One Sunday afternoon, in the waning warmth of early Autumn, Floyd set out from home and walked to a more rural, woodsier part of Bowl Valley. Houses became scarcer, trees started filling up the wider spaces between houses, yet, the area retained the feeling of a neighborhood. He came to a lonely little house with a tire swing on a single tree out front. A few minutes later, inside and upstairs, the boys had cold drinks and relaxed. Piers was leaning back against the wall in a very tidy room.
The walls of the bedroom were covered with images of planets, animals and nature. There was also a map of the human skeleton next to the table of elements. There was a telescope next to the window that overlooked a small pond. It was, pretty much, exactly how Floyd had pictured Piers' room. A strange contraption hung from the ceiling. It looked like a basketball hoop turned on its side with a yarn net studded with beads and feathers that dangled. Floyd pointed at it. “What is that?”
At that moment, a look of concentration was curling Piers' brow. It was his thinking face. Piers was jotting in his notebook, too. Something he'd been doing constantly, as of late. After a few seconds, Piers seemed to hear Floyd and looked up at the object his friend was pointing at. “Oh, that. That’s a dreamcatcher.”
Floyd nodded. “I’ve heard of those. They make your bad dreams go away, right?”
“That’s part of what it does,” Piers replied.
“It’s really nice.”
“Thank you. I made it myself.”
“Really? It’s pretty neat.”
“It was really hard to make because I used real materials. I made the hoop out of yew and wrapped it with a leather cord.”
“Wow. You made it yourself.”
“You have to make them yourself, or else they don’t mean anything. You can’t just buy them. I probably won’t make another one, though. It was a lot of really intricate work.”
Floyd was enjoying not talking about The Floyd Problem, so before Piers could start in on it, again, Floyd steered the conversation in another direction. "Hey, why don't we play a game, or something?"
Piers put down his notebook. "Oh. Okay."
"I just want to do something fun. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah. What do you want to do?"
Floyd shrugged. "I don't know. What have you got here?"
"Hmm," said Piers. "I've got a croquet set."
"Cool. I could do that."
"And we'll stop for cocktails halfway through."
"Cocktails?"
"Yeah. Take a break and have some refreshments."
"Okay. That sounds cool, too."
The two of them went out to the garage where there were still some boxes left unpacked. Though the Pitsticks were pretty much moved in, these boxes held the things they hadn’t quite found a place for yet. The knick-knacks, doo-hickeys, and what's-its that seemed to collect in dark spaces of garages. It was just Piers, his mother, and his grandmother living in the house(and his grandmother was in poor health), but things were coming together as quickly as they could manage. Floyd saw badminton rackets sticking out of a large plastic bag. He would have preferred to play that but that meant setting up a net, which was a huge hassle.
They set up the wickets and played for a good forty-five minutes before stopping for cocktails. Piers jogged inside and came out with a small table and set it up on the grass, then he ran back in to fetch some glasses of lemonade on a tray with some cookies. It all seemed rather quaint to Floyd, but that was its charm. They both sat by the small table on some plastic chairs. Things were quiet for a couple of minutes before Piers spoke.
"Do you have a lot of friends, Floyd?"
Floyd shrugged. "I haven't made any for a while."
"Why is that?"
"I guess I've just been spending most of my time at home. I don't worry about things as much when I'm home."
"You don't have incidents at home?"
"It's rare. You know, it's kind of random when I'm out of the house, though," Floyd said. "Like the goose comes out of nowhere. I don't know what I can do about things like that. I've already cut back a lot on doing stuff. I guess I can stop doing even more stuff. " Floyd frowned. "I probably can't stop visiting the restroom, unfortunately."
"How do you know that those things are random, though?" Piers asked.
"Well, that meteorite seemed kind of random. I mean, I don't really have anything to do with what's going on in outer space, I’m pretty sure about that."
Piers shook his head. "But it isn't random, it just seems like that. There's no such thing as random, really. Things seem random only because they are too complicated to predict. Somewhere along the way you made a choice that set you in the path of that meteorite."
"Okay, but I don't know what choice that was."
"Maybe you can remember?"
"Nah. It was a while ago. And everything that day is a little hazy."
"You aren't traumatized by this event, are you? It doesn't bother you to talk about it? I will leave it alone if that's the case."
