Nothing Special

Aidan was, by appearance, not anything special. His short blond hair was smooth but nearly untouched by any product – and seemingly a brush or comb- and his clothes were a bit worn down, though not old or haggard. Aidan was working at the restaurant, taking orders and passing them on. His coworkers looked tired and bored, but Aidan would always let a dimpled, crinkled grin climb over his boyish features.

So yes, by appearance he was nothing special. Walking back and forth as he took the orders and then stretched his long arms out to hand the order to one of the cooks. And when he was on break, Aidan would lift a cup of soda to his lips and shake his head, chuckling at his friends, scratching absently at his farmer’s tan.

The people who knew him thought of him as simple. Aidan was simply a good kid. He did well in school, always came in first or second in his track races – thank those damn long limbs he had – and was very much a part of school life; School newspaper, student council, Gay Straight Alliance, Latin Club. The kid was everywhere. So if you asked around people would say Aidan’s a good kid. Simple. Nothing special, but a good kid. He was a diligent worker, good for a laugh and a good listener. Nothing special, right?

Aidan had no odd habits. No bad streaks. No, he wasn’t perfect. Not even close. But sometimes there is beauty in blandness. It didn’t matter that half of the people who passed him would forget his face in minutes, or that his even his friends couldn’t describe him all too well. People found him endearing at best and too-good at worst. There was very little in between.


And Aidan was a boy of habit. Every day he came into the restaurant, double knotted his apron after slipping it over his head and started to brew the morning's first batch of coffee. He loved doing that. It reminded him of going to his grandfather's house. He'd clean up whatever had been missed last night and watch the other workers trail in absently. They were tired and grumpy. Aidan loved getting up early in the mornings. He was one of those 'strange' people who enjoyed work. He enjoyed the rush to get orders to the chef and watching people come in, eyes eager and hungry. And it wasn't like being cheerful didn't pay off. Aidan got the best tips out of all the workers. 

Filling what would be the last order of the day, Aidan handed it to the chef, who shook his head, gum pressed tightly between teeth too white to be real.

“I’m off duty. You can make a sandwich, can’t you?” he drawled out. Aidan clenched the piece of paper securely in his long fingers, nodding obediently.

“Yes, sir.”

The chef left and Aidan walked back over to the customer. The man had to be in his early twenties, his dark hair gelled to a state he must’ve assumed was perfection. And his cocky, if bored, grin was slipping away as he popped up the collar on his shirt.

“Our cook just took off for the evening, I’ll be right back with your order, sir,” Aidan explained before going over to the station.

The order was simple enough and then he’d be able to close up shop. The sandwich was assembled and put into the Panini press when Aidan heard a loud, metallic clang. Aidan leaned back to peer around the tile corner and saw Mr. Gelled Hair with his hands in the money tray of the cash register. Aidan’s hazel eyes met his glazed over brown ones and the older man’s muscles jumped as he pulled away, sprinting towards the exit.

It was as if the ref of a track meet had just fired the starting gun. There was no hesitation. All he could think about was how he and all of the other workers earned that money. How that was the support system for dozens of people and yet this man had the audacity to try and take it. Aidan leapt over the counter and took off after the man, his sprinting training kicking into gear. Of course the man was taller than Aidan and more muscled too and so his mind started to realize the potential risk as well. No matter. His fingers stretched out to grasp a fistful of cotton fabric, pulling the chase to a crashing halt inches before the doors.

Aidan pulled off his red apron and used it to wrap around the man’s hands, effectively binding him. He put the man in one of the chairs and called the police, snatching the money and walking back to the cash register, heart pounding in his chest as his adrenaline kick slowly wore off. The older man’s dopey expression wore off in seconds.

Word got out that Aidan stopped a robber. The whole town was a buzz. Aidan’s a good kid, they said.

Too bad he’s nothing special.