MB Short Story: Being Normal

Note: This story was originally a flashback in Mind Blind! Arden could be chosen as either a past fling or a friend, so I've tried to leave it vague for the purposes of this piece.

The original intent of the scene was to show that Button had choices other than staying in Chicago while also emphasizing how their Zero impacts their every moment spent in public. Ultimately, I took out the scene because it slowed down the main plot's momentum and introduced a character who was ultimately a throwaway.

* * * *

When Nick asked what you wanted for your eighteenth birthday, your response was instant, impulsive, and only half-joking.

“Being normal for one week sounds pretty great,” you said, your tone coming out a little less light than you intended. Nick’s face fell, and you immediately backtracked. “But, hey, if a custom-order brain is out of the question, maybe a Vespa?”

Nick smiled in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. “Just don’t mo-ped if you don’t like the scooter color that I choose.”

You stared at him blankly.

“Mo-ped? Like mope, only it’s a Vespa, so . . .” Nick trailed off as he overheard your thoughts and realized that, yes, you’d gotten his pun but simply hadn’t found it worthy of laughter. He shook his head with a morose sigh. “Tough crowd.”

* * * *

You forget about your request to be normal. After all, there’s no point in wishing for the impossible.

* * * *

After blowing out your birthday candles to Sally’s jubilant yell of “Make ALL the wishes!”, you shake the envelope handed to you by Nick.

“Doesn’t sound like Vespa keys,” you say.

In fact, the envelope is completely flat. Maybe Nick has gifted you a blank cheque for your birthday? Becoming Justice did come with a substantive pay raise, and surely Nick couldn’t have spent it all on his new house. You eye the newly installed farmhouse sink over your brother’s shoulder. Then again, it can’t be cheap to completely renovate a kitchen up to the Nick Wiseman Standard.

“Just open it,” Nick urges. You catch Sally and Grayson exchange excited smiles, amping up your curiosity.

Inside the envelope, you find a card with a iguana wearing a party hat and the words “Older? Yes. Wiser? As If!” (in keeping with Nick’s long-term tradition of getting you cards that allude to your shared last name). A slip of paper drops out as you open the card, and your eyebrows arch as you silently read off the words.

“Aren’t you gonna read it aloud?” Sally demands in a smug tone that says she already knows perfectly well what it is.

“It’s a brochure,” you say slowly, still not quite comprehending what it is that you’re looking at, “for the VIP vacation package at Echo Point Lodge. Located in . . . North Dakota.” You shoot Nick a quizzical expression. “My eighteenth birthday gift is a trip to a Dakota?”

“No!” Sally exclaims. “It’s—”

Grayson puts his hand over her mouth before she can spoil the surprise. He nods encouragingly at Nick, who looks uncharacteristically nervous over your reception of his gift.

“You told me that you wanted to experience being ‘normal,’” your brother says quietly. “Echo Point only has population of nine hundred.” His eyes lock with yours, nervous desperation behind them that you’ll like his gift. “According to Unity’s files, it’s one of the few towns in the USA without any citizens registered on the Mensus. Echo Point Lodge is its only real tourist attraction, and I had backgrounds pulled on guests scheduled during your visit—none of them are Ments.”

Your breath catches as you begin to comprehend the full meaning of his words. Nick has just bought you a week of total mental privacy. And not locked in an apartment, but in a town that has, according to the brochure in your birthday card, natural hot springs.

“The package includes a guided hike through Theodore Roosevelt State Park,” Gray says eagerly. “There’s also independent trails, a day long horse-riding excursion, kayaking tours, and you can even camp out overnight in the badlands.”

Sally rolls her eyes. “Yes, because a sleeping bag is so much preferrable to a king-sized memory foam.” She leans in towards you, her voice rising with excitement. “Their spa does hot stone massages and has those little fish that nibble dead skin off your toes.”

“All of this in North Dakota?” you ask.

“Echo Point is one of the best-kept celebrity retreats,” Gray says. “Mostly for Hollywood types, but Equality went last year on their ‘Digital Detox’ package.”

“The lack of any other Ments freaked him out,” Nick adds, “but for you . . .”

For you, it’s perfect.

You glance over at Sally, who answers your silent query with a small shake of her head.

