Floyd and Piers were in the center court, again. “You didn’t see it! She hit the floor like she was shot, Piers! And it’s all my fault!”
Piers shook his head. “Don’t say that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Floyd shook his head even harder. He had ditched all of his good luck charms and was now dressed like a regular Floyd. He looked absolutely miserable. “No. I should’ve eaten that centipede. It was meant for me. It was my centipede. I should’ve swallowed all those bug legs.”
Piers winced at the thought. “She’s fine, isn’t she?”
“She hit her head. She’s gonna have a lump, a…” Floyd sighed. “Goose egg.”
Piers nodded sympathetically. “Okay. There’s that. But it could have been worse. Most local species aren’t poisonous.”
Floyd waved his hands. “No! That thing’s not from around here! No way! It’s gonna be from some huge jungle, somewhere. She’s gonna get sick because that’s what would happen to me. That’s being Floyd. Nobody’s ever gonna know how it got here because that’s being me.”
Piers seemed concerned. He’d just wanted to help solve Floyd’s problem, but it seemed like they’d stumbled upon something that made his new friend feel even worse than when he got goosed. Somebody getting goosed in his place. “But we’re not even certain if it was the costume or the random number generator.”
“I don’t care. I’m going back to being me.”
“I understand how you feel, but you’re being far too hard on yourself.”
“How can you say that? I let her take the hit that was meant for me. I did that.”
“You’re not the victim this time. Is that so wrong? Why should it always be you, Floyd? I know that sounds cold, but accidents happen to everyone. It’s not your responsibility to be the one who always takes the lumps. Does it have to be you?”
Floyd flapped his hands angrily. “Yes, it does!”
Piers crossed his arms, clearly disagreeing. “I don’t see it that way. The way I see it, well…accidents happen. You don’t make them happen, Floyd. You didn’t do it.”
Floyd sat down on a bench and sulked. “I feel so bad, Piers. So bad.”
“I know.”
“No. It’s supposed to be me. Something has always been going on with me. I don’t know why, but it’s my problem and I can’t let someone else take the fall. It might be my little sister next time. No. I’m Floyd. I’m the one who gets goosed, and that’s that. Besides, I can’t wear that getup every day.”
Piers sat down next to him and let out a long sigh. “Your kid sisters. I didn’t think of that.”
The boys sat for a couple of minutes without speaking. Eventually, Piers broke the silence. “You know, we learned something pretty amazing today.”
“Really?” asked Floyd doubtfully.
“Really, Floyd. We reversed fate. You can actually influence probability. It’s like reversing gravity. You can change the universe. It’s incredible when you think about it.”
Floyd sulked. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
“But if we can do this, who knows what else we can do? This is just the beginning, Floyd. We could beat this thing. I truly believe that.”
Floyd shook his head. “I’m not interested, Piers. I can’t go through this, again. I’m not worth it. I’m just Floyd. This is what being Floyd is. You’ve got no idea how much this hurts me. I can’t take it.”
“I know, Floyd. You care so much. You’re a really good person.” Floyd seemed to sink even lower at the compliment. Piers put a hand on his sad friend’s shoulder. “Maybe that’s what being Floyd is?”
It was with a heavy mind that Floyd dragged himself to drama after school that day. Guilt is not pretty, even undeserved guilt. It has a way of changing your face, making it obvious that you are carrying something cumbersome. Floyd often felt embarrassed, self-conscious, even depressed, but guilt this serious was something very new to the Floyd experience. If there was ever a boy who wished nothing but the best for everyone, it was the Piccolo family’s eldest son (by several minutes). He no longer believed that he was the person he’d always thought he was, and no amount of denial or objection could possibly change his mind.
When he got there and looked around, he saw that Peyton was nowhere to be found. His brother wasn’t there, either, but he wasn’t scheduled to rehearse this day, so he probably wasn’t coming in. Mr. Moderick sat in the front row seats directing an integral scene between Maximus and Lucilla. Sam seemed to be having trouble with this scene.
“You’ve got to make me believe it, Maximus. I don’t believe it. Do you get what I mean?” Mr. Moderick said.
Sam shrugged. “Not really.”
Mr. Moderick sighed. “You’re not winning the scene. You’re a gladiator, but I don’t hear that in your voice.”
“Well, how do I sound winning, exactly?”
“You tell me how to win. You are Maximus. Maximus is the winner, not me. I can’t tell you how to win, only you can. Be a winner.”
“But I don’t know how.”
“Sam, you are recreating the greatest performance in the history of film. Don’t you know that?”
“Um...” Sam was flustered. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“Russel Crowe received the Oscar for Best Actor at the 2000 Academy Awards. You didn’t know that?”
“I might have. I might have known it at one time, then forgot.”
“Have you been watching the movie like I told you to?”