"Nah. No trauma. I just, kind of, went out like a light. No problem talking about it. Although, I am a bit touchy when I’m at the mall."
"Okay, I'd like you to try, then. If you don't mind, I mean. I'm not trying to be bossy or anything. I'd really like you to try, though. I'm very curious."
Floyd shrugged. No big deal. "Okay."
"What were you doing right before the accident?"
"Let me think." Floyd scratched his head, and his eyes crinkled up in concentration.
It was in the summer before Diana was born, and the whole family went on a vacation to the Outer Banks. They visited a local mall to see a movie and go to a restaurant. After dinner, he and Lloyd played a virtual reality game at an arena set up in the center of the mall. The boys waited nearly an hour to spend five minutes shooting dinosaurs in cumbersome helmets with built-in goggles. The helmets sprouted wires that jerked them to a stop when they'd strayed too far. The boys ran in circles, constantly bumping into each other. Overall, it wasn't that much fun. When the game was over, though neither of them said it, the boys both thought the whole experience had been a huge waste of time.
Lloyd got trapped in his helmet when the chin strap got stuck. Everyone, from his family to the people in line behind them, were held up for several minutes. Eventually, the attendant that worked there had to find a pair of scissors to cut the strap off. After that, the Piccolos wandered away. There was lots of joking around about how they couldn't take Lloyd anywhere without a mishap. Floyd had found it strange, indeed, to watch his brother being inconvenienced rather than himself. He was only glad that it such a minor incident. It wasn't an incident at all, really. A few minutes later, Floyd was struck by a meteorite blasting through the ceiling. Shattered glass and lights rained down over a wide area. Nobody else was hurt, though. The incident made the local news.
Piers nodded throughout the story. "You can't remember anything that happened after the helmet thing?"
Piers shook his head. "Not right after, anyway. But the hospital there was pretty nice. I liked their strawberry shortcake. Really good. Spongy."
Piers became pensive and didn't speak for a couple of minutes. When he was done, he nodded, as if satisfied.
"Did I explain to you how the Monty Hall Problem works? Did I explain it well, I mean?"
"I think so," Floyd answered. "It's not all that complicated."
"Right. The thing is, if that has anything to do with your problem, the Floyd Problem, I mean, if this is all part of something systematic, I think there would be parallels in your story."
"What parallels?"
"Well..." Piers sat down, again. "Think of how the problem works."
"Which? The Floyd Problem or the Monty Hall Problem?"
"Monty Hall. Let's just call it Monty, for short."
"Got it."
"Although Monty starts with a choice of three doors, that doesn't mean that you will always be presented three choices in life. At least, you may not know when you're making the choice."
"Okay."
"Think about this: what happens in Monty when you choose your first door?"
"You get a free door, right? You choose a door, then they show you which door has the goat behind it."
"That's right. You get a free door. That's a good way to put it. Think about this: what if the goat isn't a goat?"
Floyd sighed. "Goats and geese. Geese and goats. Jeez, my life is like that Beatles song with all the animal sounds at the end. I forget its name. My brother plays it."
"The goat could be anything. The door is just choice you’ve made, not a literal door."
"'Good Morning'. That's the name of the song. Okay, so you're saying that I am always playing the game. I was actually playing Monty, I just didn't know it?"
"Exactly. What did you do right before the meteorite?"
"I don't remember that very well. If you need to know stuff about that, there was an article in National Geographic about it. Just google 'nat geo piccolo'. I thought the writing was a little spacey, actually."
"So, you don't remember?"
"It's just kind of foggy. I remember what I did. It's not something weird or anything."
"What happened?"
"Our parents wanted to know what we wanted to do next, but Lloyd and I wanted to do two different things. He wanted to go to Champs Sports and I wanted to go to the Disney Store."
Piers nodded, then paused, his head snapped to his friend. "You wanted to go to the Disney Store?"
Floyd got defensive. "What? They've got stuff there."
"It doesn't matter. Which did you go to?"
"We played Rock, Paper, Scissors, and I won. I can win in little stuff like that. Games and things. It's just in life that I lose."
Piers paused for a moment, having a thought. "There it is, Floyd. You picked the wrong door."
"But you don't choose to win Rock, Paper, Scissors."
"No, not that. The Disney Store. If you'd wanted to go somewhere else, you wouldn't have been in the exact spot the meteorite struck."
