Writetober 2019

October 10- Pattern

When Ethan limped in the front door looking like someone had stolen his ice cream and eaten it in front of him, his twin knew something had happened. Despite his disabilities, Ethan usually kept up a cheerful front. When he couldn't muster the energy for that frail defense against reality, something had to be done.

Where Ethan had uncanny insight into what events led up to the present, his twin could usually predict with some accuracy where things were going in the immediate future. And tonight was definitely a pizza night.

"You want your usual?" He asked his somber twin, not bothering to say what he was ordering. They'd had this unspoken conversation dozens of times of the last few years.

"Yeah, sure," Ethan answered, distracted with taking his prosthetic off.

Hm. Might need to add a dessert pizza to that order, He thought. He pulled his phone out to start ordering through the app as he cautiously asked, "How was your day?" His brother usually declined talking about it, but it never hurt to ask.

The evening's first surprise came when Ethan answered, "Do you ever feel stuck?"

His twin's fingers froze over his phone screen. "How do you mean?"

Ethan let out a frustrated sigh. "Like, I'm meant for more than this. More than fixing computers for crappy clients." After a moment of silence, he continued, "I helped someone find their missing daughter today while waiting for the bus, and I remembered just how much I miss doing that—helping people."

"You do help people," I protested. "You saved that photographer's livelihood by restoring his albums after someone nearly burned his apartment building down. And what about that lady whose computer got ransomewared?"

"That's not the same, and you know it," Ethan said, sinking further into the sofa.

The man hummed. He'd come to terms with his own regrets. He'd almost lost Ethan to the hero's life once. Never again. He finished placing their order and asked, "Need anything before I go?"

"Ice pack?"

He tossed his twin the gel pack from the freezer in a move they used to do with handcuffs. Ethan caught it without even looking.

On his way to the pizza place, the man tried not to worry too much about Ethan. This was all part of the pattern. As amazing as humans might sometimes be, they generally operated on pattern and routine. They were predictable, himself and his twin included.

Ethan had had regrets and mood dips before and always bounced back. This time was no different, he assured himself.

This line of thinking was one of his own patterns, and he'd come to accept that. He took comfort from patterns and predictability, especially since he'd given up his powers.

He braked just in time to avoid colliding with a sportscar cutting into his lane. He rolled his eyes and turned on his signal as the car—predictably—cut over into the next lane, earning a chorus of honks. Most people are predictably assholes.

He arrived at the pizza place and took a seat at the waiting bench next to a mother and daughter. The place was busy today and didn't have his order ready yet. While waiting he occupied himself with a mindless mobile game. It's all about the patterns, He reminded himself as he drew close to his high score. Then he mistimed a tap and got a game over.

He silently cursed as an unpleasant fact occurred to him. It had been hammered home often enough when he was a hero, and he couldn't forget it now. Knowing what would happen didn't always mean you could change it. He'd been too far away to reach Ethan when that building collapsed.

He frowned as he realized it had almost been three years to the day. That explained why today seemed worse than usual for both of them. Part of him relaxed with that knowledge. It would get better; it always did. That was the pattern.

A few more people picked up their orders as he waited. An elderly man picked up his box, followed by a college guy taking five boxes. No wonder it's taking so long! Finally, the woman and little girl next to him walked up to the counter where a small box waited. The woman whispered to the cashier, and I internally groaned, suspecting they'd messed up her order. The two transactions the cashier rang up seemed to support the theory. But then she left with her little box and her little kid. Odd.

"Order for Trent," the cashier called a minute later. The man stood and walked to the counter. "Here you go, sir." Two boxes and a receipt waited on the counter beside the register.

Trent checked the order out of habit and frowned in confusion. The receipt said it was already paid. "What?"

The cashier shrugged. "Lady before you got your bill—and a few others besides," He whispered. "Said she was paying it forward."

Trent blinked dumbly as he processed.

The cashier shook his head. "I dunno, man. Some people are nuts—"

"No," I corrected him. "Not nuts. Unpredictable." Trent grinned, leaving a confused cashier behind him as he walked out. He'd forgotten how refreshing a break from pattern could be.