“Yeah. I rented it on Amazon, but I haven’t watched it yet. It cost $2.99 in SD.”
“Okay. Now that you’ve watched it, you need to forget it.”
“Um. Forget it? But I haven’t watched it.”
“Right, but when you do watch it, you have to unwatch it. To unlearn what you’ve learned. You have to unlearn things to truly learn them.”
Sam nodded, clearly no better off than a minute ago. “I already never learned it, so I don’t need to unlearn it.”
“Start over, Maximus.”
“Okay,” Sam said, putting back on his helmet.
Maximus and Lucilla faced each other. Sam puffed up, turning on his masculinity.
MAXIMUS
This is not the dream of Rome that was the emperor’s
dream of Rome.
LUCILLA
That’s true. It is not the dream of the emperor’s Rome.
MAXIMUS
It is up to us to return the dream of Rome to Rome.
LUCILLA
Yes. The dream. The dream that is Rome,
the city...of Rome.
Floyd couldn't watch. He was feeling too bummed to bear Mr. Moderick's dialogue. It took a strength he didn't always possess.
"Wait a minute!" Mr. Moderick called out. The actors stopped acting and looked at him. The teacher stood up. "Something's missing."
Everyone looked around as Mr. Moderick seemed to remain paused mid-thought. Floyd stood up, too, ready to go. Floyd's movement caught the teacher's eye, and he looked at him. "You! The other Lloyd! I think we need some prop vases. Could you go fetch some from the prop room?"
Floyd nodded. "Sure," Floyd replied. He then spun around and walked off.
The prop room was a floor below them. One merely had to turn a corner and descend a poorly lit stairwell into an even darker corridor. Rarely ventured into by students, it was the loneliest part of the entire school. The motion-controlled lights at the far end of the corridor flicked on, revealing student murals painted on the wall of varying quality. Each one represented a different graduating class. It was for probably for the best that nobody came here. Some of the murals weren’t much to look at. Several figures of students looming around the 'Class of '92' were dressed in the droopy, grunge clothing of that era. It hadn’t aged well.
The prop room had once been a small library, but now the shelves held ancient, theatrical artifacts. The door was half open, the room was pitch dark. In one motion, he swung the door out, entered the room, and flicked on the light, because the room lights weren’t motion-controlled. His eye caught something right across from him and up near the ceiling. It was the Northern Lights, taken down from the heavens and hanging up on a hook. It looked very unsafe. Probably put there by some exhausted janitor. It would have been better to have them on the floor. Movement drew his eyes down from the Northern Lights to two squirming shapes underneath it. There were two students there, holding each other in embrace. Just moments before they had been lip-locked, now they were staring dumbly at Floyd who'd intruded on their seven minutes in heaven. It was Floyd's younger brother Lloyd, in his arms was the center of Floyd's universe: Peyton Flores.
No words were spoken, at first. None were needed. What was happening was perfectly understood by all three of the students. Floyd, not knowing what to do, took a few steps into the room. His mouth was open, but he did not speak. His eyes met Peyton's. She suddenly knew how he felt about her. It was obvious by the look on his face. His gaze flicked to his brother, and the pain in Floyd's eyes felt like a punch to Lloyd's gut. Hurting Floyd was the worst feeling he'd ever felt.
Peyton didn't know what to say. She was looking at Floyd a little differently. "Floyd," she said. "Um...I..."
But the words never made it entirely out. A sudden flash of color shot past Floyd's eyes and the sound of several huge thuds filled the room. A second later, Floyd saw Peyton on the floor, the Northern Lights on top of her, and his identical brother screaming her name.
Peyton Flores was carried out of the school by what looked like an entire soccer team of EMTs. Ambulances cause just as much pandemonium as you would imagine when they arrive at a high school. Students, all of a sudden, have nothing better to do but stand and watch, eyes wide and mouths open, when there is an accident to be ogling. For Floyd and Lloyd Piccolo, things seemed to play out in slow motion as the doors of the ambulance popped open to accept Peyton’s gurney in, her body still and unconscious. When Principal Theodore Graham tapped the brothers on the shoulder, they were gawking, jaws dropped and pooling drool.
"Come with me," Principal Graham ordered them.
The air in a principal's office can feel very thick when you're there against your will. It can clog your throat with the consistency of porridge when the principal slides back his chair and sits down with a grunt behind his desk. When you're ordered there for reasons you don't know, it can be bad enough, but it's far, far worse when you do know what you've done.
"Gentlemen," said Principal Graham. "It was quick thinking, Lloyd, to call the emergency number. Most students would have run to get the nurse."
"Yes, sir," said Lloyd.
"The question is: why were you and your girlfriend down in the prop room?"