Floyd went silent. He saw what Piers was getting at, but there was a piece of the puzzle missing. He wasn't sure what it was, but it all just didn't make sense to him. There had to be something else. He didn't think Piers would agree. Floyd figured Piers would prefer the most scientific answer.
Piers went on. "It's like I said before. You made a decision that put you in the path of that meteorite. It may not always be something you can spot. It might be such a small decision that you may not even know you’re making it."
"Hmm. I don't know."
"You said you prepare for lunch every day and that has reduced goose incidents. I think that by preparing yourself you dramatically reduce the number of goat decisions you have to make at lunchtime, and that, in turn, reduces accidents."
"Goat decisions? Oh, okay. I think I would have noticed something by now, though. If there was something to this."
"Yeah, you'd think, but maybe not. It's surprising how much a person misses when they don’t know what to look for."
"So, what do I do?"
"You're doing it already. You need to cut down on the number of decisions you have to make, this will likely cut down on the number of goat decisions."
"But doesn't making less decisions mean doing less stuff?
“Yes.”
“But I already do less stuff than other people."
Piers scratched his chin. "Hmm. You know, Monty shows us that luck may be all about how you make a decision, not just what decision you make. It might be possible to change the way you make decisions, therefore, change your luck."
Floyd seemed uncertain. "How exactly am I making decisions now? What's wrong with it?"
"Well, you are making decisions based on a desired outcome, like everyone does. You choose the very best thing in the context of whatever you are doing. Maybe you should be doing something else."
Floyd shook his head. "What something else? What do you mean?"
Piers' face became more concentrated. "Hmm. Instead of making a decision purely to achieve a desired outcome, you start to make decisions..."
Things went quiet for a minute as Piers seemed to be making calculations in his head. His face sagged, as if it had been switched off. "Okay. It's like this—when you're faced with a goat decision, you choose the door you think has the new car behind it, the big prize, not the door you think has the goat. Right?"
"Uh-huh. I guess so."
"This is where everything goes wrong for you. You pick the goat more often than most people do."
"Yeah. I get goated. Or goosed. Or whatever. It's some kind of animal."
"Maybe you could change the outcome of a decision by not making that decision."
"Not making a decision?"
"Don't choose the thing that you want to happen, because it might end up being a goat decision."
"But the choices are sometimes little things that end up big things. I don't know when it's going to happen. I think you said that."
"Statistically, though, if you started making choices randomly, rather than based on a preferred outcome, you might change your overall luck. If you did it just sometimes, it might make a big difference, because any given decision might be a goat decision."
"But you said there was no such thing as random."
"Well, it depends on how you look at it. To the universe, nothing is really random. It's just physics. But when it comes to our interacting with the world, we can think of certain outcomes as random because it is impossible for us to predetermine them."
Floyd needed a minute to ponder this. He became pensive and distant. "Hmm."
"How long do you usually go without some kind of incident, big or small?"
"Um...maybe a week. Something always happens, at least, once a week. Sometimes several times. It's usually not something big, like what happened to us. That's just every now and then. But small stuff can happen a lot."
"So, just try this. If you end up going more than a week without something happening, it would be a sign that random decision making might be working. In two weeks, no matter what happens, we'll have a better idea of what's going on. So, even if it doesn't work, we'll learn something from it."
Floyd seemed a little flustered. He was appreciative of what Piers was trying to do, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to take part in another one of his schemes. "I don't know, Piers. I think I'd be a lot smarter if learning worked that way."
Floyd thought that Piers was a smart kid, but he wasn't sure if he was trying to help him, or simply trying to satisfy his scientific curiosity. Nevertheless, he gave making random choices a shot. He wasn't sure, however, if it was even possible to make a random decision. He thought about this. If he had to make a choice between three items, how could he make a choice without any kind of thinking whatsoever? Just because you grab something in a seemingly random fashion, is it really random? How do you make a decision without any kind of reasoning behind it? Floyd brought this up to Piers and they actually talked on the phones, with their voices, for the first time.
"If you choose based on certain factors, the most common being a desired outcome, then it's really those factors that are making the choice for you. You need to learn how to bypass this part of the decision process."
"Okay," Floyd said. "How?"
"Say you are deciding which brand of shampoo to buy. The factors that lead to a decision may be numerous. Not just price, but scent or aesthetic reasons. Like the attractiveness of the label, the colors used, things like that. You follow?"