“I wish I could join you,” she says, “but my dads promised that I could take point on this latest renovation, and besides . . .” She trails off before completing the thought of “Besides, the whole point is to get you away from Ments like me.” 

You look into her eyes, searching for any sign that she feels hurt or left out that a vacation away from her qualifies as gift, but instead find only acceptance and understanding.

“Thank you,” you say. Your words aren’t just for Nick, but for Grayson and Sally as well. 

Those three can no more help being Ments than you can help being a Zero, and yet they’ve collectively accepted your need for a reprieve. A few years ago, this gift might’ve made you spiral wondering if it was a passive aggressive hint that they needed a break from you. But you’re eighteen now. An adult capable of quashing their internalized doubts and fear of rejection.

Because that’s all this is, isn’t it? A thoughtful gift from your brother, who somehow managed to give you exactly what you asked for. It’s not Nick saying that yes, Button, you are indeed too much. Gray’s collaboration isn’t his way of asking for even more space. And Sally’s decision not to join you isn’t her saying that she needs a break from your friendship.

It’s just a gift.

A nice, considerate, somewhat lonely gift.

* * * *

Echo Point takes some getting used to. The first day, every time you pass another guest, you instinctively run through your litany of anti-Ment deterrents. But Nick’s intel, which you suspect involved a misuse of UCRT resources, proves correct. No one flinches at imagery of dead frogs, or balks at annoying song lyrics, or laughs at your joking thoughts, or rolls their eyes at your inner pep talks. On day three, your backside still sore from yesterday’s horse-riding lesson, you dare to venture out into   downtown.

You’ve never travelled without Nick or Sally as support. Leaving the resort alone feels like tempting fate, and you’re filled with a combination of nauseous anxiety and reckless exhilaration that makes you feel both heavier and lighter at the same. You challenge yourself not to recite Rick Astley song lyrics as you step into the video rental store, the type that somehow manages to hang on in vacation towns, most likely due to being in cahoots with whatever manager decided to include a DVD player in your hotel room.

The teenager behind the counter barely glances up at you from his phone. His expression is disinterested, and you force yourself to stifle the immediate thought of “He’s clearly not a Ment.” No one in Echo Point is a Ment. That’s why you’re here.

Your fingertips trail over the tops of the lined-up films, coming away with a thin coating of dust that makes your nose wrinkle. Forget an agreement with the resort; this place is clearly a front for something, given none of these movies look as if they’ve been checked out for at least a year. None of the titles predate 2010, either. Your gaze lands on the lone copy of Inception. Given your life currently feels like a dream, it seems an appropriate choice.

“We have a two-for-one special on all DiCaprio movies,” the cashier informs you in a bored voice.

You glance back over at meager selection but see nothing of interest—in fact, you’re pretty sure every movie available is older than Leo’s most recent girlfriend. Your lips curve upwards at your own dumb joke, but the cashiers face remains blank. Nick would’ve laughed without you having to say anything.

“Just the one movie is fine,” you say. “I won’t be staying much longer.”

The cashier shrugs.

* * * *

By day four, you consider extending your stay at Echo Point for another week. Not because of the hot springs (which, admittedly, are fantastic), but because life here is so much easier. It’s almost shocking how quickly you adjust to not conducting a customer headcount each time you enter the grocery store in order to buy snacks (the VIP treatment Nick got you comes with a meal plan, but no way are you paying fifteen dollars for a single-serve bag of parmesan crisps out of the minifridge).

After a lifetime spent strategically identifying and avoiding Ments, it’s immensely freeing to just walk into the store, beeline to the chip rack, grab a bag of Cheetos, and check out. There’s no plotting your route, no debating whether to head over to self-checkout or risk a Ment cashier. Grocery shopping is no longer a tactical infiltration and retreat—it’s just a snack run. You even make small talk with the cashier without worrying that she’s only talking about the weather as a pretense to rummage through your memories.

“Come again!” Lucy calls out as you leave the store.

“Maybe I will,” you reply.

* * * *

Day four is also when Arden checks into Echo Point Resort. They’re two years older than you, an up-and-coming actor looking to take a mental health break from the spotlight to which they’ve been newly exposed.

