Patreon Exclusive | Mix-up | Part 1 (Patreon)

ONE

The Center

N Ridge Ave, Indianapolis, Indiana

It looks like an ordinary reception. No sign of what really lies beyond the double-swing doors. Clean as a hospital, but the bank of interview windows suggest this could be a government office. David is reminded of a few months ago when he had to renew his drivers license. 

He exhales. A few months ago. Might as well be a hundred years ago. 

“Donald, don’t touch that.”

“Why?”

“Germs.”

“Yucky?”

“Yeah.”

“Yucky!”

“Come here. Hold my hand. Stop…stop wandering off, okay? 

David keeps his brother’s warm hand in his own. 

“I’m thirsty.” Im dursty.

David unscrews the bottle of Dasani water and gives it to Donald. He watches as his brother gulps messily, water escaping down his chin and darkening the front of his shirt. No getting away from it; the man needs a sippy cup. 

He looks into his brother’s face. Twenty-five year old twins. It used to feel like looking in a mirror, but not anymore. The look in Donald’s eyes, the open-mouthed smile, the expression of sheer…slackness. A big part of Donald’s mind has gone, retreated, regressed. A victim of the A.P.P. virus.

They’re waiting for their number to be called, their name to be read out. David brought his brother to the Center because that’s what the hastily enacted law says to do. He also brought him to the Center because he has no clue how to look after him. 

A text message, two days ago: 

Been checking those APP symptoms, think I might have it. How you doing?

David had waited until evening to text back. Because you get busy, because sometimes you forget. When he didn’t get a response, he called. No answer. And still, he didn’t go around to Donald’s apartment until the next morning. And really, you can justify anything. Because isn’t work stressful enough right now, with so many people his age self-isolating? Doesn’t he have enough on his plate? And to be honest, Donald has always been something of a hypochondriac. 

At least, Donald was able to unlock the door. Aside from that he was a mess. He looked, appropriately, like a three-year-old who had been left to his own devices for a day. 

So David called his office, told his team he would need to take a personal day. A family matter. These days, everyone knows what that probably means. 

He cleaned up his brother, brought him to the Center 

And dammit, just how long is this going to take? He follows Donald’s wandering gaze – there’s plenty to look at – in every pair or group of people sitting in chairs or standing in line, there’s always at least one person who’s P.R. or M.A. 

The PRs aren’t as easy to spot. Which one was physically older yesterday, and which one is just a normal kid? 

The MAs, on the other hand…even Donald himself gets it. He points at an adult man sitting on the ground nearby, an adult man chewing on his fingers. He pokes David’s arm and announces, much more loudly than necessary, a woman in her twenties who is clutching a teddy bear and wearing a rainbow unicorn T-shirt and tulle skirt that doesn’t come close to hiding her diaper. 

No, the MAs are simple enough to spot. 

“I’m hungry.”

The look on Donald’s face. A mixture of bland and expectant. It took…what? Two days? For this fully grown, professional man to lose his adult faculties, to have to problem-solving skills of a preschooler. Christ. Twenty years ago, they would have both been watching Blue’s Clues. David sighs. What would happen if he sat his brother in front of that show now? He pictures Donald pointing and babbling at the screen, and then he shudders. 

“I’m hungry,” says Donald again, in case his message wasn’t getting through. 

David should have brought snacks. He didn’t. Hell, he should have gone through the drive-thru at Wingstop or Wendy’s. He didn’t do that either. In such a hurry to get to the Center. In such a rush to pass his mentally adjusted brother to strangers. He looks over at a vending machine – currently the most popular service in the reception. 

“Hungry.”

“I know, buddy,” David says, rubbing his brother’s arm. “They’ll have food in here. We just need to wait here a little bit and they we can get you signed in.”

Donald wrinkles his nose, as if he’s just remembered why they’re here. As if he understands any of this. “Don’t wanna sign in. Wanna go home.”

Home meaning what? His own apartment? David remembers the state he found it in, after just one day of Donald falling victim to the mental regression. 

“Look, just drink your water, you’ll feel better.”

“Not thirsty.” Noh dursty. 

And as if to prove the point, like a lawyer winking at the jurists after closing arguments, Donald looks down at his crotch as a wet patch grows between his legs. 

“Oopsy,” Donald says. 

Yeah. Oopsy. 

“Donald Thomson.”

The brothers look up in synch, and there’s a woman standing before them. She’s probably in her fifties, well out of the demographic danger zone for A.P.P. She has a kind smile but she frowns as soon as she sees Donald’s wet pants. 

“Oh dear,” she says, and as if addressing a real toddler, she makes a theatrically sad face and says, “Did someone have an accident?”

Two days ago, David’s brother would have been furious at being spoken to this way. Now, he just nods, smiling shyly at the woman. He looks to adults to identify and solve his problems. 

The nurse turns to David. “Wasn’t there supplies? Diapers and so on? Every X1 should have received the package.”

David feels his face warm. He’s only have to look after his mentally adjusted brother for a few hours and he’s already failed. 

But yeah, did he lie his brother on his back and diaper him? No way. Same reason he hadn’t dressed Donald in the childish, adult-sized clothing that came in the package. He glances around the room, back at the other MA victims. Most of them are wearing the special outfits. 

“I…I couldn’t…” he begins. “I cleaned him up, but I couldn’t…the diaper, it just seemed too much.” He waves behind the nurse, where they’ll soon be taking Donald. “I mean, isn’t diapering just a sign of defeat? He’s my brother, I want him to get better.”

“He won’t get better if he’s all wet,” says the woman. But she smiles at David. “It’s okay, I know this must be hard for you. You’re twins, right?”

David nods. 

The woman smiles again. “Identical.”

David nods again. For the first time today, he considers the fact that both he and his brother are dressed in blue jeans and button-down shirts. 

“It was brave of you to help him. You’re both X1, you’re both equally at risk from the virus.”

Except Donald is the one who got it. He’s the one who now sees the world through a little boy’s eyes. What do the bloggers and influencers say? A nightmare for friends and family, but for the actual victim, it feels great! It’s like a vacation from your adult life! Except what if it’s not a vacation? What if it’s forever?

“It’s okay,” the nurse says gently. “We’re going to take excellent care of your brother.” And then she turns to Donald and her whole demeanor changes. “Donald, I’m Mimi!” She sticks out her gloved hand and Donald shakes it, grinning at the woman. 

“What a big boy, knowing how to shake hands,” Mimi declares in a sing-song voice, and Donald’s grin widens. 

Her expression grows thoughtful, and then it brightens. “I know! Donald, how about we get you all clean and dry, and then you can have a snack. Would you like that? Would you like a cookie?”

Donald nods his head frantically. “Uh-huh!” He pulls on his brother’s hand. “Wanna cookie, David!”

David shrugs. “Well, I guess it’s cookie time.” He takes Donald’s hand and they follow the nurse through double-swing doors into the Center.