university and the lab. The Father Project would soon be over. The weather was warm, though there were dark clouds on the horizon, and Rosie lowered the convertible roof. I was mulling over the theft.
“You still obsessing about the bill, Don?” Rosie shouted over the wind noise. “You’re hilarious. We’re stealing DNA, and you’re worried about a cup of coffee.”
“It’s not illegal to take DNA samples,” I shouted back. This was true, although in the UK we would have been in violation of the Human Tissue Act of 2004. “We should go back.”
“Highly inefficient use of time,” said Rosie in a strange voice, as we pulled up at traffic lights and were briefly able to communicate properly. She laughed and I realized she had been imitatingme. Her statement was correct, but there was a moral question involved, and acting morally should override other issues.
“Relax,” she said. “It’s a beautiful day, we’re going to find out who my father is, and I’ll put a check in the mail for the coffee. Promise .” She looked at me. “Do you know how to relax? How to just have fun?”
It was too complex a question to answer over the wind noise as we pulled away from the lights. And the pursuit of fun does not lead to overall contentment. Studies have shown this consistently.
“You missed the exit,” I said.
“Correct,” she replied, in the joke voice. “We’re going to the beach.” She spoke right over the top of my protests. “Can’t hear you, can’t hear you.”
Then she put on some music—very loud rock music. Now she really couldn’t hear me. I was being kidnapped! We drove for ninety-four minutes. I could not see the speedometer and was not accustomed to traveling in an open vehicle, but I estimated that we were consistently exceeding the speed limit.
Discordant sound, wind, risk of death—I tried to assume the mental state that I used at the dentist.
Finally, we stopped in a beachside parking lot. It was almost empty on a weekday afternoon.
Rosie looked at me. “Smile. We’re going for a walk, then we’re going to the lab, and then I’m going to take you home. And you’ll never see me again.”
“Can’t we just go home now?” I said, and realized that I sounded like a child. I reminded myself that I was an adult male, ten years older and more experienced than the person with me, and that there must be a purpose for what she was doing. I asked what it was.
“I’m about to find out who my dad is. I need to clear my head. So can we walk for half an hour or so, and can you just pretend to be a regular human being and listen to me?”
I was not sure how well I could imitate a regular human being, but I agreed to the walk. It was obvious that Rosie was confused by emotions, and I respected her attempt to overcome them. As it turned out, she hardly spoke at all. This made the walk quite pleasant: it was virtually the same as walking alone.
As we approached the car on our return, Rosie asked, “What music do you like?”
“Why?”
“You didn’t like what I was playing on the drive down, did you?”
“Correct.”
“So, your turn going back. But I don’t have any Bach.”
“I don’t really listen to music,” I said. “The Bach was an experiment that didn’t work.”
“You can’t go through life not listening to music.”
“I just don’t pay it any attention. I prefer to listen to information.”
There was a long silence. We had reached the car.
“Did your parents listen to music? Brothers and sisters?”
“My parents listened to rock music. Primarily my father. From the era in which he was young.”
We got in the car and Rosie lowered the roof again. She played with her iPhone, which she was using as the music source.
“Blast from the past,” she said, and activated the music.
I was just settling into the dentist’s chair again when I realized the accuracy of Rosie’s words. I knew this music. It had been in the background when I was growing up. I
“You still obsessing about the bill, Don?” Rosie shouted over the wind noise. “You’re hilarious. We’re stealing DNA, and you’re worried about a cup of coffee.”
“It’s not illegal to take DNA samples,” I shouted back. This was true, although in the UK we would have been in violation of the Human Tissue Act of 2004. “We should go back.”
“Highly inefficient use of time,” said Rosie in a strange voice, as we pulled up at traffic lights and were briefly able to communicate properly. She laughed and I realized she had been imitatingme. Her statement was correct, but there was a moral question involved, and acting morally should override other issues.
“Relax,” she said. “It’s a beautiful day, we’re going to find out who my father is, and I’ll put a check in the mail for the coffee. Promise .” She looked at me. “Do you know how to relax? How to just have fun?”
It was too complex a question to answer over the wind noise as we pulled away from the lights. And the pursuit of fun does not lead to overall contentment. Studies have shown this consistently.
“You missed the exit,” I said.
“Correct,” she replied, in the joke voice. “We’re going to the beach.” She spoke right over the top of my protests. “Can’t hear you, can’t hear you.”
Then she put on some music—very loud rock music. Now she really couldn’t hear me. I was being kidnapped! We drove for ninety-four minutes. I could not see the speedometer and was not accustomed to traveling in an open vehicle, but I estimated that we were consistently exceeding the speed limit.
Discordant sound, wind, risk of death—I tried to assume the mental state that I used at the dentist.
Finally, we stopped in a beachside parking lot. It was almost empty on a weekday afternoon.
Rosie looked at me. “Smile. We’re going for a walk, then we’re going to the lab, and then I’m going to take you home. And you’ll never see me again.”
“Can’t we just go home now?” I said, and realized that I sounded like a child. I reminded myself that I was an adult male, ten years older and more experienced than the person with me, and that there must be a purpose for what she was doing. I asked what it was.
“I’m about to find out who my dad is. I need to clear my head. So can we walk for half an hour or so, and can you just pretend to be a regular human being and listen to me?”
I was not sure how well I could imitate a regular human being, but I agreed to the walk. It was obvious that Rosie was confused by emotions, and I respected her attempt to overcome them. As it turned out, she hardly spoke at all. This made the walk quite pleasant: it was virtually the same as walking alone.
As we approached the car on our return, Rosie asked, “What music do you like?”
“Why?”
“You didn’t like what I was playing on the drive down, did you?”
“Correct.”
“So, your turn going back. But I don’t have any Bach.”
“I don’t really listen to music,” I said. “The Bach was an experiment that didn’t work.”
“You can’t go through life not listening to music.”
“I just don’t pay it any attention. I prefer to listen to information.”
There was a long silence. We had reached the car.
“Did your parents listen to music? Brothers and sisters?”
“My parents listened to rock music. Primarily my father. From the era in which he was young.”
We got in the car and Rosie lowered the roof again. She played with her iPhone, which she was using as the music source.
“Blast from the past,” she said, and activated the music.
I was just settling into the dentist’s chair again when I realized the accuracy of Rosie’s words. I knew this music. It had been in the background when I was growing up. I
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