“It’s weird,” they confess over a plate of shared tiramisu. “This show I just got cast in—I’m playing a thirteen-year-old.” They pout and gesture down their body. “Do I look as if I only just went through puberty?”

You laugh because Arden is genuinely funny. You laugh at a few of their jokes that aren’t funny as well, after noticing the way that their smile grows wider even when your amusement isn’t authentic.

“My younger sister is thirteen,” they continue, nudging the last bite of tiramisu towards you with their fork. “But my costars are all closer to my age than hers, despite the fact we’re all playing seventh graders. Do you have any siblings?”

“I’m an only child.” The lie falls off your tongue with surprising ease.

* * * *

Arden is fun. A little self-absorbed, but you chalk that up to them being an actor. Who cares if they never notice whether or not your laughter at their jokes is genuine or faked? Sally’s eyes would be rolling nonstop if she were here—your best friend’s ability to sense your emotions means that there’s no maintaining any pretenses.

But after years of being around her and Nick, pretenses feel like a downright luxury. Arden thinks you’re a single child who’s enamored by their wit, and you have no intentions of shattering that illusion. Deceiving them is your choice, and that freedom tastes even better than the last bite of tiramisu.

“You should come visit me on set sometime,” Arden says, trying to keep their voice casual even as their cheeks flush red.

You hesitate. You still haven’t mentioned your Zero. Your Pollard Score is irrelevant in Echo Point, but it won’t be in L.A. Los Angeles is even bigger than Chicago, with a smaller Ment percentage but overall more Ments. You’re not against visiting, exactly, but the film industry tends to attract Empaths and Arden’s already told you that their sister, who often visits the set, is a Telepath.

“I mean, only if you want!” Arden quickly adds, mistaking your silence for reluctance. “I’ll just be sad to say goodbye, you know?”

“I’ll have to check my work schedule,” you lie. “But yeah. A visit sounds fun.”

Arden beams at you, and an unfamiliar pang shoots through your chest. Guilt? Growing up, lying had never been an option.

* * * *

Arden stares blankly at you over another plate of tiramisu, this one still untouched.

“A Zero?” they repeat. “What does that even mean?”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “I’m more or less normal." The statement feels true—for this past week, you’ve felt no different from anyone else.

Arden’s frown deepens. “Broadcasting your thoughts to Ments doesn’t sound normal.”

You bristle at their description, despite it being a phrase you’d recently used yourself when explaining. “It’s not so much that I broadcast things as that Ments intrude, and I can’t keep them out.”

Arden doesn’t respond.

“It’s not a huge deal,” you say, sounding unconvincing even to yourself. “Most people aren’t Ments, after all.”

They blow out a long breath. “Yeah, but . . . a lot of reporters are. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been great getting to know you. But that was when I thought . . . I mean, Ments would hear everything going on in your life, right?”

“It’s not—”

“Which means if you came to visit, Ments would hear all your thoughts about me. They’d hear everything you know about me.” Arden stands abruptly, dropping their fork on the table. “I’m sorry. It’s hard enough trying to be in the public eye—I mean, my family is from North Dakota. My grandparents still live an hour’s drive from here. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

You smile tightly at their twice-voiced apology, and decide not to mention that your family hires a fleet of lawyers to protect your privacy. Because Arden is right. Visiting them in L.A. would attract attention, and they’re at this resort for the same reason that you are: to feel normal.

You’d ruin any hope of normalcy for them, because you’re only normal in Echo Point.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say. “Maybe we’ll arrange to meet up again at the resort someday.”

“Sure,” Arden says.

Being normal means that both of you can blatantly lie.

* * * *

Nick picks you up at O’Hare Airport. The moment you exit baggage claim, he’s already out of the car. There’s no need for you to explain what happened or how you’re feeling—he knows everything without you needing to say a word. Your brother’s hug is tight.

“I was a little worried that you wouldn’t come back,” he says in a light tone that you know isn’t completely joking.

“I did contemplate applying for a job at the resort,” you tease, also not entirely insincere.

He squeezes you even tighter, surrounding you with the scent of your favorite cookies—no doubt a welcome home surprise.

You may never be normal outside of Echo Point, but at least you’ll always be loved.