The word 'girlfriend' was a stab to Floyd's heart. He almost groaned in pain. Two questions came to Floyd's mind: 1. Was Peyton Lloyd's girlfriend? and 2. Why can't he live in a dimension where Peyton wasn't Lloyd's girlfriend? This was definitely a bad dimension for Floyd. Nothing seemed to go his way in this one.
"Nobody had asked you to be down there, Lloyd. That's a fact. So why were you there?"
Lloyd seemed to shrink in his seat. "Um..."
When no immediate answer was given, Principal Graham impatiently swung his attention to Floyd. "What about you, Floyd?"
Floyd looked like he'd been poked with a toothpick. "Excuse me?"
"Do you have any idea why Peyton and your brother were down in the prop room? Mr. Moderick has stated that he asked you to go into the room to retrieve some items. When you went down into the prop room, as ordered, what did you encounter?"
"Uh...I encountered...Lloyd and Peyton," the boy said, voice quivering just so. Heartbreak was leaking from his words.
"Right. And what were they doing?"
Lloyd's eyebrows reached for the skies. Even though he knew what he and Peyton were doing in the prop room, he had no idea what Floyd would say.
"They were..." Floyd just managed to say. "Asleep."
Both Floyd's younger brother and his principal looked genuinely surprised.
"Asleep?" asked Principal Graham disappointed. "Well, that just sounds unlikely to me, Floyd. Is this true, Lloyd? Were you and your girlfriend napping in the prop room?"
"I, uh..." Lloyd stammered.
The principal was clearly getting annoyed. His face was as red as a beet. "You want to try again, Floyd?"
Floyd had really lost all hope at this point. This day had been a nightmare. He couldn't think of a reason to care about the principal's questions.
"I don't care," Floyd said. He sounded exhausted. He was.
Principal Graham's face got even beetier. "What do you mean you don't care? What kind of answer is that?"
Floyd just shook his head. Seemingly indifferent to it all. "I don't care."
The principal huffed and turned to Lloyd. "What about you, Lloyd? Do you care?"
Lloyd, far from indifferent, was almost shivering from nerves. "Yes, Mr. Graham! Yes! I do!"
"Well, I'm glad to hear it, because your brother just seems to have stopped. Listen..."
Floyd stood up, his face stern and looking at no one, and walked out the door of the principal's office. When he got out in the hall, he just kept walking, ignoring the loud voice of his principal trailing away from behind him. He simply didn't care, and nobody who saw the look on his face would have mistaken it for the face of someone who did.
Hospitals are places of serious business for most of us. When we are there, we are nervous and impatient. We constantly want to be updated, preparing ourselves for terrible news, even times when good news is likely. Most of us would be surprised at the comfortable, home-away-from-home attitude that the Piccolos display when they are there. They know how to be relaxed in a place not designed for relaxation. The hospital staff has long stopped objecting to the Piccolos’ bean bag chairs, board games, and book readings. The presence of the family seemed to liven up the stagnant place. Often other children stuck there get wrapped up in the Piccolos’ fun, and usually complained when they had to leave. Floyd’s family, out of necessity, had become as comfortable in a waiting room as they were at the kitchen table.
For the first time ever, Floyd was in a waiting room himself, waiting silently with his father and his brother. His father had noticed something going on between his twin sons but hadn’t asked what it was. They hadn’t spoken to each other, wouldn’t look at each other, and sat on opposite sides of their father, as if the man was a wall between warring countries. When Peyton’s parents had returned to the waiting room, Martin stood up and introduced himself.
“Hi,” he said, holding out a hand. The two fathers shook.
“I am Joca. How do you do, Mr. Piccolo?” asked Joca.
“Martin. Martin’s fine.”
“Hello. I am Maria,” said Maria, also shaking Martin’s hand.
“Have you met Peyton, yet?” Joca asked Martin.
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Do you two want to see her?“ Joca asked the boys.
“Yes,” said Lloyd. He seemed the more eager of the two. Floyd’s shoulders slumped. He looked as if his batteries were running low.
The circumstances of Peyton’s injuries were very confused. The story Lloyd told was kind of jumbled, but it didn’t seem important to her parents, who only cared about her condition. Accidents happen, the Flores’ thought, it’s nobody’s fault.
Joca led the boys through the door and down the corridor to Peyton’s room, then stood outside and let them have their visit. He saw no reason to pry.
“A couple minutes, boys. Okay?” The boys both nodded and entered. The girl’s bed was to the right. Opposite her was an empty one. Peyton lit up when she saw Lloyd but glanced only briefly at his brother.
“Hi,” she said warmly, gazing into Lloyd’s eyes.
“Wow,” said Lloyd, leaning in over the bed a little. “How long is that thing gonna be...” He pointed at the bandages.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Not too long.”
“Oh, good. Are you gonna miss any school?”
“Only tomorrow. I’ll be back on Monday.”
“You don’t have amnesia, or something?” Lloyd said with a smirk.
