Struck by Genius: How a Brain Injury Made Me a Mathematical Marvel Read Online Free PDF Page B

except for some Christmas-tree lights, a standard bar trick to make everyone look more attractive. How many times had I stayed at a bar until closing and then discovered, when the bright lights were turned on, that the young woman I’d been kissing wasn’t nearly as cute as I’d thought? And perhaps under fluorescent lights, I wasn’t her ideal man either.
    There wasn’t much of a crowd, and the place wasn’t exactly rocking like a lot of other bars I went to. For me, a good bar was a spot where people were packed in like sardines, the music was so loud you could feel it thumping in your chest, and eight or nine bouncers had to pull guys off one another a few times a night. That kind of place wasn’t always safe, but I loved the energy—I loved rough-and-tumble good times. There were no bouncers at the karaoke bar that night, and even if there had been, they wouldn’t have had anything to do. It was that quiet.
    I made my way to Angela’s table, and people handed the DJ, a cross-dressing man named Cat with long fingernails and eye makeup, slips of paper with their song choices. I knew the song I wanted to do; in fact, I even knew its number in the catalog: 34-A-7. I didn’t even have to look it up. First up was a newly divorced man who sang Jerry Reed’s “She Got the Goldmine (I Got the Shaft).” We all clapped along with him and cheered as he screamed out the bitter lyrics. He definitely felt better by the end of the performance. Angela got her chance a few songs after that and did a perfect “Whatever Lola Wants” from
Damn Yankees,
which was her signature song, and a little while later, I stood at the microphone serenading the crowd of about thirty people with a Jon Bon Jovi song.
     
Shot down in a blaze of glory
Take me now, but know the truth.
     
    I used the stage well, walking back and forth with a cowboy gait, and when the tune ended, I took a bow to enthusiastic applause. A couple of people shook my hand and declared it awesome. That made me happy. I was lucky enough to get good reactions after most of my performances. The only time I was ever heckled was when I attempted “The Humpty Dance,” by Digital Underground, and people started yelling, “White boy!”
    I walked to the bar and ordered a Coke, and the tall, brunette bartender’s eyes lingered a second too long on my full wallet, but it didn’t quite register. I was carrying only a couple hundred dollars, but I had it in small bills so it must have seemed like a real bankroll. I tipped her two dollars and she smiled, then I downed the soda and motioned for my friends to start packing up so I could give them a ride home. They were a little drunk, and half the reason Angela had called me was so that I could play the designated driver, something we often did for each other. My parents had worked hard to teach me about the dangers of drinking and driving. One night I walked eleven miles home in several feet of Alaska snow rather than take the wheel.
    Angela and her date and I made our way down the stairs, followed by two other patrons whom I’d seen sitting in the corner of the bar with their backs to the wall.
    I was just ten steps out the front door when a blow struck my head just behind my right ear. There was a flash of white light and I heard a deep low sound, lower than the lowest key on a piano. I went down on one knee and lost consciousness briefly as the blinding white light went to black. When I came to, shortly after that, I was still on one knee and I thought someone had tried to put me in a playful headlock and missed. My male friends were always play-wrestling and roughhousing, and though I hadn’t expected it of Angela’s date, he was probably just trying to be friendly.
    Just as I stood to ask Angela and her friend what had happened, there was a second punch to my head from another direction, then a third. I was knocked from side to side and I lost my footing each time, but now I could see Angela and her date in front of me