Page 1 of Accidentally Mine
1
Brent
They were all there.
Men in slick tuxedos.Women in sparkling dresses.All preening for the press.
And me.
Why me?Oh, that’s right.Because I was the man of the hour.
But unlike all the rest of them, I was looking for the nearest exit.
“Relax, it’s just one night,” my sister, Claudia, said as she dusted off the sleeve of my tux before giving me a parting air kiss, her thick brown hair framing her face.“Let them adore you.They want to.And you deserve the recognition.”
I adjusted my stiff black jacket and bow tie as she disappeared into the crowd, thinking that there had to be a way to save the world without my peers being compelled to pour praise all over me.Couldn’t I just do good, anonymously?
Apparently not.
Thus, this event, on the rooftop of the Revere Hotel overlooking Boston’s Back Bay.A gorgeous venue overlooking the lights of the harbor.Nice, warm early May Saturday night.The best city in the world.Fantastic people.
They sipped expensive champagne.I’d rather have a beer.They nibbled on fancy finger foods.I’d rather have a burger.They were comfortable in stiff monkey suits.I’d rather be at home, in sweats, on the couch, watching the Bruins.Or out on the course, with my bow.
To me, it was an unendurable event.Honoring the Boston Children’s Hospital’s Humanitarian of the Year, which was a worthwhile endeavor, for sure.
If that Humanitarian of the Year hadn’t been me.
I accepted congratulations from the hundredth person that night, sipped tasteless champagne from a crystal flute, and tugged on the collar of my tux.My collar size was more like a seventeen than a sixteen and a half.Another reminder note I needed to tap into my Memory Key, so I wouldn’t have to suffocate next time I was dragged to one of these things.
The Key was my baby.Technology I’d invented and had loaded on my phone, technology that organized my schedule, held my reminders, and basically saved my ass as a businessman.I had my neck size and about a dozen more things I needed to log into my Key, but now was not the time.
Which was a problem.
If I didn’t enter them now, by the end of the night, those details I wanted to note could possibly go the way of about a million other thoughts I’d had in the past two years…straight into the big black void of my head, never to be recovered.Thus, the Key, my little lifesaver.I was constantly thumbing notes into the thing.It had saved me countless times.
That was the reality of suffering from a traumatic brain injury.Though the forgetfulness had improved dramatically over time, I was still ultra careful to log things because I never knew which detail would disappear, or when.Like now.
An elderly man leaned over to me, a big smile on his face.“Great event.So worthwhile.And so good to have you be a part of it.”
He seemed vaguely familiar, and I felt sure I’d been introduced to him.Earlier this evening?I wasn’t sure.I had the feeling he was someone important.The effortless way he wore his tux like a second skin told me as much.I couldn’t for the life of me remember his name.I wasn’t this bad, usually.But I’d been introduced to no fewer than two-hundred people tonight.Even without a TBI, I’d be struggling.
Perhaps.
When I started Key Technologies, I had a lot of balls in the air, and I juggled each one of them.Prided myself on having a steel trap on my top floor—never forgetting a name, face, event.Before the accident, I got off on events like this.Worked the room.Charmed them all.
Now, I felt like a bull in a china shop.
“I’ll see you at the hospital on the twenty-second?”the man said in a smooth voice.
I frowned.The twenty-second?“The hospital?”
“Yes.”He studied me, eyebrow raised like he may have thought I was playing a joke on him.“Yes…you know.To discuss your advancements with the board, correct?”
Disjointed pieces of information slowly solidified in my head, like scattered jigsaw pieces finding a home.Victor Morgan.Head of Neurology at the Boston’s Children Hospital.The man who’d nominated me for this award.Right.
“Ah.Yes.Of course,” I said, several beats too late.“Looking forward to it.”
He let out what sounded like a sigh of disappointment.I sensed what he was thinking.That it’d slipped my mind because it didn’t matter to me, which was the furthest thing from the truth.But he couldn’t know that.In fact, the TBI was something I didn’t share with most of my peers, not even the ones with medical experience.