“Um…I don’t remember,” she said, and they both laughed.
“That’s a classic,” said Lloyd, still laughing a little. “You just told a classic.”
“Yeah. Um...could I talk to Floyd for a minute?”
Lloyd was surprised but nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he said, backing up then turning around. When he was gone, Floyd was left there standing quietly. He took a step closer, looking bashful. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she said coldly.
Floyd crossed his arms. “So...um...”
“Listen, Floyd. I know all about it, okay? You and the weird stuff that happens around you. Lloyd filled me in. I know everything.”
Floyd squirmed a little. He didn’t really like the way her voice sounded. “Oh, I just...”
“Maybe we shouldn’t be around each other anymore.”
Floyd’s jaw dropped a little. He had a feeling that the worst moment of his life was coming up. “I just...” he attempted to say.
Her eyes were wide with anger. She hated him, and he knew it. “I think you did this,” she said. “You did this by being jealous. Jealous of Lloyd. I saw it on your face.”
Floyd’s head shook a little. “No. I didn’t...well...”
“You didn’t do anything?” she asked, even more coldly. “Are you sure about that?”
Floyd was going to deny it, but then he couldn’t. He knew it was his fault. Even if he did do it, though, he knew he didn’t mean to. “I don’t know. I didn’t want...I really didn’t. I just...”
Peyton shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Just stay away from me. I promise I won’t come to your house, and when I see you at drama, I’ll just pretend you don’t exist. So that’ll make things easier. I’ll stay away from you, and you stay away from me.”
Floyd’s head hung low. He looked destroyed. Peyton saw this but, right there and then, she didn’t care the least bit.
“But...” Floyd said. There were tears in his eyes, now. He couldn’t look at her. He felt like he was dirty. Disgusting. He couldn’t stand being him. He hated being Floyd.
“You can go now, Floyd,” she said. “We’re done.”
When Floyd walked out of the room Peyton’s father, who hadn’t been listening, was startled by the state of the boy. “What happened?” he said to Floyd. Joca peeked into the room. “What did you do?” he accused Floyd. He saw nothing wrong, though. His daughter was fine, and that’s all that mattered. “It’s time to go, boys,” Joca said, shooing them away from the door.
On the way home, Floyd sat up front with his father while Lloyd sat in the back alone. Usually, the boys sat next to one another when they were the only two passengers. Something was indeed strange, and it was impossible for a father not to notice. Floyd looked particularly bad. His eyes were puffy and red. He felt stupid not seeing it before now. “What’s going on, guys?” he said. “What’s wrong?”
Lloyd shrugged his shoulders in the back seat. “Nothing,” the boy said.
“Oh, come on. Floyd?”
“Nothing,” Floyd said, too.
“It’s not nothing,” Martin insisted. He knew it had something to do with the girl they’d just visited, but he didn’t know what to do. The car was silent the rest of the way home, besides the radio set on an oldies station.
That night, well after dark, Floyd lay in bed with not the least idea what to do about what had become of his life. Peyton's words weighed on his heart. He kept hearing them again and again, her voice becoming crueler with every utterance, the hatred in her eyes cutting deeper. However, he did not blame her for shunning him. He was Floyd, and being Floyd meant everything, eventually, went down in flames. It was nobody's fault but his own. His problem had gone from hurting just him, to hurting the people around him. But what could hurt more than this? He'd never in his life felt this much pain. Floyd couldn't imagine feeling worse than this. And all this time, he thought he'd been at the very bottom. But he hadn't. Not until now.
When his phone beeped he didn't, at first, even look. He didn't want to hear from anyone. He knew who it was, anyway. It was Piers, desperate to know everything. After several more texts he picked up the phone.
FLOYD: I don't want to talk Piers.
PIERS: Okay. I just wanted to find out how you were.
FLOYD: How do you think I am?
PIERS: I don't know. I imagine you feel guilt.
FLOYD: Good guess.
PIERS: I would tell you that it isn't your fault, but you would never accept that.
FLOYD: If it isn't my fault whose is it?
PIERS: I'm really sorry Floyd. It might have been just a coincidence that Peyton got hurt. It might have nothing to do with you.
FLOYD: It has everything to do with me.
PIERS: But you didn't interfere again. You stopped wearing the tokens.
FLOYD: I think everything changed. Whatever you did it changed things.
There was a lull of about ninety seconds.
FLOYD: Nothing to say about that?
PIERS: I was just trying to help.
FLOYD: I know. But you didn't. You didn't help. I should never have listened to you.
PIERS: I just wanted to help my friend.
FLOYD: Well stop helping.
PIERS: Are we still friends?
There was a long pause, on Floyd's end this time. He knew that Piers was waiting anxiously.
FLOYD: I don't think so Piers. I'm sorry. Maybe we shouldn't be around each other anymore.
