I was born on June 2, 1988, here in New York City. And who am I? I'm Aimee Michelle Anderson, daughter of Michael and Evelyn Anderson. You know, the hotel people. We may not be as well known as the Hiltons, and I'm definitely a lot different from Paris Hilton, but it's the same sort of thing. Lots of hotels, lots of money, less scandal and no sex tapes. I do have a younger sister though. Lilly. I adore my younger sister.
When I was a child I went to all the best schools. Private schools, of course, with private tutors for certain things after. Language, music, etiquette. I was to be groomed to take over the family business. And I suppose if things were different I might have gotten more involved. Still, I may one day do this.
I had friends, mostly the children of my parents' associates and other private school children. Which isn't to say I was a snob. I wasn't, and I'm not. I just didn't interact with anyone else, really. But still, I wasn't lonely.
The teenage years were pretty standard, I suppose. Boys came and went, there were tests, fallings out with friends, making new ones. The standard rebellion which, in my case, didn't go much further than trying cigarettes and 'enjoying' a few beers. Neither of which lasted.
After high school I went almost immediately into college. Harvard Business School. It was expected, and I had no problem with following in my parents' footsteps. They'd always given me so much that I could do this for them.
It was in my sophomore year that things started deviating from the standard. It started off with small things. I'd hear sounds that I couldn't identify, because I'd never heard them before. Thudding, that would turn out to be a heartbeat. A snap that was a leaf falling from a nearby tree. Pounding, that turned out to be rain hitting the ground. It frightened me. At first I thought I was going crazy or something. That something was wrong with me. I didn't tell anyone. I couldn't. Nor could I control it. I still can't. It's always on. But slowly I got used to it. I started identifying sounds that I couldn't before. Loud noises occasionally overwhelmed me, but if I was expecting them, I could use them to tune out all the other noises. Noises that could be dismissed by others were maddening to me. Like the scratching of a pen on paper.
When I turned 21 I was still in school, still struggling to cope with the fact that I was different. By myself. I couldn't tell anyone, not then. But then, months after my birthday, the Bomb went off. It didn't affect my parents, thank god, not directly. And I was in Massachusetts, in my junior year of school. I was horrified by the destruction it caused, the lives it took. But relieved that my family was alive and well. They offered up their New York hotel, to house survivors until more permanent arrangements could be made.
On my break, I came home, helping where I could, still in shock. There were others like me. I wasn't alone. But at first, I wondered if that was a good thing, if one of us could cause the amount of devastation that New York had suffered. Still, when the Linderman act came down, I was hesitant. Surely the others, besides this Midtown Man, were more like me. Good people. And when I couldn't decide if I wanted to Register or not, I finally broke down and told my parents.
They didn't shun me, of course they didn't. They love me. Completely. They were actually thrilled. They'd always known I was special, and this was just another level. My sister though, she wasn't evolved, and I think she felt left out. That part I regret, though the rest relieved me.
Nothing else really happened until after I graduated. I came back home, thinking to start working in the hotel, and I did. And my ability is useful with business meetings. I can hear the conversations of the other parties, which makes me better informed than I would've been.
Still, I hope that something happens, to give me more purpose. I see how evolved are treated every day, and I want to do something, anything, to help out. Something personal, something that matters.
