in the apartment, decided the occupant wants to hear.

The kitchen is, on most evenings, warm. The cylinder is, on most evenings, listening. The timer, on most evenings, goes off when the cylinder is asked.