PIERS: I just don't want you to hate me.
FLOYD: Then leave me alone.
Another long pause.
PIERS: This just isn't like you Floyd. This isn't you.
Floyd was tired of talking about himself. He didn't want to ever have another one of Piers' conversations, again. They only led to heartbreak. This was the last time. He didn't care if it was Piers' fault or not. He just didn't care. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
FLOYD: Being me doesn't seem to work. Goodbye Piers.
Floyd Piccolo came into this world at near midnight on December 17th while his brother Lloyd came in a close second place just a few minutes later. Technically the next day. However, despite the difference in birth dates, they still celebrated as a team. This year, their fifteenth birthday celebration took place on Sunday, December 13, at precisely noon. Guests were invited to not bring presents. It was understood why when, at their 9th birthday bash, the disparity in the number of presents received created a fairly embarrassing scene. One pile towered over the other. Lloyd’s friends were so numerous they were hard to count, while Floyd's friends, well...were much easier to keep track of. It was understood by most people why they weren’t supposed to bring them, although Floyd told them every year to not bother with this restriction. Year after year, the Piccolos hoped Floyd would enjoy himself, and tried to make that happen anyway they could.
Knowing the older brother’s history, one might expect a Piccolo birthday to be a subdued affair. But that just isn't the case. They had, to date, never had an incident at a birthday party, so they boldly planned fun as any parents would. Floyd participated little, and he was convinced that was part of their success over the years(Piers' ideas had shed a little light on that). This year, the Piccolos rented out an amusement hall for the afternoon. The place was called The Towne Fair. It had arcade games, bumper cars, an electric indoor go-kart track, and numerous smaller attractions. The standout game was the joust, where two opponents faced each other on pedestals and whacked each other with cushioned lances, both warriors covered in pads and a helmet. A huge air cushion surrounded the pedestals in all directions. Floyd took one look at it, then made up his mind in record time (.18 seconds) not to participate in the joust that December afternoon.
Floyd sat at a lonely table at the edge of the floor, overlooking the go kart track, nursing a root beer float. The cars sparked as the took the turns, and the noise mixed with the ruckus of teenagers, video games and music made a kind of noise porridge that Floyd could hide in. Nobody paid attention to what he was doing, although his family checked in on him constantly. Breaking away from her older sister, little Diana ran at him, hands outstretched, pretending she was an airplane, or possibly an Avenger. She stopped in front of Floyd and smacked at his knees, as if she were commanding him to do something he didn't understand.
"Plplplppl!" she said. Her flapping tongue flinging spit everywhere.
Floyd laughed. "Be careful. You could hurt someone!"
"Chizzzbrewger!" she literally spat, then ran off. Diana had lifted his spirits for a minute, but after that he went right back to being Floyd. So, he had to face the fact that Peyton had not come, and it was because of him. He was sure of that. She hated him so much that she wouldn’t even go to her boyfriend’s (OUCH!) birthday party because he was here. She hated him and he knew he deserved it. He scolded himself for his self-pity. It was just selfish, anyway, to feel sorry for himself when he was the cause of so much pain for other people. Nobody had any business feeling sorry for Floyd. He brought it on himself, and nobody believed that more than he did.
So, Floyd sat there in his spot, being trouble to nobody. The only thing, beside the noise porridge, that existed right then was the brain freeze the root beer float was causing. He pressed the palms of his hands to his temples, but it didn’t help at all, because it doesn’t do anything. Even with his brain addled he caught the eye, from across the party, of a familiar face among so many strangers. The slight figure of Piers Pitstick stood there looking back at him, a present in his hand. He was in his favorite sweater, as usual. He looked like he was debating whether to approach him or not. Piers nodded and gave a little wave. Floyd just looked away, then, after a minute, Piers came over.
"Hi," Piers greeted gently.
Floyd gestured at the package in Piers' hands. "You're not supposed to bring presents."
"Oh. I'm sorry," Piers answered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, like he always did when he was nervous. "You don't want it, then?"
"I don't care," Floyd said coldly. As coldly as he'd been spoken to recently. Something he thought about, at least, once a minute since it had happened.
"Oh, okay. I'll just put it here." Piers set the present on the table next to Floyd, then the boy just stood there, not sure what to do next. He stood there until it started to feel uncomfortable.
"Why don't you go do something, Piers? There's lots of stuff to do," Floyd said.
"Yeah, I know. Um..."
"What?"
Piers frowned, his spirits sinking a little bit. "Nothing."
From about fifty feet away Lloyd noticed what was going on. He said something to his crowd of friends then ran across the room and stood in front of his brother. "Hey, birthday boy! Get up! Time to birth your day!"
Floyd shook his head. "No. I'm okay," he wanted to scream at his brother, not play with him.
