Read Online Struck by Genius: How a Brain Injury Made Me a Mathematical Marvel by Jason Padgett, Maureen Ann Seaberg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jason Padgett, Maureen Ann Seaberg
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seemed so large relative to my own size and self; afterward, I sometimes felt like a giant looking through a microscope.
The phone was my only lifeline to my fractured family; my mother was still living in Alaska, and my father had moved to Illinois. With my only sibling, John, gone, it was very easy for me to hide how dire things were. My family and friends didn’t realize what was going on for a while because my phone manner was usually upbeat. My mother never got mad when I telephoned at all hours, and she would ask me to describe what I saw. My dad, however, got one too many late-night calls and took to saying, “Jesus Christ, Jason, do you know what time it is?” before I started talking.
My friend Angela, present the night of the mugging, tried desperately to get me out of my isolation. She phoned repeatedly and asked me to come out with her and our friends. I always declined. So one day she showed up at the house. I reluctantly let her inside.
“You need to take down those blankets, go take a shower, and come out with me,” she announced. “Enough already—it’s been weeks. You can’t live like this.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere. I just want to be left alone,” I told her.
“You need to be with people. This isn’t normal, Jason.” She was beginning to get angry.
“You’re not in this situation—how could you understand?”
“If you stay in your house, that’s them winning!” she yelled. “There will be a lot of people there tonight. You’ll feel safe!”
I exploded. I can’t remember raising my voice so fiercely to anyone—it just wasn’t my nature, either before or after the mugging. But I’d heard enough. “Well, there were a lot of people around the night I was attacked, including you, and none of you did a damn thing—you just stood there. I’m not going. Now, get out!” I showed her the door. After that, I wouldn’t even answer the doorbell. My loved ones tried to coax me from my cave from afar, but I seldom let anyone visit me. The one exception was my young daughter, Megan. But that didn’t mean our visits were normal.
The doorbell would ring, and even if I was expecting my five-year-old, I’d have to make sure it was actually her. I’d tiptoe cautiously toward the front door and then peek out the side of the blanket covering the window closest to it, straining to look down at an angle toward what would be the height of my little brunette daughter. If her saucer-large blue eyes met mine and I was sure it was her and no one else, I’d remove the bat I’d propped against the door and quickly unbolt the locks, then open the door just wide enough for her to squeeze through. The less time the door was open and the smaller the angle, the greater my sense of security. I wouldn’t even pause to wave at Michelle, who always dropped her off. Megan knew the drill and would rush in. She’d drop her book bag, fling her arms wide open, and run toward me for a hug, but I’d recoil. I always did when she was coming straight from kindergarten. Megan hadn’t figured out why, she just knew her dad was different now. It wasn’t her; it was that I knew she’d been in contact with strangers and their germs all day.
I’d tell her to go wash up and she’d dutifully run off. I often wondered if it seemed like a game to her, because she giggled as she skipped. Once I could hear the water running in the bathroom, I’d find my bottle of antibacterial lotion and pump it around ten times into my hand. I’d taken to buying this instead of washing my hands until they bled. I’d slather it on my arms, my hands, my neck, and my face—every bit of skin was covered that might be exposed to any lingering germs from the kindergarten class.
Megan would reenter the room, shaking her hands dry as she approached. “Are you shiny enough now, Daddy?” she’d ask, and I’d nod.
Then I could finally hug my daughter.
Chapter Six
New Gifts
A S A CHILD , I had a vast seashell collection. My
The phone was my only lifeline to my fractured family; my mother was still living in Alaska, and my father had moved to Illinois. With my only sibling, John, gone, it was very easy for me to hide how dire things were. My family and friends didn’t realize what was going on for a while because my phone manner was usually upbeat. My mother never got mad when I telephoned at all hours, and she would ask me to describe what I saw. My dad, however, got one too many late-night calls and took to saying, “Jesus Christ, Jason, do you know what time it is?” before I started talking.
My friend Angela, present the night of the mugging, tried desperately to get me out of my isolation. She phoned repeatedly and asked me to come out with her and our friends. I always declined. So one day she showed up at the house. I reluctantly let her inside.
“You need to take down those blankets, go take a shower, and come out with me,” she announced. “Enough already—it’s been weeks. You can’t live like this.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere. I just want to be left alone,” I told her.
“You need to be with people. This isn’t normal, Jason.” She was beginning to get angry.
“You’re not in this situation—how could you understand?”
“If you stay in your house, that’s them winning!” she yelled. “There will be a lot of people there tonight. You’ll feel safe!”
I exploded. I can’t remember raising my voice so fiercely to anyone—it just wasn’t my nature, either before or after the mugging. But I’d heard enough. “Well, there were a lot of people around the night I was attacked, including you, and none of you did a damn thing—you just stood there. I’m not going. Now, get out!” I showed her the door. After that, I wouldn’t even answer the doorbell. My loved ones tried to coax me from my cave from afar, but I seldom let anyone visit me. The one exception was my young daughter, Megan. But that didn’t mean our visits were normal.
The doorbell would ring, and even if I was expecting my five-year-old, I’d have to make sure it was actually her. I’d tiptoe cautiously toward the front door and then peek out the side of the blanket covering the window closest to it, straining to look down at an angle toward what would be the height of my little brunette daughter. If her saucer-large blue eyes met mine and I was sure it was her and no one else, I’d remove the bat I’d propped against the door and quickly unbolt the locks, then open the door just wide enough for her to squeeze through. The less time the door was open and the smaller the angle, the greater my sense of security. I wouldn’t even pause to wave at Michelle, who always dropped her off. Megan knew the drill and would rush in. She’d drop her book bag, fling her arms wide open, and run toward me for a hug, but I’d recoil. I always did when she was coming straight from kindergarten. Megan hadn’t figured out why, she just knew her dad was different now. It wasn’t her; it was that I knew she’d been in contact with strangers and their germs all day.
I’d tell her to go wash up and she’d dutifully run off. I often wondered if it seemed like a game to her, because she giggled as she skipped. Once I could hear the water running in the bathroom, I’d find my bottle of antibacterial lotion and pump it around ten times into my hand. I’d taken to buying this instead of washing my hands until they bled. I’d slather it on my arms, my hands, my neck, and my face—every bit of skin was covered that might be exposed to any lingering germs from the kindergarten class.
Megan would reenter the room, shaking her hands dry as she approached. “Are you shiny enough now, Daddy?” she’d ask, and I’d nod.
Then I could finally hug my daughter.
Chapter Six
New Gifts
A S A CHILD , I had a vast seashell collection. My
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