The Expatriate-the story of a Prodigy

1. His World

When he opened his eyes for the first time to his room, all he saw was grey. Grey, grey, grey. Grey room, grey crib, grey windows... the view beyond the window wasn't accessible because of the stupidly long and high bars of the grey crib of his. He was confused at first, like all the others his age, were. This isn't definitely the world I knew or want to live in, he thought. He got a bit strange and frustrated that he was out in the real world, with no one right there to protect him like his mom in a physical sense. But what frustrated him more was the color of the room for now.
But what could he do? He couldn't talk-and he didn't know what the stuff inside his head was, and why he didn't like the grey, etc. He just hated it. But with his little abilities of only being able to keep breathing and blinking his eyes for an eternity, he just had to realize the truth.
Ok, the world is grey. That's it.
He didn't yet realize that his mother's favorite color, fascinatingly, was grey. Yet.
His realization of the further world, much much much more complicated than the color of the world, came a few minutes later. He first heard her footsteps-the shove, shove, of her sleepers she wore always in the house, he'd gotten to know pretty soon. His mother strode in, humming to herself. He wondered what the song was, though he didn't even know what a song was itself-but found himself enjoying it. It flowed into his small ears, and he could hear every false, cracked sound at the end of her breathe at singing it-the ones that are especially apparent when the person has a bad throat or was very bad at singing-but his mother apparently wasn't that type-just the throat that's a bit 'unused' in the morning. But music was less important than memorizing your guardians, right?
His mother had short hair, and wide eyes, and he realized with his baby delight that it was brown. Ok, grey wasn't all of the world! Of course, there had to be some diversity in the world, huh? She hummed as she reached down to get a hold of him. He heard the slightest swishes of her clothes, a simple grey shirt. He tried to hide the wince as her hand at his shoulder created a giant whooshing sound, then a feeling. Big fingers. Woah, everything seemed amplified to him.
Then he was flying.
Ok, not the flying you might think of airplanes-or either those common parents who fling their kids up into the air(and sometimes when the kid ends up mangled and broken, unfortunately).
Simply in the arms of one of his guardians, he felt the cool breeze on his body, but heard the air swooshing over his ears as we listen to real airplanes take off from the airport right in front of our eyes. He felt an impulse to maybe cry and wince-but after a second later, it was better, and he didn't feel the water at his throat and eyes.
Well, in fact, he had cried only twice in his tiny world. He was silent as he was pushed right into the cold air of the hospital room(the airplane-take-off-sound had been less, then), and when he just blinked and sniffed, some kind of pandemonium started in the room. Great-why did they want me to cry? -It would mean at least 6 years of endless crying and extreme care and devotion for sure for his parents, he'd get to know... His mother had been all teary and everything, worrying that something had gotten into him(yeah, obviously, she was thinking that the devil had somehow gotten into him)  was the something and she felt familiar and sounded familiar-so just for her sake, he winced and tried to cry. Guess that did the trick. His father, he remembered well, grinned and the others in the room grinned, and the havoc died down, leaving his ears numb, the resonance staying in his ears for the rest of his time spent in the nightmarish hospital.
He swished back to the present just as his mother put him down, and he actually winced. The air swished out from under... then the cushion met him. Not very soft-just soft enough to be named a cushion and sold out at the market. Well, these factors were maybe enough for his parents to buy those stuff.
He looked up for the first time and stared at the kitchen. There was his dad already, whistling-well, he found that also amusing along with humming, though humming was more creative and expressive-and smiling at his mom. "Breakfast, Johnathon," "Oh, stop that, Rick," His mom hissed at him-though there was a smile on her face. "Don't imprint him with random names-I still think he's an Alex," "Hell, I was just joking," His dad said. He had already rolled his eyes a bit subtly-ok, let's call him Alex from now on for his mom's and his sake.
Alex Mars.
Alex loved the name, though at first, he hadn't wanted it. His dad had already gotten the habit of calling him any name he wanted from the day he was born, so he was wondering about the kinds of names out there, and the one he wanted-he figured it out to be James and Ryan. But didn't seem as if he got his way, though.