"Nope. I disagree. You're not okay. Come on." Lloyd grabbed Floyd and dragged him up.
"I really don't want to!" Floyd insisted through clenched teeth.
Lloyd took a step back and pointed a finger at Floyd. "I challenge you, sir, to a joust!"
Floyd shrugged, crossed his arms defensively and tried to sit back down, but his brother stopped him.
"I demand satisfaction!" Lloyd yelled and dragged Floyd up to his feet. People cheered all around them. Lloyd pulled him all the way to the joust, Floyd putting up a faint struggle, but it wasn't enough. A couple minutes later, the brothers were facing each other on the opposing pedestals, lances ready to spring into action. Floyd had no idea how he'd gotten there. It seemed an impossible feat, forcing pads and a helmet on someone, then getting them to climb up onto a jousting pedestal. As impossible as it seemed, Lloyd had pulled it off, somehow. Floyd was trapped, with nothing but a helmet and shoulder pads to guard him from enemy lance strikes that could not possibly hurt him under any circumstances.
"You ready, Floyd?" asked Lloyd. His voice was low and menacing. "Ready for the flames?"
Floyd's face became intense. He had never been so annoyed with his brother. After all that had happened, why did he have to press him on this? "I...guess!"
Lloyd's face queered. "That really the best you've got, Floyd? I set you up with 'ready for the flames', and you come up with that? I know you want to hit me, Floyd. You know you do."
This did it. Something clicked on in Floyd. He tensed, holding his lance out in front of him. "Flame on!" he yelled.
Then it was on. Two brothers, at the very peak of their skills, fighting unto death for domination of the birthday joust. Two mighty forces converging on one place that would leave little behind but a smoldering crater where The Towne Fair had been. It was a sight everyone there would remember for the rest of their lives, assuming the world ended sometime in the next hour.
Lloyd had the advantage over Floyd, at first. The advantage of being better than Floyd at everything, and it helped that Lloyd actually cared about winning. He swatted him from all sides, confusing and angering him. Floyd found his sea legs, though, and started returning the punishment blow-by-blow. Pretty soon the boys were tiring, losing their edge. Floyd made a deft move that had his brother seeing stars. Floyd hit him again and Lloyd toppled off the pedestal.
"All right! You win!" Lloyd said, struggling back to his feet. He was tired but not defeated.
Floyd was already dropping down off the pedestal. "So what!" Floyd yelled. He threw the lance at Lloyd. "I don't care!"
Floyd tumbled off the airbag and grabbed his shoes, jamming them on his feet as he walked. He jogged away from the party and stomped across the room, past rows of games and around a corner where he ran into a dead end that was home to a few stacks of chairs. It was out of sight of the rest of the partygoers. Somehow, he’d found a quiet, lonely place in the middle of a raucous birthday party. Floyd slid to the floor, his back against the wall, and pulled his knees up to his chest. He was filled with anger. Tears were streaming down his face. He wasn’t sure he was ever so angry before, and he didn't know what to do with it. He stared up at the ceiling.
What now? He’d embarrassed himself, but that would hardly affect his life. People already whispered about Lloyd Piccolo’s strange brother. He wasn’t even Floyd. No. He was Lloyd’s brother. But he was kidding himself if he thought this was about Lloyd.
Lloyd came around the corner. He saw his brother crying and looking pathetic and he spoke carefully. "We have to talk," Lloyd said.
Floyd couldn't look at him. He just snorted and wiped his damp eyes on his sleeve. "Go away!" he yelled.
"Come on, Floyd. It doesn't have to be like this."
"Yes, it does!"
"I'm sorry. Okay? I'm really sorry."
"So what?"
"I know about what she said to you, Floyd. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all."
"She hates me," said Floyd matter-of-factly.
"She doesn't hate you. She just doesn't understand what's going on."
"I don't care. Fine! If she hates me, I'll just hate her right back!"
"You know you don't mean that."
"I do."
"Listen, I know how it feels. I really do. I know a little, anyway."
"Oh, yeah? Since when?”
"It's this thing that happened. I never told you about it."
"You don't have to tell me now, either."
"Just listen, okay? Just listen."
Lloyd sat down on an overturned bucket. Floyd turned his head away, not wanting even to look his brother in his eyes. "There's nothing you can say."
"Just listen. Okay, I liked a girl, once. You remember Sandra? That girl who moved here from Los Angeles, then moved away, again, right away, like four months later?"
"No, I don't remember."
"Well, anyway, we started texting really soon after she got here. I was really into her. We talked a lot in school, then she texted me all the time. Even at night. We'd go on for hours. I really fell for her, you know. Then, one day, she sent me about four texts that said all the things I wanted to say to her. 'I love you'. 'I can't wait to see you.' I want to be your girlfriend."
