I paused, listening to the offbeat drumming. “Fuck,” I heard from the room as he abruptly stopped, then it started again. “Goddamn it,” he said, repeating the process. He was playing Joy Division; somehow, he’d figured out the opening beats to “Transmission.” Which meant that he’d listened to “Transmission” intensely enough to try and pick up its unique opening rhythm. I wasn’t a parent, but I imagined watching children take their first steps or graduate high school felt similar to this, or maybe similar to when I taught Lola to high-five.
