[Backpost] Idris Oren, Part 1
Posted on 07 Nov 2014 @ 10:01pm by Lieutenant Oren Idris Ph.D.
1,520 words; about a 8 minute read
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Even since the day Oren could remember being able to think, he had an idea embedded in his mind. The idea that, no matter where he was or who he was with, he would never truly belong.
Many years after the events of Oren's childhood, he would find himself on a small shuttle, alone, with hours to spare and he would come to the conclusion that someone like him couldn't belong. A person with an eidetic memory, an almost endless life and a keen, intuitive insight into what those around them were truly wanted, would always be uncomfortable in company. In fact, being stuck on that shuttle felt like the perfect representation of how he felt as a constant in his life - floating in a giant pool of nothingness, with everything meaningful too far away.
[Bajor, 2320]
Although the day itself was gloomy, the sound of laughing children erupted across the playground as they were finally set free (at least for a little while) by the bell sounding off from the top of the school building. As their assault on the various playground equipment began to take hold, a figure separated itself from the mass of students, wandering over to the sandbox and flopping down into it.
Although the same age as the rest, the boy differed from the others in both size and general appearance. Almost awkwardly well proportioned, he looked as if someone had taken a shrinking ray to an adult and his blonde hair, pale skin and freckles were like a homing beacon for curious comments and questions. Sitting in the sand with his legs spread out in front of him in a V shape, he picked at the sand between them with a stick, frowning at the lack of moisture. Building anything out of the dry mess under him was out of the question.
"What happened to your nose?"
Snap
Flinching as the stick broke in his hands, the little boy stuck his wounded finger into his mouth before looking up to find the source of his disturbance. It was one of the girls in his class whose name he couldn't quite remember. There were a lot of them, after all.
Not saying anything, he just gave her an inquisitive look.
"Your nose is different than mine," she added, pointing to his face in the kind of rude way only a child was capable of.
The blond boy suddenly went cross-eyed as he tried to look where she was pointing at. Feeling a little dizzy at the action, he blinked a few times and looked back up at the girl.
"There's nothing wrong with it," he said softly.
"It's different."
He didn't answer and the little girl shuffled her feet slightly before looking over her shoulder, then back at the boy in the sand. Leaning to the side, he followed her gaze only to find that some of the other children had stopped playing and were curiously observing the two.
The girl blushed when he looked back at her, feeling confused but somehow knowing exactly what was happening.
"The others wanted to know."
He didn't reply, just kept looking at her. She was nervous, even a little scared of him and that made him nervous in return.
"They were afraid to ask," he just said, then looked back down at the sand.
"We played a game to see who would do it," she admitted, and for the first time he realized she was speaking quietly so the others wouldn't hear.
"I lost."
Unconsciously, the little boy's lip trembled and he felt incredibly embarrassed. A vague embarrassment he would only identify as self-consciousness much later in life.
"I was born like this," he told her after a few moments of silence between them, picking at the sand with his finger.
"Oh...Are you okay? Because my friend Mareh has a little brother who was born a little different and he can't come to school because he gets sick a lot."
He looked back up at her, blinking more rapidly now. Afraid, he wondered if she was right. Maybe that was why his parents had been nervous about sending him to school.
"Are you okay?" she repeated and he realized she'd sat down in the sand with him.
"I-...I feel okay," he replied. She nodded, glancing down at the sand between his legs. Quietly, she watched him doodle odd shapes into the sand only to have them erased by the slight wind. But it wasn't important, as long as he had something to focus on until her next question.
"Can I touch it?"
He looked at her once again, wary. She already had her hand up, ready to reach over. The little boy focused on her hand, then on the children observing the two of them. They were nervous too, holding their collective breath. It seemed rude to deny her, even if it made him feel less than he was.
"Okay..." he whispered, letting her reach over and gently touch his freckled nose. Although the touch couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, it felt like an eternity. It also felt utterly humiliating..
"You can touch mine if you want," she said then and for the first time, he felt a small smile tug at his thin lips. Fidgeting, he reached up and gently touched the small, wrinkled ridges on her nose before taking his hand back.
"I'm Kala Jan," she told him, smiling as well.
"Idris Oren," he replied, looking back down at the sand. "Do you wanna go with me to the tank to get some water? The sand is dry." He picked at it again, as if to prove a point.
"Alright. We need a bucket first," she said wisely, standing up and slapping her skirt free of dust before helping her strange-looking friend up.
The door slammed behind Oren as he entered his living room at the end of the school day. With the loud noise startling him, he flinched slightly before leaning back against it. Reaching up, Oren gently ran his hand over the bridge of his nose, momentarily lost in thought.
No feeling lingered inside him for long as he was brought out of his musing by the steady, familiar thumping under his feet. It was still early in the afternoon and the boy wasn't surprised that his father's lessons were still going. Dropping his pack unceremoniously onto the floor near his shoes, Oren slowly made the trek down into the basement, listening as the music grew louder. With a final push, he let himself inside of his father's studio to find him there with only three of his student and, judging by what he knew of their particular routine, they were nearing the end. Looking around, Oren's eyes finally fell on another figure, sitting on the floor opposite the dance group.
The woman sat there in much the same position as her son in the sandbox but her own reason wasn't simple childish carelessness but instead the large belly in front of her. Her dress spilled all around her, the navy blue material made her hair appear a brighter red than its natural shade could manage. Oren approached her, keeping his green eyes on his father the whole way before finally sitting down on the floor.
"How was your first day?" Oren's mother, Nomula, asked as she leaned down so that he could hear her over the racket. The little boy didn't answer, but she waited calmly, laying back against the large pillow she'd pressed against the wall for support. They sat in silence for a moment that seemed to drag on, soundtracked by an upbeat tune blaring from the overhead speaker system.
"Is there something wrong with me?"
Oren's voice was small and, if she hadn't been waiting for it, Nomula knew she could've missed it. Looking down at her son, she appeared shocked.
"Why would you ask such a thing?"
Oren shrugged his small shoulders.
"Tell me," she insisted.
Oren shifted nervously, looking down at his lap.
"The other kids...I'm not like them."
"You knew that," Nomula reasoned. "We explained it. You're a little different."
"Why?"
"Because we're not from here, Oren," she told him, reaching over to run her hand through his hair. Oren relaxed slightly at her touch.
"Why don't we go back?" he asked innocently. "I don't want to stand out." He looked up at her pleadingly.
Nomula gave him a sad smile and Oren frowned in return, knowing she wasn't going to tell him everything. No one ever told him everything.
"We can't. We love it here. These are very good people, Oren. You can fit in. I promise."
Oren sighed, looking away from her and back at his father. As he watched the small group of students begin to gather their things, Oren realized that the music had stopped. His father was picking up some of the equipment and Oren quickly stood up to go over and help him.
His mother watched him go, not saying anything.
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