Reflection

Below is a story I submitted for a competition…which I didn’t qualify to go to states for…

Let me know what you think of it.

—

The surrounding area seemed familiar, yet so different. The Mogadishu of my memory was that of disparity. Now, I saw it through different eyes.

My CarpalComputer™ notified me of my meeting. Updates of the space-time travel theory from a scientific bulletin put a smile on my face as I kept a brisk pace before stopping in front of a towering building. The plasma glass recognized my features as a name on the staff list. The “glass” became a slightly viscous substance and allowed me to pass into the elaborate, African headquarters of UNICEF.

I opened the doors to the conference room slowly but surely. The moment I set foot inside, my presence was acknowledged. Rowdy executives were silenced. Their laughter was stifled to grunts and chortles. I bore an expression of nonchalance nonetheless.

I smiled lightly and took my seat at the head of the table, where the executive director sat during meetings.

Me. The executive director.

After I sat down, the young ones launched a two and a half hour presentation that I had little trouble tuning out. After all, these people were just talking. They never knew. I was going to change that. I readily welcomed the break for lunch.

After locating the nearest Chipotle, I sent in my preset order, and in minutes, the food was ready for me to eat.

Resuming my pace and swiftly nearing the eatery, I was buried in my CarpalComputer™, collaborating in real time to stabilize a terrorist situation in Japan. Thank goodness it retained most of its functions on the journey, I thought to myself. To my left, there was a dark alley. An ordinary alley to most, but I did a double take as I passed it.

A dangerously thin pair of legs was the only thing visible of a boy rummaging through a dumpster. As he emerged, he shoved a small tortilla strip into his grime-coated face and chomped furiously.

My eyes widened as waves of nostalgia crashed on me: I had stood in that very same alley 40 years ago. The child’s eyes met mine. An invisible current connected the two of us with a bond that could not be severed. His steely gray irises, surrounding scarlet pupils, reflected mine exactly.

“Hello?” The timid voice startled me not only because he spoke English, but it was also hauntingly familiar.

My stifled voice replied “Hey.” I sounded more scared than him. I hastily retrieved the order I had sent in to the restaurant to add another burrito to it. I glanced quickly at the boy again.

I added another.

I silently watched him devour everything on the restaurant table and babble about his difficult life. His mental tenacity impressed and intrigued me.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Bahdoon,” he replied. His words were barely coherent with the food in his mouth.

The shock slowly morphed into realization at the resemblance. Both of us had been orphaned by the age of eight. At thirteen, we were providing for our siblings. And we both had the same birth names.

I looked at him carefully, hoping my vision would penetrate his skull and the inner workings of his mind would reveal themselves to me. His thirst to learn, to experience, made him so unique. His eyes pierced through mine with intensity comparable to my own endeavors. They were young with vigor, but had wisdom about them.

“Come with me.” My voice had silenced his protest. I had plans for UNICEF. And they started with me. Or Bahdoon. I couldn’t tell the difference.

“I think I’ve done enough listening. – now it’s your turn.” I motioned for Bahdoon to come out from his secluded corner back in the conference room. My conviction was renewed after observing his confidence fight back the fronts of disgust emanating from the people at the table.

“This,” I addressed to the congregation, “is why we are here, folks. Here is a kid, barely a teen, fending for himself and his eight siblings – parentless. Now imagine me in that situation.” I paused. “Yes – I was an orphan four decades ago.

“Many of you have preconceived notions about who I am. Some think I am a conceited businessman who has come to destroy the organization’s good name. Others think that I’m here to relive my days as a powerful entrepreneur. I will tell you now – my objective is to serve the less fortunate of this world, and nothing else. You may have your own agendas, but none shall interfere with mine. UNICEF has been prone to corruption in the last decade, but the underlying cause shall continue with my direction.

“This orphan,” I grasped Bahdoon’s shoulders in a paternal manner, “speaks from experience: the most important resource we have available. He is the closest relative I have. He is one of half a million in Mogadishu and ten million in all of Africa. He is our link to them. Bahdoon is more qualified an executive director than I.” I winked at Bahdoon. I saw a wet sheen pass across his eyelid, a mirror of my own resolute gaze.

*****

20 years later…

I stared into the mirror. Sigh, adjust, and repeat.

The wall of windows behind my desk pulled me in like a magnet. Every moment I looked out these windows on to the living entity of the great city, Father’s words resonated in my mind: “People think we aren’t smart. What they don’t know is that they don’t know. Ignorant of ignorance. You and I, we are special. You have the power to change things, Bahdoon. Power! Bah, the things that can happen, the wonders you will work!”

I straightened my tie one last time, took a deeper sigh than those preceding, and mustered the courage to step out my office doors. I wore the aura that Father spoke of well.

The old conference room doors parted for me now. My arrival was greeted with thunderous applause with a hint of a whistle before I launched into a speech about the works of UNICEF and how far we had come as an organization. I attempted to emulate Father, but I could never compare. I wished he were by my side then.

I stepped outside after the crowd dispersed. My mind was occupied with a recent breakthrough on the front of mathematics: practical time travel.

The Space-Time Transportation Module (STM) was the revolution of the front between physics and engineering. Recent findings published proved to be the missing link in completing the designs for the machine.

The clamor of children laughing made my head snap to the right instinctively. They were huddled around an ice cream vendor, laughing huskily. I recognized some of the children as street urchins – orphans in and around the inner city.

I walked over to the man, gravitating to his intimacy and empathy for the children. My approach scattered the children. A bleep notified me on the status of the STM design.

“Well, hello there.” His voice was like an enthusiastic grandfather’s – a charm about it made me smile just as wide as he did. He wore a thick pair of glasses that were just dark enough to hide his eyes, also enhancing the laugh-lines outlining his face. “Ice cream?”

“Sure,” I said absentmindedly. He glanced at my CarpalComputer™ as he handed me the cone.

“Time travel, eh? Between, you and me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You have experience with it?” I made little effort to hide my sarcasm.

“Yeah. I was the one who experimented on the theory that the space time continuum could be manipulated over small amounts of matter by applying Euclidean geometry and calculus.”

I was speechless for an awkward time. “What made you want to do that?”

“I don’t know. I never felt like I was helping anyone with science. Ice cream had been a favorite treat of mine and—”

“No, no. I meant the experimentation; what was your motivation to pursue it?”

A pensive look crossed the man’s face. “I felt that I hadn’t utilized my life properly. An orphaned childhood left me bitter and cold for the better part of my life. If I could steer my younger self in the right direction, I thought my life would be something I could be satisfied with on the other end, a life of service to those I could relate to. You know what I mean?” He paused expectantly. “Just look at yourself, Bahdoon.”

He flashed a knowing smile, winked, and strode to the back of a building without warning. Suddenly, a flare of light followed in his wake, and the ice cream cone he had given me had left no trace. But before he left, he did peer over the top of the opaque glasses into my eyes with a wise, scarlet and gray stare. It was a glimpse into the future, but still a reflection of who he had left behind. Or rather, taken with him.