"Well, yeah, that part is pretty easy to get."
"Right. That's the easy part. The part that is hard is how do you make a decision based on nothing? No factors, whatsoever."
"Yeah. I haven't figured that out. We didn't really get to that.”
"The easiest way I can see doing it would be to bring in a random number generator. Like a pair of dice."
So that's what Floyd did. He searched the house, but the only dice he could find were in the board games in the living room closet, and he didn't want those. It seemed childish. Then he got the idea of using computer dice. He pulled out his phone and went on the app store and found a random number generator where you can choose how many dice you throw. He just went with one to star with, to keep it simple.
The next question, to Floyd's mind, was what decisions were important enough to warrant the dice, and which weren't. Did it matter which flavor of yogurt he ate? He wasn't sure, but it seemed like the taste of yogurt wouldn’t exactly move the stars. But how did he really know? He remembered one time that drinking from a water fountain inside that ran cold water, rather than the tepid one outside in the park, cost him a tooth. A baby tooth, sure. Still, he’d missed it.
Having to decide which decisions were important, and which weren't, seemed like an even bigger decision than the decisions themselves. So how did he make it? He thought maybe Piers had covered this, but he couldn't remember. Anyway, he thought he should be able to handle some problems without consulting his friend. It immediately came to him. He would use the dice here, too. The dice would decide whether or not the dice were necessary, rather than he do it himself.
He decided that any choice between two outcomes (or things, whatever) would be odds and evens. An odd number meant thing 1, an even number meant thing 2. This would work fine for deciding between two things. Yes and No are also a binary decision, so it could be done the same way. Odd meant Yes, even meant No. For decisions where there's three outcomes 1 and 4 for thing 1; 2 and 5 for thing 2; 3 and 6 for thing 3.
The next day at school, he didn't plan on using it. Anyway, he had other things to worry about. The play, for one.
Floyd had been drawn to the role of Cicero the slave, mostly because it was a small part. He wanted to participate in the play and impress Peyton, while, at the same time, not have to do very much. He already had enough to do between schoolwork and just being Floyd. He never mentioned any of that to Peyton, however, when he got her to read lines with him before he auditioned. They met in Center Court. Peyton had volunteered to make some copies of the dialogue they would be reading, though she had decided that she wanted to get a part playing a servant of some sort, who just walks on, then off, again, without any lines. Like a walking piece of furniture. Though she still loved the theater, she didn’t love Gladiator as much as Almost, Maine. Just to be on stage would be enough for her in this show. She was reading for Maximus, the lead. She cleared her throat before speaking.
MAXIMUS
Cicero, dear friend. Honest, brave, Cicero the slave.
Did you view the battle today?
CICERO
Yes. Those Germans are really frightening,
aren’t they, sir? They die so very loudly.
MAXIMUS
Yes. The Germanic tribes are famous for the way
they die.
CICERO
You are very brave, sir. To fight such people.
MAXIMUS
Yes. I wish there was another way, sweet, sweet
Cicero, a way that didn’t cause so much death.
CICERO
Another way to do what, sir?
MAXIMUS
Kill every one of them.
Peyton stopped reading, lowered her page. “You sound great, Floyd,” she said.
Floyd perked up. “You really think so?”
“Yeah, I do. You’re going to be a great Cicero.”
“Wow. I hope I get the part.”
“I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”
“Well, there’s going to be a lot of students trying out.”
“So what? You just go in there punching. They’ll never know what hit them.”
Floyd smirked. “What if they hit back?”
“So what? I’ll defend you. I can punch, too! Look at this!” She took a few swipes at the air. “It’s nothing! Too easy!”
“You’re starting to scare me!” Floyd laughed.
“I can beat up anybody,” said Peyton.
Richard Sato was hunched over the large, blank canvas, now pinned to the floor. Lloyd, waiting to audition, was hovering around in the small crowd (of girls) that formed around Richard, watching him like he was an adorable zoo animal. Floyd and Peyton stood side-by-side. “Mr. Moderick rolled on the primer,” said Richard darkly. “I wouldn’t have done that. We’re not painting a house. I’m worried that the paint will leak through and stick to the floor.”
“I guess he’s not a painter,” said Lloyd.
“Yeah, I guess not. I’ve never really drawn anything like this before.”
