Read Five Flavors of Dumb for Free Online Page B

listening to three different songs being played simultaneously in an echo chamber.”
    Josh rolled his eyes. “Okay, we get the picture,” he snapped, momentarily letting down that smooth exterior. “What do we do about it?”
    Ed unscrewed the video camera from the tripod and carried it over to them. “First, you need to see and hear what I’m seeing and hearing.”
    He scrolled back until he found the beginning of the song, and pressed Play. Although there wasn’t room for me to crowd around the camera’s tiny screen as well, I could tell from their expressions that Josh, Will, and Tash were getting the message loud and clear. By the time he stopped the film, I was wondering if I needed to instigate some serious morale-boosting exercises.
    “You know, we have Baz Firkin to help us with all this stuff,” sneered Tash, “and he’s a professional. You might not realize this, but he was lead singer with The Workin’ Firkins.”
    “And he’s in prison until next Thursday,” I gently reminded her as Ed cowered behind me.“So for now, Ed has kindly agreed to assume Baz’s responsibilities. Carry on, Ed.”
    Ed’s Adam’s apple wobbled as he swallowed hard. “Yes. Okay. Well, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to bang out a steady beat and you’re going to repeat the opening riff again and again. As soon as you feel comfortable, stop thinking about what you’re doing and focus on what the others are doing. Listen to them, not yourself. The emotion is already there, now let’s focus on precision.”
    Ed unearthed a pair of drumsticks from his book bag and looked around for something to bang, eventually settling on a trash can lid. As soon as he established the beat, the others joined in. I couldn’t hear a difference, but I could feel the beat as a steady pulse across my hands. And I could see the improvement as clear as day.
    After three minutes Dumb wasn’t just playing in time, they were moving together—not in a choreographed way, just their heads and feet. And they were looking at each other too, escaping from their own personal spheres and becoming a single musical entity.
    After five minutes, Tash cut loose, adding something to the standard riff. It still sounded like a fuzzy mess to me, but Ed smiled approvingly. A moment later, Will let go too, slapping his thumb against the strings of his bass guitar, and Ed’s smile grew bigger. Then Josh started jumping around like he was adding a trampoline workout to his vocalizations, and Ed erupted in laughter.
    They kept going like that for two more minutes, all smiles and pinpoint accuracy. Then Ed cut loose.
    He spun the second stick around in his right hand and brought it down on a metal shelf, incorporating various power tools into his funky performance. While the left stick continued to hammer away on the trash can lid, the right introduced ever more complex rhythms on flowerpots and glass jars, punctuated by occasional stick-twirling displays. I couldn’t say if it sounded good, but it looked amazing, and I could feel each object affecting a different part of my body, from my arms to my feet. I was truly experiencing the music, and after a few seconds, so were the others.
    Tash was the first to stop playing, her right hand mid-strum when she became too distracted to continue. Will quickly followed, then Josh. But Ed kept going, his arms pumping like pistons, sticks ablaze with motion as he bounced up and down like he was shadowboxing. He bit his lower lip and furrowed his brows in concentration, but instead of looking nervous he appeared transported. I’d never seen him act so confident before. The others seemed awestruck too, although I had to admit that whatever I thought they’d get out of this session, an up-close and personal look at Ed, crazy closet rock star, certainly hadn’t been it.
    It was obvious: Ed needed to be in the group.
    I let him keep going for another minute before I placed a hand gently on his shoulder. He jumped