Happy New Year from Michael
It started a few weeks ago. Michael didn’t think he could bear the thought of starting a new year the same person he’d been for the previous one. The horror of walking around as himself as he currently was. New Year’s Eve approached like storm clouds on the horizon.
His only hope seemed like a traumatic brain injury.
He’d read that on numerous occasions, after being the recipient of some terrible blow to the head, people ended up speaking a language they’d never known before or being able to play the piano.
Which was just the sort of thing he was in the market for. Piano… saxophone, whatever.
For the first few days he’d worn a helmet when he ran headfirst into a brick wall, but despite the tremendous impact, no new abilities manifest themselves.
So he fully committed and lost the helmet.
It amazed him at the innate self-preservation that kicked in whenever he attempted to smash his skull into the wall. At the last second he’d always flinch or pull back. It seemed like his body did not want him learning any new languages or musical instruments.
It started to get frustrating.
He would occasionally throw his head into solid objects when he least suspected it, hoping to catch his survival instinct off guard, but to no end. There wasn’t a square inch of drywall in his home that didn’t have an imprint of his head.
It seemed like he wasn’t going to be able to sustain a traumatic brain injury before the ball dropped. He hurled his fist at the heavens and cursed his bad luck.
But then, just when all hope seemed lost, he fell down a flight of cement stairs. His body never saw it coming.
Well, yes and no.
He did in fact sustain a terrible brain injury, but he did not learn any new languages. Unless you consider gibberish a language.
That he learned.
He could not play the piano. But what he could do was hit the keys with his fist and then laugh in a childlike manner at the sound it produced.
Laugh and drool.
Happy New Year from Michael.