Floyd snorted out a laugh. "Yeah. Great, Lloyd. Thanks for sharing how awesome your life is."
Lloyd pressed on. "Then she texted something like 'whoops'. I didn't know what she meant, at first, but then I realized that they weren't meant for me. She meant those texts for someone else. She'd sent them to me by accident." Lloyd shook his head. "Man, that stunk. I didn't even know there was another guy. All of a sudden, it felt like everything was crashing down on my head. It made me feel really good to think she liked me. So, when I found out she didn't, it really hurt. When someone likes you, it makes you feel like you're special sometimes. And when someone doesn't want you, it feels like you don't deserve to be liked."
Floyd was unsympathetic. He still wouldn’t meet his brother’s eyes. "So what? That's all I ever feel like."
"The point is it happens to everyone. It's your turn now, just like it was mine."
"It's always my turn," Floyd whined. "Every day is my turn. My turn never stops!"
Lloyd didn't know what to say to that. Floyd was right. It was always his turn. This time, he had been the one to do it to him. He was hurting Floyd, now. His brother had the world on his shoulders, and Lloyd was supposed to be looking out for him.
"I'm not gonna see her. Okay? It's my responsibility to you, as your brother."
Floyd groaned, then he turned back and looked at Lloyd. "I don't want that."
"Why not? You like her, right? It's not fair, with all the crap you go through."
"I still don't want you to do it. If she likes you, she should be with you. I'll just be Floyd. And I'll do what Floyds do. Be by myself."
Lloyd's face sank. "You're not by yourself, Floyd. You really aren't. I love you. Everyone loves you. You're the best person in the world, Floyd."
Floyd turned away, again. "That doesn't matter. It's never mattered."
"Of course, it matters.”
Floyd shook his head. His face shut down. His misery absolute. "No, it doesn't. Anyway, I'm not that nice anymore. I’m the worst. Just ask Piers."
Things were still not good between the brothers after that. The tension that had arisen soon began to turn into a big, gaping space in the Piccolo family. One large enough to park a battleship in. You saw the space at the dinner table, where the two warring countries were forcing surrounding ones to take sides. You saw it in the backseat of the car, where the Piccolo boys would do absolutely anything they could to not have to sit next to each other. You saw it in the upstairs hallway, where a once lively line of communication between the brothers’ rooms had gone dead. The family went on as if this big space didn’t exist at all. But it did, and though everyone acted like they didn’t know it, they all knew.
The idea that Peyton was out there in the world, hating him, brought Floyd to tears, again and again. It was a nightmare that didn’t stop when the sun rose in the morning. He could feel his brother’s eyes watching him sometimes, wanting so much to make things better, but there was nothing either of them could do. Nothing short of time travel could take back Peyton’s terrible words. It felt less like his heart was broken than it had simply stopped beating, not wanting to bother, anymore. Floyd found little worth leaving his room for. Waiting for something to happen to someone else was so much worse than when he only had himself to worry about. He closed the door and did very little to encourage visitors. One night, when called to dinner, Floyd simply did not go. Downstairs, his family waited for him. When it was clear that he was not coming, they went ahead and had their meal. Lloyd ate very little and said even less. The empty space seemed to only grow larger by the day.
Pauline, matriarch of the Piccolo clan, made her way up the stairs after dinner. She knocked lightly on Floyd’s door before entering. He was in bed. For days, he’d been doing nothing but rereading old books and watching The Big Bang Theory on his laptop. At this point in time, he was just staring at the ceiling. “Have you stopped eating, sweetie?” she asked her son.
“I’ll get something later,” said Floyd.
She walked up to him and gently ran her hand through his hair. “You need a haircut, Floyd.”
“I know,” he said.
He sounded bored. He sounded lonely. He sounded defeated. Pauline didn’t know the details of what was going on. Nobody but Floyd and Lloyd did. She didn’t know if it was prudent to interfere, but she wasn’t going to do nothing while her oldest boy seemed to be fading away.
“Haven’t seen your friend Piers in a while,” she said.
“Yeah. I know.”
“He reminds me of your father. A long time ago.”
Floyd’s head turned. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah. You should have seen him when I first found him. It took some work to get him where he is today.”
“Wow.”
“Piers is a much better dresser than your father was.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Have you ever wondered why there aren’t many pictures from our dating years?”
“Piers doesn’t really dress himself. I don’t think.”
“I let your father make some dressing decisions, these days. Some.”
“Wow. Dad was a geek.”
“You know what the best kind of people are, Floyd?”
“No. Geeks?”
“No. Not geeks. People who don’t know how to hide who they are. Piers is always Piers, I bet.”
“I guess.”
“You’re like that, too, Floyd.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re always Floyd.”
“What if that’s not a good thing to be?”
“Oh, sweetie. Floyd is a great thing to be.”
The boy frowned. “It doesn’t feel like that.”
