Nonconformity | Henry Creel

Peter

I smiled, "Lovely, Papa."

He smiled, "Now, it's 9:50. I had hoped our tour would go by quickly so you would get the chance to meet some of the people here." He continued into the room, and all eyes immediately turned to him. I followed behind him, nervously twiddling with my fingers under the watchful gazes of the children that now surrounded us.

"It's not quite time for lessons yet, children," Papa began, his voice reverberating around the room, "I wanted to introduce you to your newest sibling, Sixteen." He motioned to me. Warily, I waved at all the pairs of eyes, careful to prevent my anxiousness from spilling onto my face. I suppose they weren't all children. In fact, some of them seemed to be approaching my age. Maybe older.

"Now, I expect you to treat her with all the respect and kindness that you would show someone who has been here their whole life," Papa beamed as he surveyed the room, perfectly playing the role of 'proud father.' The children practically fell over themselves to obey him.

"That is all. You may continue your free time before lessons begin," And just like that, all eyes turned away from us, and the sounds of toys clattering and quiet conversation resumed.

Papa looked down at me, "That wasn't too bad, was it?"

"Not at all," I replied.

"Now, follow me," Papa grabbed my hand and began walking me to the back corner of the room. As we walked, I got a better view of all that surrounded me. I marveled at the children. Some appeared to be no more than four and yet they still managed to dangle objects in front of them without so much as a finger. I still couldn't quite believe it.

"There's someone I want you to meet," He said. I nodded and focused my gaze on my feet. I could feel the children's eyes burning into me as I walked. I had hoped their interest in me would be short-lived, but I suppose newcomers weren't common for these people. I wondered if, perhaps, they knew I was a fraud. Knew I had no recollection of ever having any powers. What would Papa do to me once he realized I didn't possess them?

We stopped in front of a pair of polished, black work shoes. Papa let go of my hand and I saw him motioning toward the man in front of me. "This is Peter. He's an orderly."

I finally moved my gaze from the floor. My eyes traveled up the length of white pants, then a white dress shirt. Like Papa, the man's clothes were pristine and without a blemish, utterly perfect. No wrinkles, no fraying cuffs. And just like Papa, I hated it. I hated how this place stripped every ounce of personality and warmth off of anyone who passed through its doors.

The first thing I noticed about his face were his eyes. They were a bright, striking blue, catching me off guard. I thought I'd seen virtually everything the facility had to offer. Bleached walls, superficial conversation, blindingly white lights. But the way his cheekbones cut through his skin like the world's most lovely knife made me rethinking my previous conclusions. Perhaps this place possessed a modicum of beauty.

But he was just like the rest, and his pretty eyes did not change the fact that he aided in the imprisonment of children. He was as much a gatekeeper as Papa.

"Orderly?" I turned to Papa, breaking eye contact with said 'orderly.' I wasn't familiar with the word, and I couldn't help but be embarrassed. Peter and I were likely around the same age, and yet here I was, clueless about a word that every child around me probably knew.

"An orderly is someone who attends to your needs," Papa explained. I didn't miss the condescension in his voice, "Peter typically aids in lessons, looks after the patients, and assesses how everyone is progressing. He happens to be a favorite among the other children."

I nodded.

"Until lessons begin, Peter is going to accompany you. He'll help you make introductions, familiarize yourself with the equipment in this room, and answer any questions you have," He smiled warmly and faced Peter. There was silence, and a look passed between the two of them. Papa's face was deadpan. When he spoke to me, he was always careful to mask his features with a kind smile or warm eyes. The way he looked at Peter was entirely different. It was entirely truthful. He didn't bother to charm him as he did me. His eyes said what his mouth didn't. And if I was correct in my analysis, he was giving Peter something that resembled a warning. "Isn't that right, Peter?"