Page 37 of The Checklist
“Tell me about this place.” Dylan gestured around before carefully tucking her hands in her pockets, away from fourth-grader germs.
“I don’t have to tell you; you’re going toexperienceit,” he said, leaning heavily into the word.
“Did you just make a pun out of the Experience Music Project?”
Smirking like a cat who’d caught a canary, Mike wiggled his eyebrows.
“Punny! Your soccer dad is showing.” Dylan laughed despite herself.
“Before I show you around a truly wonderful interactive children’s exhibit, I’d like the record to reflect that puns are really more grandpa-joke territory.” Mike flashed a hundred-watt smile.
“Fine, old man, lead the way.” Dylan extended her arm in an after-you gesture as he reached for a set of double doors.
The reason for his enthusiasm slammed into her like a brick wall. The space was soundproofed well enough that she hadn’t been able to hear what was going on behind the doors. Once inside, she could see that every corner was covered in instruments. At the center of the room, a giant screen was surrounded by children tapping at digital versions of drums, while small sound studios held guitars, keyboards, and other instruments hooked up to monitors. Mike made a beeline for one of these rooms, grabbing Dylan’s hand and weaving around the children yelling to one another.
Inside the small room, things quieted down again. In front of her was a keyboard and a computer screen listing exactly three songs: by Journey, the Beatles, and the Jackson 5.
“Isn’t it great!” Mike’s smile was bordering on Christmas-level big as he gestured to the panel in front of him. “This software is so cool. Pick a song.”
“And do what with it?” Dylan looked down at the keyboard and over at Mike. “I don’t have a musical bone in my body. I know you know this; you can hear my dad hollering clear across the street.”
“That’s the best part. You don’t need skill. The program is here to teach you, in a soundproof, almost judgment-free setting.” The corners of his mouth quirked as he said this, giving away what little sincerity he managed to muster. “Besides, you aren’t required to sing. Just play.”
“Oh, is that a challenge? ’Cause I’ll sing if it’s a challenge. Then we will see who’s laughing.” Dylan poked at a button markedI’ll Be Thereand shook off her inhibitions. Outside of one drunken karaoke mistake roughly five years ago, she had yet to sing in front of another soul. For one thing, she was terrible, and for another, Nicolas didn’t like her to drown out the car stereo. He claimed the sound from his speakers was too nice to spoil with her screeching.Luckily, Nicolas isn’t big on road trips, she thought, stretching out her arms and half watching as the computer walked her through a series of quick keyboard exercises.
“Let’s try again,” the robot voice said as she mashed at the keys with one finger, trying to remember the pattern the software had taught her. She was vaguely aware of Mike laughing as she squeaked in frustration.
“Hey, buddy, you think this is easy?”
“No. Not at all. I think the kids around us are tiny musical prodigies, and that’s why they picked it up so fast.”
“I’m sorry not all of us played the tuba in middle school.” Dylan sneaked a look away from the screen to catch him wrinkling his nose.
“I’d pay money for you to forget about that.”
“Never. I’m going to ask your mom for pictures, then mail a copy to you on your birthday every year so you don’t forget where you came from,” Dylan said, managing to properly execute the pattern despite the distraction.
“That is low. I’ve grown as a person. My musical taste has improved dramatically and—”
“Congratulations! Let’s put it all together,” the computer cheered, cutting Mike short.
“Wait, there’s more?” Her triumphant smile faded as the screen split. On one end was the piano part, and on the other a young Michael Jackson clutched his mic, ready to croon his twelve-year-old heart out. “Shoot.”
“Hope you are ready to sing,” Mike crowed as Dylan hacked away at the pattern she had already forgotten. Fortunately, she knew the words. She packed away whatever inhibitions she had. This was the two of them in a soundproof box, so what did she have to lose?
Taking a deep breath, she let loose the opening line of the song.
Mike grimaced as Dylan continued to poke at random notes with one hand, gesturing wildly with the other.“You better start singing!” she threatened in between verses over the sad protestations of the keyboard.
“I was wrong. No need for me to sing too.”
“Do it,” Dylan demanded.
Mike’s mischievous grin lasted a beat before he joined in with his own interpretive gestures, his appalling falsetto testing the padded walls. Risking a glance at the booth window, Dylan could see several kids giggling at him. He either didn’t know or didn’t care. Dylan had to admit that if she was going to howl with someone, she was glad it was someone who also knew the words to a Jackson 5 song and made up his own dance moves.
By the time the Jacksons wailed their last “la la las,” Dylan had given up on hitting a single key and resorted to voguing over Michael’s wails. She descended into cackles as she struck a final pose, and Mike bowed to the not-inconsiderable crowd of children who had gathered to watch two adults lose their marbles. Tapping her elbow, he waved to the door. “We should let them use the room for its intended learning purpose.”
“Being an adult means sacrificing for the next generation,” Dylan sighed, taking the scarf from around her neck and reaching for the door.