Well, now being so used to it, he didn't wince at his dad hollering the name. He especially liked his last name, and was thankful that it wasn't anything like those stupid ones on the TV animations that his mom forced him to watch(ok, not force-he didn't how to speak yet, and forcing involves the shoving and pulling back and yelling between two people, so definitely not forcing), like Brownie or Pepper, etc. Mars sounded cool-his mom used to tell him how his name had come to being (he already knew the truth-they had searched on the Internet-'the coolest name'). Ok, seems as if you don't understand. It's the 2040s here-names didn't matter, but the IDs on the Internet. You could create your own last name, etc. Anyway. His mom told him that the humans had just sent the second round of human-bearing space ships to Mars, and that it was full of bright plans of civilization and developing. So his dad had wanted the 'Mars' part because of those motivations. Well, that's what every parent does-they're not sure if the child will become some genius or a drug addict in the future-so for their own permanent relief, they make your name some flashy one, something extra-cool.
Alex agreed, sighing, usually when his parents were asleep on the big bed beside his stupid crib. It was cool, after all.
He found nights the most boring times of the day-while there was peace in his ears, nothing bothered him-and that fact bothered him. He wanted information to be streaming all around his head every second of his life, though he craved sleep sometimes. So, to keep himself busy, he created his own session of the night-he'd think of the things he wanted to do and practice.
One of the first was...: speaking.
He already knew a few German words and quite a lot of English. He could already make those sentences, and even put them on his tongue, though a bit imperfect.
"I hate the night-it's so boring," He said one night, staring up at the grey ceiling, tucked constrictfully into the grey crib. His pronunciation was great this time, not garbling a tiny bit. But he wanted to be perfect. That way, he knew, he'd be able to reduce time when learning English for real. But the thoughts led to other thoughts, and those led to many more themselves, and he got to the conclusion that he'd speak the next day to his parents. Maybe there had been more than 3 hours of lying awake in his crib, his head dealing with the streaming in and out thoughts(that was his maximum, strangely), since he was suddenly drifting away into the dark, mind not having time to think of the perfect timing and phrase to utter at his dad and mom.
The next morning, he woke up just as his parents were waking up. His dad went to the shower, looking groggy. His mom used up some 20 minutes rubbing her eyes off.
He felt extremely uncomfortable that morning especially. He found the next thing on his list of things to think of at night 'walking'. Gee, he really wanted to do that.
His mothers yawned loud that her ears and face cringed up in the process.
"I absolutely hate this crib," He muttered slowly-then realized that he himself had spoken so easily-and naturally.
His mother, right in the process of putting down her outstretched arms from the yawn, gasped, arms still in the air.
"Alex?" She looked at Alex, who was definitely there and an Alex, then scrunched up her forehead. "Mom?" He wanted to roll his eyes for her stupidity, and replied back.
She just stared back, expression blank.
Maybe he had pushed it too far-and way too early.
"You ok?" He said before realizing that he was about to surprise his mom again and lengthen her time under the coma.
"But how-?" She whispered finally after more than his life. Then, in a gasp, "Rick," she stuttered.
Alex's dad replied with the start of his usual humming from inside the shower booth.
"Alex, how can you speak?" His mom didn't laugh, and Alex had fortunately already had 'hiding real emotions' a few nights ago-so, he successfully hid his grin. "I learned from you, the TV, et cetera," Gee, his pronunciations weren't perfect... He felt awful. "Me, the TV, et cetera," She now rose from her bed slowly, slowly repeating. "Then why didn't you tell us already?" She just stared down at the crib for about the second time in his lifetime this time, and Alex crinkled his forehead.
"Oh, you ok? Diaper change?" His mom asked, worried for real as parents get sometimes.
"I'd feel much better if you got me out of this thing and put it in the recycling bin," He answered.
And, too speechless to object her son's first spoken-out-loud words, his mom obeyed.