“How is it supposed to feel?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know it feels wrong?”
“I’m not sure. I just do.”
“Floyd, the better the person you are, the worse you’re going to feel, sometimes.”
“But I don’t wanna feel bad anymore. I feel bad all the time.”
“What if feeling better meant you had to make others feel worse?”
“What?”
“Would you rather feel bad, but do good, or feel good, but do bad?”
Floyd thought this over for a moment. It wasn’t that hard of a question for him. “I guess I’d rather feel bad. I don’t even care how bad, I’d rather it was me.”
His mother smiled, touched his cheek. “Then you know exactly who you are, Floyd.”
Floyd waited for Lloyd the next morning to leave for school, but Lloyd didn’t show up. This morning Lloyd had slipped out early and gone by himself. He wasn’t mad at his older brother, he just thought Floyd would rather be left alone for the time being. Lloyd wasn’t wrong. He had another reason to leave early. He used to meet his girlfriend Melanie on the way to school, and the three of them would walk together, but now Lloyd had to avoid her, too. The whole affair made him feel so guilty that he had hardly been able to speak to her at first. Then he told her everything. Floyd waited for a little while, not knowing his brother was gone, then left on his own.
As on most mornings this school year, halfway to Bowl Valley High School Floyd ran into his brother’s ex-girlfriend. Melanie stood there waiting for him, and she attached herself to him as he passed by. The two of them walked without speaking for a minute or two, but Melanie soon broke the silence. “How is Lloyd?” she asked.
Floyd didn’t know how to answer this question. Did she want Lloyd to be doing well? Did she really want to hear it if he was doing well? “He’s fine, I guess.”
“Oh,” she answered. “How is Peyton doing?”
Floyd shrugged. “I don’t really know. We’re not talking anymore.”
Melanie was sympathetic. “Really? Why? What did you do?”
Floyd’s face sagged. “She told me to stay away from her.”
“Oh, my god. But why? Did you two have a fight?”
“Kinda. I don’t know.” Melanie didn’t know about the Floyd Problem. Lloyd kept it quiet, maybe even said some things that weren’t so true, just to throw his friends off Floyd’s trail. If he didn’t tell Melanie, why did he tell Peyton? “She might be right.”
Melanie shook her head. “No, she’s not. I can’t even imagine her saying something like that to you, Floyd. It must be some kind of mistake.”
“I don’t know. She got hurt really bad.”
“How is that your fault? That’s what I don’t get.”
“I don’t know. It’s just...complicated.”
Melanie threw up her hands. “How did this all happen? How did everything get so bad so quick? It doesn’t have to be like this. Why are they being so stupid?”
Floyd wasn’t sure what she was driving at. “What do you mean ‘it doesn’t have to be like this’?”
“I mean all this dumbness.”
“What dumbness?”
“I mean, does Lloyd really think I don’t wanna see him? Why would he think that?”
“I don’t know. I guess he figured you were mad at him.”
“I was, I guess, for like a minute. But avoiding me like this, it’s like he doesn’t know me at all. I’m not jealous. I’m not like that.”
“Really?” asked Floyd. “You’re not mad at him?”
“What are we gonna do, get married?” Melanie complained. “I really liked it when we all hung out. All this dumbness ruins everything.”
Floyd was surprised. She was completely over this thing. He wished he could be the same way, but he couldn’t be. What happened with Peyton made him feel empty, like his soul had been ripped out of his body. Maybe he was being silly, but he didn’t think so. Having an angel hate you has to hurt worse than anything. You don’t just get over it.
“I’m gonna find him and tell him he’s being stupid,” Melanie said. “Peyton, too. I don’t get her at all. Why does she have to be mean to you?”
Floyd shook his head. “Oh, no. Don’t do that. Please, don’t do that.”
“Floyd, you have to stand up for yourself.”
“But she hates me. I don’t have a right for her not to hate me. I don’t think so, anyway.”
“You have a right to be treated like a person.”
“Nah,” he said. “Nah. I’m just gonna stay away from her. That’s what she wants.”
She put her hand out and stopped him in his tracks. The look on her face was kind. “You would never hurt her, Floyd. So, she has to be wrong.”
Floyd frowned. “What if it is my fault, though?”
“What is? What is your fault? Peyton? Do you think Peyton was your fault? Does she think that? Is that what this is about?”
Floyd didn’t answer at first. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t know anymore what was his fault and what wasn’t. It was all so confusing. All he knew was how bad he felt. He would take a full body cast over this. “I don’t think it matters.”
Melanie smiled with sympathy. She took a step and hugged him, seeing that he needed it. It did make him feel a little better. “Of course it matters, Floyd,” she said. “It matters because you matter.”
Floyd smiled sincerely. He wasn’t exactly sure what she meant, but he liked the sound of it.