“Then why did you agree to do it, Richard? It’s so much work!” asked Peyton. Looking over the canvass, she was blown away by the scope of the project.
Richard was frustrated. “I don’t know! I really don’t. He just kept on talking and I just kept on saying yes.”
“What about the crowd?”
Richard stood up straight. “The audience is going to be far away. I won’t need to do any faces or little details.”
Lloyd shook his head. “You sure Mr. Moderick knows that? I have a feeling he’s going to want all that stuff.”
“But you can’t see anything from the audience. Details aren’t that important.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to want them.”
Richard looked around hopefully. “Can you draw?” Richard asked the small crowd. “Can any of you? I mean, not just draw, but draw well?”
There was a lonesome silence.
Someone called out to Lloyd, who turned and called back. “Okay. I’m up,” he said to everyone.
“Good luck!” said Peyton. “You’re gonna be a great Commodus.”
“Thanks!”
Lloyd walked off and Peyton turned to Floyd. “Do you think we should watch? He might be nervous.”
“I don’t think he’s nervous,” said Floyd. “He’s fine.”
Lloyd was on stage now, standing next to a senior named Mary Brighton who was already cast as Lucilla, the main female lead. Mr. Moderick, standing, pointed at them. His face was intense. “Go,” he said.
COMMODUS
Sister. Welcome.
LUCILLA
Thank you, brother.
COMMODUS
Have you heard the bees buzzing?
LUCILLA
The bees, brother?
COMMODUS
Yes. They are always buzzing, some buzz even in the night
when bees should be slumbering.
LUCILLA
(nervous)
I would not know when bees are buzzing.
COMMODUS
But you do know, sister, when bees are busy,
do you not? For they are abuzz.
LUCILLA
Perhaps it is other bees, my brother, that yourself
hear buzzing?
COMMODUS
No, you are the very bee abuzz, for it is about
you that the others bees buzz.
LUCILLA
Perhaps some bees are buzzing falsely?
COMMODUS
(scary)
No, these are the very best of the bees who buzz.
Floyd tuned it out, like he sometimes did when he listened to Mr. Moderick’s dialogue. If he had to be honest, he would say that Gladiator was better than Almost, Maine. Not because it was better written, but because it was sillier.
Peyton whispered in Floyd’s ear. “Are you ready? You might be next. This is the last Commodus audition, I think.”
“Yeah,” Floyd answered. “I think so.”
A couple minutes later, the scene was done. Mr. Moderick seemed pleased. “Very good, Lloyd. Very good.” Lloyd smiled and walked off stage right, then right up to Peyton and his brother. He was beaming.
“Was it good?” he asked.
“Good? It was great!” said Peyton.
“You’re next, Floyd. You nervous?”
Floyd gave a little nod. “Kind of.”
“It’s not hard. Really, it isn’t. It’s a breeze.”
“We’ve been practicing his lines,” said Peyton.
“Okay, cool.”
Mr. Moderick was flipping through his script. He found the next scene and stood up, again. “Okay. Up next is Cicero. Is Sam here?”
A junior was just then making his way toward the stage, passing the teacher right by. “I’m here,” said Sam.
“Okay. Good. Who’s up? Floyd Piccolo? Didn’t we just do him?”
A student standing nearby turned to him. “That was Lloyd. This is his brother Floyd,” she said.
The teacher nodded, barely interested. “Oh. Okay. Floyd Piccolo, you’re up!”
Floyd, off stage, stepped forward. Peyton stopped him. “You got this! You do!”
“Yeah,” said Lloyd. “You got this.”
“Thanks,” said Floyd gratefully. Then he walked out on the stage, nervous, but holding it together pretty well.
Mr. Moderick was distracted, penning a note on his manuscript. Floyd made it almost all the way center of the stage when the teacher looked up. “Wait a minute! What is this? You’re Floyd Piccolo?”
Floyd stopped mid-stride then turned toward the teacher. “Yeah, I’m Floyd.”
“What are you? Twins?”
Floyd nodded, a little surprised. It’s not like they were a secret. They’d been coming here together almost every day. “Yeah. We’re twins.”
Mr. Moderick shook his head. “I’m not having twins in the same play. It’ll look ridiculous. I’m really sorry, Floyd.”
Floyd walked back to his friends. Lloyd seemed sorry. He shrugged bashfully, looking guilty. “I guess I got the part,” he said.