His dad was easier to take care of. His mom, let's address her from now on as Stephenie Marks, and his dad, you already know the name, (Rick Carves), stumbled the words too quicly for him to understand, but Alex got it all. It was like, "(gasp)Rick, Rickkkk.... Alex..hetalks,believe that?hejusttoldmetogetridofhiscribandI was SOO astonished,come on," She hurled Rick to Alex, who was on the not-so-soft-but-supposed-to-be-soft-cushion once more for what was supposed to be breakfast.
Rick just glanced at his son.
Then grinned.
"Hell, I knew it, Steph. He's gonna be more than the planet Mars. Jesus, I'm so happy that you heard everything we were talking of," Alex Mars smiled back, and he smirked. Gee.
After that day, life got better and better for tiny Alex. With his grey crib on the way to the town dump, he had no barrier but a few heads to step carefully over at night to get on the floor and practice walking-it was hard, but he had spent so much time on the floor after the crib had gone, studying the balance and bones of his parents' feet. He tried his best and mastered walking on his own in 2 weeks.
He also grew fast, though clearly not the burly type. He was skinny and seemed as if gonna be skinny for the rest of this life. He also mastered speaking, and added delightfully the words his dad obviously used a lot-like 'hell', 'asshole', 'son of a bitch', -to his mental dictionary. Rick loved it and started to talk to him as if he was his old chap from college, while Stephenie got a bit pissed off with it.
"Jesus, I'm so damn proud of you, son-we taught you practically nothing, and here you are, speaking and walking," "It's just normal, I guess. Oh, goddam dad, I'm freaking hungry," "Alex," His mom hissed as usual. But Alex Mars knew that repetition eventually gets ingrained in everyone, so he just plowed on with the slang.
He was right as always. Steph got less pissed out with his vocabulary after a few years
But there was one thing Alex Mars hadn't told his parents proudly.
And it was his 'ear-sight'.
It got clear that it was especially more developed than most humans and even adults, though it had been evident even when he was a month old(ok. That's not really true. You know it, right along from the goddam hospital room, right). He heard everything amplified about thrice, and he didn't like it too much, since listening to others secretly was rare in his home. Especially since he didn't attend school. He was still 4.
Steph finally noticed that it was something big when she destroyed an ancient Portmeirion plate.
She had been polishing the stuff and packing them into the cupboard, with the eyes of a happy granny, delighted by her old collection of plates. Alex was watching, measuring every movement she made.
And he even heard and saw the inception of the slipping even before his mom could.
He knew mom could survive it-what he was even more worried about was-
The thing hit the ground and splattered into a thousand glistening pieces. Alex was in the bedroom already, the door halfway closed, hands over his ears. Jesus Christ, I'm deaf finally-is that better that way? He wondered as the huge ringing and bounced around in his brain. Jesus, for sure, he felt numb and deaf after the real shock, and didn't leave the room, afraid for himself, till Rick came from work, some insurance company.
"Shit, Steph! You ok?" Of course she was, Alex thought, I just heard her blink, then sigh and bring a broom stick... I am the problem, dad, he thought, the splintering still in his head, as if he had the LSS, or the last song syndrome-the problem was, it was worse than that, and definitely not some stupid song.
They swept up the splinters, then finally came looking fo him. "Oh, Alex. There you were. Sorry I dropped that-oh," Steph saw him in pain and got that really-serious-parental look again. "Huh?" Rick stood beside her, just looking at Alex's pained face, dumb-he hadn't gotten the hang of the hearing thing even once. "You got the splinters in your hands? You should have told -" "Rick, Alex seems to have something peculiar with his ears, even right from birth, I think. Right, Al?" He groaned. "Yes," He said, his own voice inserted as a part of the breaking sounds. "Jesus, you should have told me as soon as possible! We're going to the hospital now, kid-you look as if you got stabbed," Though he knew that his son was perfectly capable of running, Rick put Alex into his arms, and Stephenie didn't even accuse her husband for being so verbally violent.
As they jammed him into the car and drove like mad, Alex Mars felt as if his secret was gone.
-And he was right.