“Yeah, I fooled around with some video editing software. I had a mood I wanted to capture.”
“You have a really good eye.”
“Thanks. I’ve always loved beautiful things. Maybe I got it from my mom, my sense of style and how I see things.”
His gaze followed the curve of her collar, appreciating the soft shape of silk against her curves, and the way she chose a pattern over a texture that others might never think to pair. He’d already intuited that Orchid craved beauty. A second reason why the ugliness of her wound at the beach didn’t fit her view of perfection. He tucked away another puzzle piece, along with her intellect, humor, kindness, and uncompromising values. How might he measure up against her high standards?
“You don’t think there’s any risk they would want different talent, right? Because Tammy’s perfect,” she said.
He considered this. “I don’t think so, but it couldn’t hurt to voice-over her bio first, to intro the video.”
“I’m not sure if this is too much. but I was playing around with an idea for a manifesto for her. You want to hear it?”
“Absolutely.”
She peered down at her screen and read aloud. Her voice grew stronger as she lost herself in the meaning of the words.
Life isn’t easy. Who hasn’t suffered injustice, misunderstanding or hurt on a schoolyard playground, been disappointed at work, or challenged as a parent?
That’s what humans are built for. Brains are resilient. They make sense of the world. They seek solutions. But what happens when the injustice or challenge is too great for a single person to bear? When the brain itself is injured by its experiences? The wound may not be visible, but the pain is real.
Meet Tammy. Her three tours of duty yielded a Bronze Star of Valor. Her quick thinking saved many lives. Yet the cost of witnessing cruelty after cruelty, of being devastated by friends being blown up, was having every nerve tuned to imminent danger. When Tammy returned home, she suffered headaches, nightmares, sensitivity to noise, and triggers which left her ill-suited to function day-to-day. She wasn’t the same. She learned the name for this insidious ailment that affects more people than you might guess: Post-traumatic stress disorder, PTSD.
Luckily, Tammy’s story has a sunny ending. She found resources to help. She worked hard to get better. Today, she trains as a triathlete and counsels others. Now, she wants nothing more than to support others who need those same resources. Tammy’s found her life’s work. She wants to get the word out. There’s hope.
Countless people can benefit from this message. Some say 6% of the population will be affected by PTSD at some point in their lives. Not only soldiers, but people all around us. Tammy knows she alone can’t solve PTSD. She has one question for you. Who else can help? Are YOU in?
Orchid looked up from the lit screen. Her eyes shined. The manifesto was ostensibly about Tammy. Anyone listening would know that she connected to this work at a personal level.
Emotion roiled through him. Not an easy feat in a business sometimes characterized by cynicism. How much of these feelings were for her insight, and how much was because he cared about her? “Spectacular. You have to keep that.” His voice was husky.
“Really?” Her face brightened.
He nodded. “Your work demonstrates real talent.”
“Thank you so much. And… what can I do for you?” she asked.
He’d committed to his dead father’s memory that he’d help her. Could he do so without letting his own feelings get in the way? The words came out before he could fully weigh the consequences. “You know, you’re right that my ideas aren’t fresh enough. Would you mind being a sounding board on our work-in-progress?”
“I’d love that!”
“We’re on a tight deadline, so it might be last minute, like over a weekend.”
He watched her cover the leftovers and pile the empty plates into the green tote.
“No problem,” she said. “Can I leave some food for you?”
His appetite was completely gone. “Thanks, it’s all yours.”
“You’re just scared of nutritional yeast,” she joked, then slung both bags over her shoulder.
He walked her to the elevator, smiling when she began practicing her Mandarin.
“Wo jiao Lan Hua. Ni ji sui?” she asked.
He laughed. “How old am I? No more than five, from the phrase you used.”
“Ni duo da?” She corrected herself.
